A lot of you – well, at least my loyal readers (all five of you) might be wondering why I haven”t posted in the last few months. I will come clean and fess up. Firstly, I broke up with Terrence, the gorgeous man I wrote about in the last two entries. Apparently, my “feminicity” was not seductive enough to make this man stay with me for longer than a month. I tried writing about my breakup with brilliant, bitter titles like “Booty and the Beast”, but to no avail. And as if relationships and writer’s block weren’t traumatic enough, I also stopped talking to the last “love of my life” and former close friend, Frank, a guy I wrote about in my second blog entry (and if he’s reading this, I advise he go fuck himself because I’m not gonna reminisce and boost his ego). And thirdly, because of an even more complicated story that began a little like this:
I met him on Grindr, as is now my people’s custom (and no, he wasn’t only looking for sex). As he walked into my room, I realized he looked even nerdier and cuter than in his picture. He also had the type of youthful voice that could make a person pass for a teenager over the phone.
“You’re the first natural redhead I”ve ever met, William,” I told him as I playfully petted the fire on his head.
“If I got a penny for every time I heard that one,” he said with the most genuine smile in the world. “Call me Will, by the way. ‘Cause Will. I. Am.”
I knew I liked him that second – clichés and all.
That instant, he noticed something on my bookshelf and walked to it with a smile, “No way! You do Tarot readings, too?”
“Do you?” I asked him raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I’m a redhead. We’re all witches,” he smiled at me, even happier than before.
I knew I was falling for him after that.
We had delivery pizza (not Di Giorno) as we watched Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog. The evening turned out quite lovely and comfy, until he finally asked the inevitable question I had been dreading since Will came into my room.
“Why don’t you read my fortune with the Tarot?”
“Oh, maybe another time,” I said shyly, remembering that most of the time I just tell people that I already know well my opinion of them and simply use the cards as an excuse to be unforgivably honest (e.g. I don’t think you’re a conniving, poisonous snake, hon. That’s what the cards said!).
“C’mon, don’t be shy!” Will insisted as he messed my already messy curly hair.
“Nah, I’m probably not as good a reader as you!” I tried flattery in vain.
“I wanna hear what you have to say though,” I could tell he wouldn’t back off when his eyes didn’t look away once – not until I would read his fortune. So I decided to do what we English majors do best: pull an insightful, bullshit interpretation out of my ass.
The Three of Swords. The Two of Cups. The Fool. One for the past. One for the present. One for the future.
I got lucky and the three cards I spread were very familiar to me, but somehow the bullshit just wouldn’t pour out of my mouth like it did with other people. He was different. He was a real Tarot reader. That, and he was a cute as hell, that ginger witch – totally immune to my angelic charms.
“I can’t,” I said, almost choking up as if I were naked in front of a stranger.
Will held my hand with the intimacy of family and gently saying my name, he simply said, “Just tell me what you see!”
I closed my eyes for a second and then said in a whisper, “Well, I think the Three of Swords is pretty self-explanatory – kinda – with the rainy gray sky and the heart pierced with swords. It’s literally heartbreak, huh? You’ve had your heart broken not too long ago?”
He nodded, so I went on. “But oddly enough, the Two of Cups in the present position is all the opposite: it’s a couple sharing their drink (water), with the snake (earth), the lion (fire) and the wings (air) above them representing all the elements together, in balance because.” I hesitated and looked into his eyes. “because the two are coming together.”
Will leaned in gave me what was literally the most magical kiss of my life. After what could’ve been two seconds or five minutes of making out (hard to keep track of time with a guy’s tongue down your throat), he gave me that intoxicating, childlike smile and asked, “So what’s the last one mean?”
“I’m not too sure,” I began, with a smirk lingering from the kiss. “The Fool can be either good or bad for the future. He’s looking up at the sky and has a flower in his hand as he walks – he’s an idealist of sorts. But he’s not looking at the ground. And he’s heading for a cliff. He’s either the bravest man on the planet and will go places very few will ever get to see, so they call him a fool for taking a leap of faith. That, or he’s an actual fool who will meet his fate at the bottom of the abyss.”
His smile faded for a moment.
“I’m sorry. That was a pretty lousy future, huh?” I regretted my interpretation.
“Nah,” Will smiled once again. “It’s just – I’m not looking forward to my commute home.”
“Well,” I began my super smooth stay-over-tonight speech, which usually goes a little like this. “Considering how much you’re dreading it, if you don’t want to go back all the way home, you could, you know, stay the night. I mean, if you like. You don’t have to. I won’t take offense either way. And I don’t mean to come across as eager, or anything like that. Or like I wanna have sex with you of all things. Oh no! Although I’m not saying that wouldn’t be nice. I’m sure it would. But…”
Before I could finish making a total ass out of myself, he put his finger to my lips and gave me a peck, “I’d love to sleep over.”
We cuddled to sleep and life began to make sense again.
I saw William the witch again about a week later (otherwise known as “forever” when you like someone). We went to Little Tokyo and we performed a depraved public act I had not even thought of in a very long time.
This despicable action caught me off-guard as I walked toward a lovely store where they sold hand-crafted fans and other Japanese artifacts. Suddenly, I felt it – warm and sweaty in my hand.
“Hey, let’s check out the anime store,” William said as he pulled me softly by the hand in front of all of Little Tokyo as if we were in West Hollywood.
My brown cheeks flushed a little and I’m almost sure I looked down the whole way to the Japanese animation shop. My arm was like a tree branch, and my legs like two noodles. Although not a soul looked at us, I could almost feel glares of disgust and homophobia burning holes in my Oscar de la Renta sweater. Finally, when we went into the crowded store with narrow aisles and realized we couldn’t explore it comfortably as a single unit, he let go of my hand.
Embarrassed of my hand-holding jitters, I perused the movie section to keep them occupied. I noticed the box of one of my favorite movies: Howl’s Moving Castle. A shy, homely brunette held the gorgeous wizard’s hand as they walked on the air, above the rest of city; she was terrified and exhilarated, while he smiled confidently. I recognized us – Will and I – in the picture, and my hands relaxed a bit. Especially when we went to his place hand-in-hand.
“I can’t believe you think I’m Miranda!” he yelled at me laughing. “It’s just because I’m a redhead, isn’t it?”
“Oh, give me a little more credit than that. I’ve been watching Sex and the City since I before I actually had sex! I’m an expert, and I think I know a Miranda when I see one.”
“Nah, I still think you’re just stereotyping,” he winked maliciously.
“I’m serious!” I said as I explained the Gospel according to Carrie to my new guy. “You’re a little more logical than Carrie. You’re less conservative than Charlotte. And you’re not as naughty as Samantha. I’m Carrie, because I’m a hopeless romantic who analyzes everything.”
“I’m still not convinced.”
“Well, you are less judgmental and bitter than Miranda. Maybe you’re Mr. Big,” I concluded, and smiled at the gayest thought of all: maybe he could be the Mr. Big to my Carrie, the modern Romeo to my Julio.
“Oh yeah?” he said with a devious smile. “Would Mr. Big do this?” After he asked that, he went to his iPod and started toying with it until I heard a sweet melody come from it. It took me a second, but I soon realized it was Moon River as sung by Andy Williams – and as featured in the Season Four finale of Sex and the City, when Mr. Big and Carrie dance together before he moves away. Will then extended his hand to me, inviting me to dance.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I said with my mouth open. It had been my romantic fantasy of the last five years to dance exactly that song with a guy exactly like William. He smiled and I couldn’t help it and slow danced with the mind-reading witch.
Call me a fool, but this guy was worth a leap – or a few leaps – on that romantic night.
TO BE CONTINUED