Two Distinct Knocks

The sounds of cutlery clinking china mingled with the low bass thumping through the speakers as people shouted cheek to cheek not really saying anything. Sitting alone, he stared over the white tablecloth, wrinkled, and folded from patrons’ knees as it blotted with spots of red wine. Seven empty chairs encircled half eaten chicken plates and lipstick smudged water glasses. His name plate remained in front of his table setting. Under his name, engraved into the heavy ivory card stock was the word, “SINGLE”. His gaze bounced from the table number, “23”, to the other identifying placards lazily keeping their places. The island of misfit toys, he thought to himself, picking up his scarlet letter and running his fingertip over the words.

Tossing the card next to the chocolate cake infused with orange from which a single bite had been taken, he looked up into the night sky and, for the first time that evening, felt just how late in Autumn it was. He flipped his hand around to look at his wrist, a silver metal link band clasped the midnight blue face with two white hands – 11:13 p.m. – acceptable. He stood checking his pockets for his phone, wallet, and room key, all of which were accounted for. Searching for the bride and groom, he made his way across the dance floor to table number “3” where the aunts and uncles were seated.

Reaching out for a hug and smiling, he said, “Great ceremony bro, just incredible.” Both he and his best friend of twenty years aggressively slapped each other’s back - a unique indication of love. Then he reached out to shake the hand of a woman he had only met the day before but would now be a permanent fixture in both of their lives, and he had neither choice nor control in the matter.

“Gwen, incredible, look at you, spectacular! Take care of my man here, ok…OK!” he pointed at her moving his hand back and forth in jest. The bride smiled wide laughing and shaking her head. He could not discern her genuineness in this exchange – truthfully, in the moment, he cared very little.

“Love you man, love you both…” spreading his arms wide and shouting, “You gotta love the love!” With that, he made his way to the rooftop elevator hitting the cold brass indicator button pointing down. Reaching into his left coat pocket he donned a navy-blue cloth mask with small brown bowties that looked like polka dots from any kind of distance. Times, they sure are a-changin. Swiping his key card on the infrared scanner he hit the button for the fourth floor, then as the doors closed, he quickly hit “L” as he remembered that he had forgotten his toothbrush.

He put the tops of both his hands inside the pockets of his navy slacks pushing his jacket to the rear. His eyes slowly moved around the lobby taking in the original hardwood oak floors, strange hanging tapestries and an odd circular purple velvet couch. I guess it’s a couch. Without knowing it, he shrugged to himself. As the line moved forward his attention turned to the woman in front of him. She had natural chaotic hair that somehow seemed perfectly in place. Next to her on the ground was a generic black carryon suitcase, save for one of the wheels. The original small plastic one had been exchanged for a caster that was clearly the wrong size, causing the bag to sit lopsided. He stared for far too long.

“It busted on the baggage claim carousel in Denver a few years back,” she lifted her shoulders in capitulation as his eyes worked their way up from the red rug to her black pumps, exposed calves, ivory lace dress, mocha neck, blue medical mask, finally settling on her remarkably unique eyes.

His lips were pursed under his face shield as he bobbed his head slightly, “that’s nice craftsmanship, I’d say NASA should be calling anytime now.” Her eyes narrowed indicating either a frown or a smile.

“I already turned em down – I’m going private sector, taking Bezos’s phallic projectile for a ride.”

“HA!” he involuntary breathed out.

“I’ll catch ya around.” He just lifted his hand like a scarecrow, too taken to say anything back.

Walking up the stairs it sounded like the whole building was bemoaning his weight. His left hand gently clasped around the oversized taupe brown bristled wand as his right hand pulled on the eon’s old banister, he wondered, why are hotel toiletries so awful, look at this thing, it’s like a World War II relic. Cresting the last stair on the fourth floor, his mind meandered back to the astronaut he had just met.

Having removed his orange flecked brown jacket, he stood in the center of an otherwise empty room. He sat on the foot of the bed and unlocked his phone screen to google the name of the mutation when people have two different eye colors. His right thumb scrolled through images of people with heterochromia, and in a completely uncharacteristic move, he picked up his hotel phone, dialed 313, and waited.

