I was told once that i was beautiful
and I looked away.
I laughed and tried to change the subject. Taking my face in his hands, he told me that when i was gone, he could feel and see things I had opened his eyes to. Things through my eyes, he said--in creeping moss, in the way the hair curls at the back of a sleeping baby's neck, in the many things that other people walk by or look past in the search for conventional beauty, in things not found in guilded frames or cheapened by mass production. It takes someone of beauty, he said, to bring beauty and to make someone see it where they never have. it was the first compliment i ever believed.
At first I was peeved that the ringing telephone had knocked me offline.
"Hello?"
"Hey, it's me." Javi! i've missed you how are you where've you been
"Wow. What's up?"
"Can you meet me at the club?"
"Javi--I worked a double, man. I'm tired. How long will you be in town?"
"Angel--please."
sigh...
"I'll be there in thirty minutes."
"Cool. I'll be there. Thanks, Angel."
Twenty five minutes later, I had parked my car and I could hear The Smiths from across the street as a couple opened the door to leave.
Javi is sitting by the bar at a table. He is extremely tall and, some would say, too thin. His eyes have dark circles and his pallor is intensified by the blacklights. To see him, though, is good and the thought of what a jerk I am for making him ask twice for me to meet him flits through my mind. He smiles and is beautiful. The most touching compliment I ever received came from him and now, I know exactly what he meant.
He leans close to speak over the music...
"Do you remember the fortune?"
Years before, after dinner, Javi and I sat sipping hot tea and comparing fortune cookie wisdom. I don't remember mine but his said 'sometimes goodbye is sweeter than hello'. It didn't make much sense at the time. I don't see how it makes sense now.
"It's gone, Angel."
For just a second I'm confused. Then--the music seems to fade away, the people dancing to the music seem to be moving in slow motion and his smile upon seeing that I understand is the most beautiful thing I've seen in a long time...
it--the
nightmare that crept, like a monster from the closet
it--
cancer
it--
chemo
it--hoping against but planning for death
It's gone and that short statement makes perfect sense.
The fortune cookie makes sense.
"I'm sorry I missed your birthday, but I want you to have this. I know
how you get. The next time you get in one of those funks, take this out. Things change."
In the parking lot, I kissed his cheeks, held him close and through tears of joy and ennui, said goodbye.
Someone told me once "fortune cookies are wise."
Indeed.