Dysphoria part three

Shrignold gives me a sampling of some of his large plates, and we laugh and have a great meal together.

It is the best night of my life and I don’t want it to end. I can tell he doesn’t want it to end either because I already paid the bill(I offered and he graciously accepted), and we are just drinking coffee and talking, and I’m still thinking of when he touched my hand.

“Well, are you headed back home after this?” He asks me, a wistful look on his face, or maybe that’s what I wish to see.

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Yes. Would it be too much to call you? Or was that purely a business number?” He asks me leaning toward me closer across the table.

“Nope. Not at all. That’s my personal number, mate, call me anytime.”

He gives me a searching look and says with a devious smile, “You always give out your personal number to random people?”

My eyes widen and I blush, “Oh, uh… no…”

“Hah, I’m teasing you, Warren, don’t worry,” and I laugh but it’s nervous.

“I—I knew that,” I place my hand over the back of my neck and rub it self consciously.

“Course you did, you cheeky eagle,” he says, and I purse my lips together. He must’ve seen my title on the invitation as I put it on the bottom with my email and our business contact information.

We leave the restaurant after a bit more banter and go our separate ways after a half hug, and he waves, fluttering off into the night air like a mysterious and beautiful Angel.

“Hope to see you very soon, Warren!” He calls out and I wave back.

“Me too! Call me!” I say and he nods.

“Will do!”

I definitely feel a pulling at my chest when he leaves as I wanted to be with him longer, and with the way that hug felt and how his felt on mine in the diner, it felt reciprocal, though this was such a new thing for me that I wasn’t sure.

I rush home and wait for his call, pacing back and forth in a anxious way.

God that butterfly man was so cute and funny and wonderful. Almost too good to be true, and my first real friend! I keep rushing my mind back to our meeting and how floored I was by his stunning eyes and exquisite form.

His perspective on love and friendship aligned with my own as well as far as I could tell and he seemed very interested in community, respect and being a responsible member of society.

I just hoped that I wasn’t misreading anything.

But these lingering feelings I have sinking from my chest down to my abdomen, down to even… lower regions… it feels so right. Mainly, it’s warming in my heart.

***

That night of eating dinner at that old school diner with my new friend Shrignold was the start of a great friendship and we talked about anything and everything together, calling each other everyday and seeing each other whenever we were free. I told him freely about how My mum and I were terribly bullied by my dad until he left (I was about ten), and how much I delved into my studies and books since no one ever liked me. He always would have this contemplative yet growing anger in his features as I would tell him about it, until he’d say, “If anyone ever tried to hurt you in front of me, or make you feel bad, I’d toss them into the eternal flame of Malcom’s volcano.”

Which made me feel good but also terrified. What volcano? Was that a metaphor or a real one?

He told me more of his life and his early years, of how his family were repressed and kept things in such a strange orderly way, so perfect and demanded so much of their son, their only child, Shrignold. He always felt the need to branch off and discover what he needed in this life to find his destiny, and explained more in detail about his commitment to his community and their relationship to a God that I was very wary of, and didn’t trust. Malcom, a gravel eating love King. Now he was their leader, as he found a new lease on life and in general, a family in a sense.

It sounded absolutely ludicrous but who was I to tell him it wasn’t real?

I asked him if he was happy and of course he said yes.

But, then we got to the subject of the “Special One,” again. I hadn’t asked him specifically about it though he had brought it up to me. He was ranting a bit about ethics and marriage when he stated how the special one was the perfect fit.

“So, Shrignold, what is that? The special one?” I asked him as we took a morning walk in the park one Saturday (in case your wondering the skate mixer was a bust and no one came but Shrignold. We ended up having a blast trying to skate as I taught him how to the best I could… it turned out funny and very nice). “I remember you said that you were going to help that little yellow boy with finding him one once he got older…”

Shrignold’s wings fluttered a bit and settled near his back, and he nodded heavily.

“Yes. That’s true… but he didn’t want to see what we could help him with after that duck and red spaghetti dad came in and interfered..” he grumbled, and looked down, kicking at a rock.

“Goldie?” I asked, a nickname I fashioned for him in a pleasant manner. He seemed to like it and really beamed a big smile when I called him that.

“Yes, my dear?” He grinned.

“You were saying? About the special one?”

“Ah, yes,” he stood up straighter and sighed. “Well, in simplest terms, a special one is your most important and perfect match. Your love match, your ultimate person. They fit you like a puzzle and they mirror you like a real reflection. Like they are you, but a different person. It’s Malcom’s way to show natural emotions and beauty. A man and a woman together, forever. With a ring, of course.”

I feel my heart sink so lowly, it’s like a heavy rock in my belly, and I can’t speak. All my previous hopes and dreams and possible outcomes between us —

All gone. Disappeared. Kaput. Zero.

“Oh. Good. That’s nice,” I say finally, and my voice sounds so stupidly small.

Shrignold heard it though, and stops walking.

“You… you okay, Warren?”

“Hmm.. yes. So, will…” I swallow my pain and ask the whole Question even as I know the answer. “Do you have a special one?”

He shook his head. “Not yet, but I have soooo much pressure to find one from my parishioners and higher level members to get one, as I am a very important Leader.” He looks over and me and clears his throat.

“How do you know when you found them?”

“You just know, you know?” He says softly, and walks over to the bench that we first met at, and sits down. I can’t help but feel oddly, as it seems intentional that he sat there. I go over and sit next to him.

“They make you feel safe. Warm, always at home even if you’re miles away from your actual house, and speaking…” he moves in closer and our legs touch. “Speaking with them, it feels like a warm hearth, and a great warm homemade stew… and everything feels so comfortable and perfect.”

His words make me smile and we sit next to each other in silence after awhile.

His hands creep near mine.

This time, I grab his hand, and hold it tight, and we both sigh deeply, looking at the crisp morning, thinking about life and how complicated we often make things for ourselves.