Cupid Painted Blind

by Marcus Herzig

  And he says, “Sure. I’d love to.”

  “Awesome.” There is more awkward silence, so I decide to call it a day before I blow it all by saying something really stupid. “All right, I guess I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

  “Sure.”

  “Good night.”

  “Nighty night, Matty.”

  I end the call, throw my phone on the bed, punch the air three times and sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

  “Shut up!” I hear Greg shout through the wall, but I really couldn’t care less.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  When the bell rings at the end of another of Mrs. Spelczik’s classes, Chris, Jack, and Steve hurry out of the room like they always do at the beginning of lunch break.

  “What’s with these guys?” Sandy wonders. “Always the first out of the classroom and the last in the cafeteria. So weird.”

  With two fingers at his mouth Alfonso mimics dragging on a cigarette.

  Sandy frowns, then it dawns on her. “You mean they’re smoking?”

  Alfonso nods. “Behind the gym.”

  “That is so unhealthy.” She puts her hand on my arm. “Please tell me you don’t smoke.”

  “I don’t,” I assure her.

  The day after our group date at the Korova, Chris had asked me to join him, Jack, and Steve for a smoke behind the gym but I respectfully declined. While I love spending time with Chris, the smell of cigarette smoke remains a major turn-off, and although there have been no further clashes with Jack, I’m still reluctant to give him more opportunities to be offended by my mere existence, so I try to stay out of his way if I can.

  We are strolling down the crowded hallway toward the cafeteria, talking about our term papers, when Sandy asks, “So have you read Romeo and Juliet before?”

  I’m about to answer when I realize she wasn’t asking me. Her question was directed at Philip who is walking a step behind us like an ugly duckling.

  “Yes,” he says in a low, nasal voice.

  “Great. Maybe you can teach Matt a thing or two about love,” Alfonso says with a smirk. “He needs it.”

  I glare at him.

  He shrugs. “What?”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?” he replies. Then he puts his arm around my neck, yanks me into a headlock, gives me a noogie, and kisses my bruised head before he lets go of me again.

  Seriously, how do straight people get away with that kind of thing?

  At the entrance to the cafeteria, Zoey joins us. As we line up to get our food, Philip is about is about to leave us and move on to the table under the stairs in the corner where he usually spends his lunch break alone, but Zoey holds him back.

  “Aren’t you gonna get anything?” she asks.

  He shakes his head.

  “But you need to eat something. Aren’t you hungry?”

  “I’m fine,” he says, skillfully dodging the question, but we all know he’s not fine. He’s poor.

  “At least have some orange juice or something,” Zoey says. “Would you like some orange juice?”

  He doesn’t say no quickly enough, so Zoey grabs a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and puts it on her tray. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat anything?”

  “Really, it’s okay.”

  Zoey shrugs, grabs her lunch and pays. Philip follows us to our regular table and reluctantly sits between Zoey and me.

  “Oh, Philip,” Sandy says, sitting opposite him. When he looks at her she bows her head at him and says, “Nǐ hǎo! Zuì jìn hào mǎ?”

  While Jason next to her cringes, Philip looks at Sandy with an empty face. “I’m from Laos.”

  “Isn’t that in China?”

  Jason laughs, shaking his head. “Oh, Sandy!”

  “Well, excuse me. I’ve never been good at geography,” Sandy says and shrugs. “Sorry, Philip.”

  “It’s okay,” Philip says. “Laos is south of China, between Thailand and Vietnam.”

  “Oh,” Sandy says. “Well, at least I wasn’t a million miles off.”

  Zoey looks at Philip. “So you were born in Laos?”

  Philip nods.

  “And when did your family come the the United States?”

  “When I was two.”

  As Philip keeps answering Zoey’s questions sparingly like a witness in cross-examination, I see Chris, Jack, and Steve enter the cafeteria. They get their lunches and then come straight over to our table.

  “Well, well, well,” Jack says as he puts down his tray at the end of the table. “Who have we here? If it isn’t Miss Saigon the Vietcong-Thong.”