“Hello?” she answered concerned and confused.

After a brief silence, “Oh, uh, yeah,” then inexplicably he sang, “hellloooo,” either as Lionel Richie or Adele or neither since he was tone deaf.

“Um, okay,” she shook her head once in confused amazement.

“I didn’t really have a plan for if you picked up, I didn’t even think this would work, I thought it was something you see in movies, I didn’t think the phones actually called the other rooms, so, um, yeah.”

“Uh huh, a failure to plan is a plan to fail my man, surely you learned that in your days as a boy scout,” without knowing it, she was scratching the back of her head.

“Oh, right, one of the two things in life that I quit – boy scouts and church, or religion, or all of it,” he was looking up to his right trying to create some train of thought.

“Sounds like you shoulda stuck with it, this is going badly for you.”

“Ha,” he chuckled nervously, “what’s something you quit? Not a job, or a relationship, but something in life you quit.”

“Wow, you’re really limiting my options there, bub.”

“I was just trying to make it easier for you.”

“Oh, I see, thank you soooo much for making this easier on me.”

“Not like that, shit, I just…”

“Hush child -- something I quit…” she clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth as if it was helping her think, “pregnancy, when I was twenty-three, I had an abortion – wrong guy, wrong time – right choice.” The line went silent for exactly thirteen seconds.

“I’m sorry,” he floundered, “not like, I’m sorry because I’m judging you, I’m not, not even a little, just that was pretty heavy, and I don’t have anything to say back, and just - that’s not quitting boy scouts!” he raised his voice in the hopes of showing a sincere attempt at humor. “Look I won’t keep you on the line for long, I’m surprised you gave me this much time, but,” he paused and thought, “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, exit your room carrying your ice bucket, fill it to the brim, do.not.skimp.on.the.ice, climb one flight of stairs, come to room 411, knock distinctly two times and two times only – that way I know it’s you and not some serial killer.”

“Right now, only one person seems like a serial killer on this phone call.” Staring at himself in the mirror he smiled at her remark.

“I don’t expect you’ll come, but what if you do, what if you do, I’ll be prepared – don’t forget the ice.” The line went to dial tone and she hung up.

He’s insane, I can’t go. Then she put on a pair of baggy black sweatpants with elastic just below the knee and an oversized white cotton v-neck that hung off her right shoulder and knifed into her almost cleavage. It was not meant to be seductive or becoming, it was simply the only thing she had. She grabbed her room key and ice bucket, looked in the mirror once, pushed her hair off her forehead, scoffed at herself and exited the room. Halfway down the hall she stopped, did an about face, pushed her hair back again, turned 180 degrees and went to fill the ice bucket to the brim.

Thump – Thump!

His head turned instantly to the door, he threw his phone on the bed-side table, sprung to his feet and slid across the wooden floor. “Serial killer or astronaut?”

She looked down, bit her finger, choked down a laugh, and said, “the first one.”

He opened the door and immediately touched his face, “Oh, I’m sorry, would you prefer I wear a mask, I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry.”

“I think we’re agreeing to risk it tonight, eh pal,” she said placing her cloth protector on the antique dresser as she entered his room for a brief inspection. “Nice place you got here, pretty similar to one floor down.” She turned, with her hands in her pockets, to face him. He momentarily gasped for air that seemed absent. She was petite with a large Roman nose that fit her face unbelievably well and connected to a faint scar, the remnants of multiple surgeries in her first eighteen months on the planet to “fix” a cleft lip. “Gratitude of chromosomal mutations,” shrugging gently her eyes looked toward the ground.

“Call them what you like, I think you’re an absolute vision.” All he saw were imperfections working in perfect unison manifesting natural human beauty. “You say mutations like it’s a bad word.”

“People haven’t always seen it the way you seem to, my man.”

“I wouldn’t call any of this a mutation – maybe,” he looked up and to his right, then back down into her unidentical blue and green eyes, “impossibly unique examples memorializing the essence of you.”

