June-New York-Wednesday by kat chua
On the corner of a landmark East Village Church, the park benches are filled. Mostly of drunks, couples, and drunken couples. As they sit parked on this June-New York-Wednesday night, twin sisters are working out with their grotesquely buff trainer. The benches line the corner of the block, running down two sides; with the church gates they complete an isosceles triangle. The twins, their yoga mat, workout ball and testosterone o.d.-ing trainer are center-stage for all the benchwarmers to pretend to ignore. We are sitting on the benches that run parallel to the cross-town bus, the M8 to be exact. Roy and I have been seeing each other for a month. With my left leg intertwined on his, we sit in the midst honking cars, barking dogs, and madmen without a generations. We listen to a duct-taped cassette recorder playing: May 11, 2006, Saturday Rainstorm. (Yes, I record rainstorms). It is lulling Roy to sleep. With my head pressing the recorder in place on his right shoulder, and nuzzling underneath the stubble of Roy's goat-tee, I shut my eyes in nostalgia of the future; I imagine we are alone, that Roy isn't leaving in two months, that this is NOT just a summer fling. I imagine we are in love. God apparently listens to imagination. At least for this evening: Alvin is six feet tall with dark chocolate skin. Wearing a Hawaiian like maroon shirt, he parks his mildly drunken state next to us. Mild mannered and seeming to mean no harm, he immediately turns to Roy and me. "Don't let her boss you around. You're the man! We smile with alert eyes."But be good to her. She's beautiful. Hang on to her, you hear me?" I squeeze Roy's hand, which is draped over my right shoulder. I am entertained and in agreement with Alvin. "I will," responds Roy, who is seemingly both curious and humored. "No. You gotta understand. Let me tell it to you straight. I'm older than you and I'm giving you advice you should take. Look at her." Alvin gestures with his hands waving in the air. "Yes. She is beautiful," whispers Roy. I squeeze Roy's hand. "But the important part is that you hang on to her." With speed, I say, "Yes! Hang on to me Roy. Don't let me go because--I know it's--only been a month. I know I'm younger than you. I know you're older-- whatever--I just--Hang on to me Roy and don't let go, because as cliche as this may sound, you're the one I've been looking for. Give us a chance to fall madly in love." I scream these words in my head. Electricity runs through my body. On the outside I am composed, because-well, let's be honest, we have only known each other for a month and we're in public; I'm not one for that kind of attention. This is a lie. Alvin begins his tale, "Let me tell you. I was married once. Two and half years. Boy did that woman love me." Roy and I smile with hints of concern that Alvin's story would not have a happy ending.         "She loved me so much that she lied. Didn't tell me she had cancer 'til two weeks before she died. Tells me "honey, the doctors have given me three weeks to live...three weeks." Alvin's eyes roll towards the sky, "Three weeks." He shakes his head in shame. "She had stage-four cancer." I quietly whisper, "I'm sorry," and think of the recent lives lost in Roy's world and mine. With his eyes coming down from the sky, Alvin continues, "I wanted to hug her and keep her safe, in the time she had left. I told her-I promised her that I wouldn't leave her side." Alvin shifts his body, which has taken me this long to realize, is aged and worn. "You know what she said to me?" His eyes glimmering, reflecting the streetlight hovering over us, probably also listening to Alvin. "Make love to me," she says, "just like you did last night." Can you believe that? You know what I did? There is moment of silent wonder in the air before Alvin declares, "I hit that ass! Man we made love like-I mean I had that woman hollering. Now I'm a big man! Penis wise, ya see? Humored, embarrassed, and recovering from the Alvin's change of tune, Roy and I shift in our seats. Alvin notices our discomfort in the periphery of his mild drunkenness and vivid description of making love to his wife. He smiled, "just hang on to her man." His eyes gesture toward me. I squeeze Roy's hand. Roy replies, "I will." He squeezes my hand. As we pry our June-New York-sweat from the benches and head for the train, we walk in comfortable silence. No doubt we were both thinking about Alvin, his wife, his trials, us; individually, together. Roy places his palm to cup my forehead. He knows this calms me. I wrapped my arms around his waist, placing myself under his arms. I squeeze him, giggle, and smile, in a way that Roy calls mischievous. He smiles. I am 5'2"and he is 6'3", we are a perfect fit.
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