  The reactions to Jack’s trolling are pretty diverse. Phil lowers his eyes and sips his orange juice, pretending nothing’s wrong. In pan-Asian solidarity, Jason also lowers his eyes and looks embarrassed on Philip’s behalf. Steve laughs, Chris smirks, and Alfonso rolls his eyes and shakes his head. And Zoey doesn’t deign to even look at Jack as she says, “That is so offensive, Jack.”

  “Besides,” Sandy chimes in, “Philip is from Laos.”

  “Laos?” Steve frowns. “Where the hell is that?”

  “It’s south of China, between Vietnam and Taiwan.”

  “Thailand!” Jason corrects her.

  “Yeah, that.”

  “See?” Jack says. “Vietnam, just like I said.”

  Now Zoey looks at him. “It’s rude and insulting to call him … what you just called him.”

  “Well, what else am I supposed to call him then?”

  “He’s got a name, you know?”

  “Ooooh!” Jack says, feigning sudden enlightenment. “Why didn’t you say so? Hey, Thong, what’s your name again?”

  “Philip.”

  “Philip, huh? Well, that’s a bit clunky, isn’t it? We all have nicknames around here. Christian is Chris, Steven is Steve, Matthew is Maddie. So how about I’m gonna call you … Philippino?”

  “He’s not from the Philippines!” Sandy says.

  “All right, all right,” Jack says. “Fair enough. I’ll just call him Lip then.”

  As Chris’ smirk widens into a grin and Steve almost falls off his chair laughing, the rest of us are aghast.

  “You’re such an asshole, Jack,” Zoey says.

  Jack shrugs like an innocent choirboy. “Why? It’s an affectionate abbreviation of his name. Isn’t that right, Lip?”

  I don’t dare look at Philip because it’s just too painful, but from the corner of my eye I can see that he’s getting smaller and smaller until he’s suddenly getting taller as he slowly rises from his chair, ready to walk away.

  Somebody should tell him to stay.

  Somebody should tell him to sit back down again and not pay any attention to the mean and offensive bullshit of some pompous jackass who has never had anything nice to say about anyone in his entire, miserable life.

  Somebody should stand up for Philip, and I know it should be me even if it’s for no other reason than that it would be the right and decent thing to do. But I can’t seem to bring myself to do it, and it’s making me feel awful.

  I didn’t want him to join us at our table in the first place. Everyone knows that if you feed a stray dog you’re never ever going to get rid of him. It may be a cold and cruel way to look at things, but I have too many other things on my mind to take the weight of the entire world upon my narrow shoulders.

  “Philip,” Zoey says, “don’t go. Don’t listen to that jackass.”

  Philip shakes his head, puts on a forced smile and says, “It’s okay.” Then he walks away and goes to sit alone at his usual table in the far corner of the cafeteria.

  Zoey glares at Jack. “Well done, asshole!”

  “What?” Jack says and shrugs. “Not my fault if he can’t take a little joke.”

  “Screw your little jokes, Jack. Just because your parents are both boozers and beat you up all the time it doesn’t give you an excuse to take it out on other people!”

  Despite the busy
cafeteria background noise, the pin that drops on our table sounds like thunder. Everyone stares either at Zoey, who looks like she realizes she may have gone a step too far, or at Jack whose face is turning a dark shade of crimson.

  Everyone except Chris.

  Chris is staring at me, knowing this particular piece of sensitive information about Jack’s family situation could only have come from me. Unable to stand his accusing glare, I look at my lunch tray and play with my peas.

  I hate peas.

  I hate them almost as much as I hate my life right now.

  * * *

  After the last period of the day, Chris and Jack are waiting for me outside of the classroom. Surprisingly, they’re not waiting for me to beat me up for telling Zoey about Jack’s parents, but to walk with me to the locker rooms. I appreciate the gesture, but I have something else to take care of first.

  “I’ll catch up with you guys, okay?”