Blood rushed to her cheeks, smirking while leaping back first onto the tightly made bed, “Easy with the smooth talk bro, that’s a little too intense a little too fast.”

“Ah, you’re right, I’m sorry, sorry.”

Her hands fell across her abdomen pressing the thin fabric against her body exposing the outline of her nipples. He turned his gaze away quickly and thought, nipples get us, guys are so easy – dudes don’t have anything like this.

“Three rules,” he held up three fingers on his right hand, “one, no names, two, we don’t speak about our current employment, and three, we answer truthfully to any question asked.”

“Staying true to the generational anonymity we find ourselves in across the virtual platforms – well why not, may as well bring it into real life for a night, I’m in.”

“Can I offer you anything? I have coffee, even though I don’t know how to make it, a bottled water that I prefer not to open because it probably costs $15, a tiny cup I can fill from the tap, and, let me see, did you bring it, yes, ice!”

She exhaled a single laugh, “I’m good for now.”

“So, where are you from, not like Tucson or Dallas, I mean what’s your background. Shit, is that racist, fuck.”

Her mouth went up into a point on the right side, “I guess it depends, would you ask a white chick with blonde straight hair the same question?”

He thought for a moment, “Yes, absolutely, without a doubt.”

“Then it’s only mildly racist, and I don’t know, I was adopted out of foster care at age three.”

He blinked three times fast and at that very moment John Denver’s “Sunshine” started to play on the smart speaker he had forgotten was on.

“What’s this?”

“Oh, um, my dad listened to John Denver when I was a kid and I’ve just kind of gotten back into it the older I get.” He seemed apologetic for no real reason. “It has a nice sentiment anyway – the song I mean.” She nodded and briefly listened.

“What brought you here tonight”

“Wedding, one of my best friends tied the knot.”

“Best man?”

“Nah, didn’t even make the bench as a groomsman, but I was happy to be there. Rooftop ceremony and reception, kinda cool.”

“Casual affair?” she pointed to his mustard sweater and no tie.

“It’s the new world we live in, comfortability for all, no one must feel put out or unheard.” He was sitting in an old wooden chair in a dark corner of the room next to a window draped with olive green curtains. “I’m going to say something that will sound insensitive, and perhaps that’s exactly what I’m being, but since Vietnam we’ve faced very little struggle in our lives. Did you know we only had around 2,000 combat deaths from the War in Afghanistan? I’m not saying those lives weren’t important, what I’m saying is, Americans haven’t faced real adversity in a long time – and it seems to be manifesting itself in our new ideology.”

“You do know I’m a black female who was adopted out of foster care, like we’ve covered all that, right.”

He smiled and rubbed his hands together. “No, I know. You know my father, whom I love and respect deeply, is very concerned his America is being taken away. I hope his America is being taken away – but it’s still okay to work a bit, ya know.”

She straightened her arms and found the pillow against the headboard with her back. “I think white America fails to understand the gravity of the situation, and I think that’s because they’re just as scared now of losing,” she used air quotes, “'their America' as they ever were in the 1860’s and 1960’s. Our generation of white people act like gerrymandering and Jim Crowe is a new thing, it’s an American past time, but for the first time in a long while people like me finally have a voice that’s being heard.”

He listened to her intently, watching her lips and tongue make the sounds of truth. “I don’t disagree, I recognize how lucky I am for my privilege every day. I do get worried by everyone thinking they’re so individually important. Our contemporaries have cheapened every major event in life. Here’s a dumb example, the standing ovation. We give a standing ovation at every damn performance, whether it’s a shitty middle school band concert, or the best show we’ve ever seen on Broadway – so now it means nothing, and you could say the same thing about high school graduation, college degrees, and all the other that-a-boys we give out so easily.”

“The disgruntled white man joins the ranks of his elders.” They laughed together as the old-style alarm clock ticked over to 1:09 am and his playlist clicked over to Michael Jackson’s Billy Jean.

