Page 30 of Mr. Match

It was a Sunday, so it was a day Oliver and I had spent together. We hung out at his place, just chatting and making lunch, then dinner, in that makeshift kitchen. Most of the building was a total construction zone. No workers were there, but they didn’t exactly clean up when they left on Friday, so the only place to really relax was up in his makeshift bedroom loft that still smelled of old tires.

Looking back now on the state of his home, and having become accustomed to the finer things in life as the years have passed, it makes me laugh. Picturing myself up in that loft surrounded by dust, and dirt, and industrial things that weren’t pieces of outsider art created by a local artist or ordered from some high-end catalog.

Isn’t it funny? When you get all the things you thought you wanted, and you look back on how it all started, it feels much sweeter from the end of the road than it did at the beginning.

I loved his place, even back then. And I’ve driven by it recently, so I know that my last memory of it is just that. A memory.

The brick exterior, which was white back then—covered in grime, and oil, and filth after having served its purpose as a six-bay automotive garage for decades—is now a trendy dark gray with white trim around the windows. The door has been painted a glossy red and the asphalt parking lot has been turned into a manicured lawn, the perimeter lined with pine trees. There’s a brick wall surrounding the property with an impressive iron gate that has a sign out front near the intercom proclaiming it’s protected by ShrikeSafe Security. Which I know is co-owned by his sisters—one of their many (many) side businesses.

But I’d love to go back in time. Be back in that loft that last night smelling those old tires. Be filled with angst about what was coming, what I was leaving behind, and then make a different choice.

Would we have stayed together if I had stayed? I wasn’t even eighteen yet. Oliver was twenty-four.

I had a promise to keep and Oliver… well, he was still stuck in his past back then.

We never had a chance.

I look at my watch as I gaze down to the street below. I can see the tattoo shop, still open, down the block.

That’s where Oliver and I ended up that last night. That was the last place I saw him—machine in hand, dipping the needles in the dark ink, squinting down at my skin in concentration as he inked his words onto my body.

He erased my scars that night. Replaced them with promises.

I will kiss you here…

And he did. He kissed them all away.

Well, that’s the past and it can’t be changed. The rules of the game state that you get one chance for every moment. Make the wrong choice and it stays wrong forever.

Did I make the wrong choice?

I have to believe I didn’t. I have to keep telling myself that all my choices and all my lies had a purpose that led me right to this moment in time.

Right where I’m supposed to be.

I might not like the circumstances and I know I won’t like the outcome—at least as it pertains to Oliver. Once he finds out why I’m back he will make his own choice in his own moment and I already know how fast he will walk away.

But I made my choice a long time ago and I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

The next time that disposable phone rings all the pieces will fall into place.

I turn away from the window and walk to my front closet, pulling my light green coat from the hanger and slipping it on over my jeans and sweater. I cinch the belt tight at my waist, grab my keys and everyday phone off the little table near the entrance, and slip them in my coat pocket as I pull open the front door.

It’s an eight-minute walk to the church where we will meet up, but I can’t find a reason not to go a little early. Maybe peek into the tattoo shop as I walk past. Catch a glimpse of Oliver’s family members as they work this evening.

No one is in the elevator as I take it down to the ground floor. The doorman smiles at me as I enter the lobby, and greets me by name as he opens the door and I pass through.

I like that about this building. That they know my name. I’ve been hiding for so long it’s nice to be out in the open for once.

I don’t peek into the tattoo shop as I walk by. I don’t even cross the street to be on the same side. I just put my head down into the biting wind and mind my business.

I guess some habits die hard.

The light is in my favor when I get to the intersection of College and Mountain, so I cross quickly, hands in my coat pockets, and then slow down as the church comes into view two blocks up.

I listen for the sound of his bike, anxious, and fearful, and filled with longing. I am minutes away from experiencing him again. His hard body and strong arms. Will he kiss me? Will he wrap his arms around me? Will he be angry that I never got back in touch? Or will he be indifferent?

Hey, what’s up? instead of, God, I missed you.