  While Jack scowls at me, Chris’s facial expression is ambiguous. He neither smiles nor frowns. “Suit yourself,” he says. I’m trying to detect any emotion in his tone but there seems to be none, and I have no idea if that’s good or bad.

  I make my way downstairs, run out of the building and turn the corner into Harper. There he is, standing by the roadside under his umbrella. My jog slows into a walk, and when Philip turns his head to look down the street in expectation of his dad’s old clunker, our eyes meet. He holds my gaze for a moment while he seems to ponder if he should acknowledge my presence or not. In the end he turns his head back toward the street.

  “Hey,” I say as I reach him.

  He looks at me, expressionless.

  “I’m sorry about earlier.”

  “Why?” he says, which perplexes me. I didn’t expect I’d had to explain to him what happened.

  “Well, you know, the way things went down at lunch.”

  “You didn’t even say anything, so what are you apologizing for?”

  “Maybe I should have said something.”

  “Why?” he asks.

  I shrug. “Because it wasn’t fair to just sit there and say nothing when Jack was being mean to you.”

  Philip looks at the street. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “No seriously,” I say. “Jack can be an ass. I’ve known him my entire life, and I’ve received my fair share of abuse from him, so I know what it’s like.”

  “Do you?” He turns his face back towards me, and I’m pretty sure he does it to remind me of his cleft lip and that I couldn’t possibly have any idea what it must be like to have a face like that and to have it made fun of on a daily basis.

  “Look, Jack has a lot of issues, and he likes to take it out on other people. Just don’t listen to him. It’s not worth getting all worked up about it.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “I know. I mean, I’m just saying.”

  Again, he turns away, showing no interest in my plight whatsoever.

  “Look,” I say, “I’m making an effort here.”

  He looks at me. “Why?”

  His question leaves me speechless.

  Speechless and offended. I came to talk to him make us both feel better. Now I’m feeling worse, and Philip doesn’t seem to have any feelings at all.

  As Mr. Thongrivong finally pulls up in his old clunker, the voice of Coach Gutierrez sounds across the fence. “Dunstan! Get your ass over here right now or you’re out!”

  As I turn around and run, Special Agent Nicole Tesla is cruising past me in her shiny black car, thinking I don’t notice.

  * * *

  2_b_pretty:

  Hello Handsome! I liked the new chapter. It was fun to see Matt excel in track & field only to have his proud excitement crushed by the Jackrabbit’s homophobic outburst. But oh, such a nifty way to keep him out of the shower. Yes, I’m looking at you! Don’t you think I don’t know that it was you who weaseled your way out of that shower scene, not our hormone driven Matty. I’m letting you get away with it this time, Handsome, but you know you will eventually have to let it happen, yes? Anyways, so Matty is finally getting somewhere with his non-plan. Chris gave him a hug. I was hoping they will take it one step further and that there would be a kiss, just a little kiss, but no such luck. Oh well, maybe next time, yes? I’ll say no more until then. xoxo

  Mattoid2002:

  Thanks again for your feedback, Pretty! Please keep it coming. I’m sorry the shower scene didn’t happen at this time, but it wasn’t meant to be. You see, the thing is: my stories tend to develop a life of their own and then I just follow them wherever they take me, so I’m afraid I can’t accept any responsibility for the canceled shower scene, or anything else for that matter. >.o Anyway, I got news for you: looking at Matty’s whole situation, I don’t see a quick an easy solution forthcoming. Things are way too complicated already, and they’re getting more complicated every day. Speaking of which, I just posted another chapter. I hope you’ll like it. Looking forward to your comments, as always. xoxo

  CHAPTER NINE

  My knees are shaking as I enter the Korova, mostly because I’m walking into a well known gay milk bar in the middle of town, in the light of day. In this day and age that kind of thing should be a non-issue, and for most people it probably is. Then again, I’m not most people.

  This is what it must feel like if you’re some obscure sound editor walking the red carpet at the Oscars. It may feel as if the whole world is watching you when in fact nobody has any idea who you are, and they don’t care much, either.