“Heeeyyy, now this is where it’s at.” She began to bounce her head and shoulders up and down. He was mimicking her movements in his chair across the room. She got up and summoned him with both index fingers to rise and dance as her hips swayed to the beat. She pulled him off the chair by both hands and he began to pop to the rhythm. “You can move a little – you know, for a man of such, what were your words, privilege.”

He laughed once and she stared into his golden-brown eyes, “I’m just trying to keep up,” he whispered into her ear. She turned resting her back against his chest. He felt her hands tickling the outside of his thighs as she moved her hips with his.

“Too bad MJ carries all the baggage, ya know, god, if it could have just been the music he left behind, instead of a line of victims,” her hand was reaching around his neck as he was wrapping his around her waist. She smelled of sweetened grapefruit and eucalyptus. He found it pungently intoxicating. He felt like time was standing still, like the World had stopped on its axis and they were the only two bodies in motion.

Billy Jean’s beat softened into Human Nature, and she turned to face him. He looked into her mesmerizing eyes and felt her scar graze his moistened top lip. His hands reached around the small of her back as he pressed her frame into his. Their tongues entered each other’s mouths, wet and warm. Her hands worked down both his shoulders and the back of his triceps, she was taken with a physique that had yet to reveal itself. Her hands slipped beneath his sweater until he stood bare chested. She backed away a step or two, their silhouettes reflected in the wall mirror above the ice bucket now dripping with condensation. She reached down crossing her arms to remove her shirt, but he stopped her – kissed her again, slowly, intently. She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the sky as he caressed her feminine neck with his lips.

He reached over and grabbed a piece of ice. “You know, I didn’t have real plans for the ice, I just thought the chances were higher you’d show up if presented with an actual task,” smiling he placed the ice cube on the tip of his tongue as he slipped her shirt over her head holding it around her wrists restricting her hand movement. Smirking she played along, opening her mouth, and feeling the intense temperature differences.

Her shirt fell to the floor as he explored her body with his ice infused tongue. She was pressed against the dresser as the mirror exposed her full-length back tattoo wrapping around her rib cage and disappearing into her pants on the side of her hip. Her nipples already piqued, hardened fully with the frozen water melting in concentric circles around them.

Gripping the loose-fitting pants, he slowly pulled down as she stepped free. Her hand pushed his head between her legs, and she moaned with pleasure as his flattened tongue worked around, over, and between. He rose to meet her eyes and she pushed him forcefully onto the bed. Then slowly she removed his pants and climbed atop his naked body.

Her ink came to life rolling and rocking as she moved her body with an unrelenting rhythmic pleasure. Sitting upright, she was fully exposed to the world around her. It was as if with each movement she felt small shocks of electricity penetrate within, scattering through her body like spiderwebs.

Every sensation was intensely magnified for him. He sat up to meet her lips and she felt him deeper inside her. As they kissed it was if the sky above opened shooting lightning bolts and pouring rain over them. The speed of their bodies did not increase, instead they relished in the glory of each second they were connected. She wrapped her arms and legs around his muscular shoulders and waist as their bodies quaked with ecstatic relief.

Then, he lay back, and she on him, for what must have been a lifetime. “You got a bit too intense again,” she whispered out of breath.

“I’m just glad your killer instinct hasn’t taken over yet,” he breathed back.

“In due time my man, in due time.”

As the sun shone through half open drapes his eyes fluttered open. His hand searched the bed for another body to no avail. He sat up, naked, then stood looking for any hints of the astronaut. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he went to brush his teeth with the hotel provided dental tool. Shoulda got her name, he shook his head in disbelief.

Packing his small canvas weekender bag, he grabbed his jacket and felt something crumble in the left pocket. Reaching in he pulled out a single piece of hotel stationary.

What’s the point of life if you don’t break a few rules every now and then? While I assume you don’t care, in case you do:

Name: Matilde (after a distant grandmother I never met, but I’m told was influential with the underground railroad)

Employment: NASA Astronaut (true story)

That should be enough. Now go struggle a bit, lord knows you need to.

He put the stationary back into the pocket it came from, descended the four flights of stairs to the lobby, turned in his key-card, and exited the double glass doors to the world awaiting.