  “Why hello, sugar!” Milo greets me with his hands on his hips, his head cocked sideways, a bright smile on his glistening lips.

  I nod at him bashfully and look around. The booth in the corner where we sat the last time is empty except for a lonely, untouched strawberry milkshake on the table.

  I look at my watch.

  “Chris couldn’t wait for you any longer,” Milo says, “so he went to the restroom. If you know what I mean.”

  He makes an unambiguously suggestive movement with his hand in front of his crotch. Having no idea how to deal with lewd jokes appropriately, I react to Milo’s remark the only way I know how: I turn my ears the color of a fire hydrant.

  Pointing at the corner table I ask, “Is that his table?”

  “It sure is, sugar. Can I get you anything?”

  “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  “Of course you will,” Milo says with a wide smile.

  I walk to our table and sit. After a few moments Chris comes back from the restroom. He smiles as he sees me, and I smile back.

  “Hey,” he says and slides into his seat opposite me.

  His T-shirt reads Gay Bae.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “Are you?” He looks at his watch. “I just got here myself, so no worries.”

  With the new school year in full swing we were struggling to find a slot for our first date, and even the one we picked is sandwiched between other commitments. He has a dentist appointment later, and I have to meet up with Philip at the library, but Chris doesn’t know that.

  Milo comes and places my milkshake in front of me. “There you are, sugar. Enjoy.”

  “Thanks.”

  He blows me an air kiss, then he looks at Chris. “Just the two of you today?”

  “Yeah, just us today,” Chris says.

  “All riiiight,” Milo says with his eyebrows raised and a big grin on his face. “I’m gonna give you some privacy then. Threesomes are overrated anyway.”

  He turns and leaves. Chris looks at me. “You’re blushing.”

  “I know! I’m blushing all the time. Don’t rub it in. I’m not used to having all that sexual innuendo in my life.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  I’m not sure if I can or if I even want to, so I just smile politely and suck on my milkshake.

  “So listen,” I say, trying not to look him in the eyes. “About earlier …” I pause, waiting for him to preemptively shake his head
or wave his hand dismissively and say something gracious like, ‘Oh, don’t worry about walking around and telling people about Jack’s darkest family secrets that you’re not even supposed to know. No biggie.’ But although I’m sure he knows what it is I’m trying to confess, he’s not doing me the favor of making it any easier on me.

  “What about earlier?” he asks.

  “You know … about Jack. I mean, what Zoey said to Jack. About his parents. She knew that from me.”

  Chris nods, his bright smile waning. “I thought she might.”

  “We’re really close, you know? She’s basically my best friend. I tell her everything, and I didn’t expect her to use that knowledge against Jack. She usually doesn’t do that kind of thing. Blabbing, I mean.”

  “I see,” Chris says. “Well, it was a pretty stupid move, but good to know. I guess in the future I’ll have to be more selective about the information I share with my little chatterbox.”

  It’s not exactly the kind of reaction I was hoping for. I was expecting him to be more forgiving.

  “I’m really sorry,” I say sheepishly.

  “Yeah, well,” he says, “let’s not talk about it anymore.”

  Not to be nitpicky, but there’s a subtle difference between forgetting about something and simply not mentioning it anymore. Chris isn’t doing anything to alleviate my nagging feeling of guilt. In fact, he’s doing the exact opposite, and I hate how he wants to move on when this is clearly something we should talk about. I’m beginning to think our first date couldn’t have been off to a worse start.

  “So your sister is your best friend, huh?” Chris says. “That’s funny. I thought your best friend was … that Mexican dude.”

  “Alfonso,” I say. “And he’s Argentinian.”

  “Right.” He says and shrugs. “Whatever.”

  “Anyway, they both are my best friends.”

  “Wait, but you didn’t tell Alfonso about Jack’s domestic problems too, did you?”

  “Oh, no!” I hurry to confirm. “I … no, of course not.”

  “Good. I’d hate to run into the same awkward situation again.”