The Day We Met Again

I didn’t feel like meeting with Drew. Nothing against him; I was simply tired. More tired than I had been the day before. I couldn’t sleep because of chatty Georgie. I loved Georgie, inarguably the best roommate in my entire life: we were kindred souls. Unfortunately, our chatter seemed to know no boundaries and he kept me awake until way past 5 a.m. that day.

Laundry, luggage, groceries for my other two, mentally unstable roommates; rent in NYC was too expensive for it to just be me and Georgie; it was a vicious cycle that plagued my generation. I couldn’t just wait for Drew to respond to me; I had errands to run before my big move. It was poetic irony. Headed back to the nest I swore I’d never return to. Nonetheless, I was determined to chase seem dream that kept blurring itself between a man I hadn’t seen in years to becoming the man the world wanted to see.

“How about we meet at the venue?” Drew finally responded to me as I was nowhere near done with my errands.

“I’ll text you when I’m on my way,” I responded.

After finishing my grocery-run with Georgie, I made my way to the L-line. I boarded the subway, congested with different faces but the same stench that I had somewhat grown accustomed to; another poetic irony as I would never become accustomed to the stench of my other two unstable roommates.

I couldn’t understand what was happening. Maybe I was mentally unstable myself; I had felt unstoppably driven the day before: from self-tapes, virtual auditions, to paid interviews, I was hustling yet avoiding the grueling process of working at restaurants, bars, or any other soul-crushing job. This evening, I just felt tired.

I walked through the city for about nine minutes, taking in the skyscrapers, bustling people, and general aggressiveness between 8th and 10th avenue. I couldn’t release the ifs and maybes of…maybe I should stay. Nonetheless, I had a dream! If only the vision could stay consistent.

I reached the hotel soon enough.

“Go up to the fourth floor, make a right, make another right, and give my name to the guy at the box office.”

I read Drew’s text message, but delayed my entrance for a few minutes. I looked at the view from that fourth floor; skyscrapers, Manhattan skyline, the New York City dream. Was this a part if my vision worth committing to? Was returning to LA the devil in disguise?

“Hello, Drew,” Drew said to me. My name was actually Drew, his was Andrew but asked to be called Drew by everyone. I loathed being called Drew by anyone, him included.

I got there early enough for us to catch up, even though it had only been a week since we last met. Drew was a kind, neurotic soul, though in his mind, he was simply a perfectionist. I told him about my past Sunday, and the man I had met. No, not the man occupying my thoughts at that moment; this man was worthless to me, just like I had been worthless to him after our transactional date consisting of various fluids.

“What a jerk, I’m so sorry,” Drew responded to my anecdote of my time with this man. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t feel used; for all worthless as this man was to me, I did give him something, even if I didn’t know the extent of this something.

“Are you familiar with a cabaret?” Drew asked me two minutes before the show started; Drew also had touches of condensation to complement his neurotic, kind soul.

“I am,” I answered as the lights dimmed. The man performing, Joey, came onstage. He looked at all of us, a joyful gleam in his eyes. He sparkled, either because of his musical spirit starting to ignite as his fans looked in anticipation, or due to the makeup and sweat blending together. Regardless, all eyes were on Joey, including my own.

As so I listened to Joey for the next seventy minutes, even when the program promised us seventy-five; I listened and heard every word off every lyric he recited, and nonetheless, I was looking at a completely different man. Not the man I had a transactional exchange a week back; I was looking at a man I hadn’t seen in years, but who I was seeing in countless men that day.

I enjoyed the performance as it allowed me to disengage from those around me without being held accountable. I didn’t feel particularly moved by Joey’s performance, not even when he, teary-eyed, dedicated a song to his dead sister who was his best friend. At least he could say he had a best friend, or friend period, in a family member. It did, however, remind me of my grandmother, who if the dates lined up, I had lost around the time Joey lost his sister. If only my grandma passing could consistently fuel my art the way it did for Joey. Perhaps it’s because, unlike Joey, I constantly reminded myself of the day we’d met again.

“Did you enjoy that?” Drew asked me, eyes filled with prim zealousness, only seconds after the performance ended.

“I did, it was wonderful,” I lied. I sat, needing to pee but also afraid of offending Drew in doing so immediately after the show. I did, however, need to make it to a virtual job interview, the interview that would serve as a catalyst to my return trip to LA.

“I’m going to just hangout here for bit now; I want to say high to Joey, but don’t want to overwhelm him. Let me introduce you to the Harry Potter-looking guy over there.” I stood up and followed Drew; he loved taking the lead. Little did he know I followed his lead because I was too tired not to, not because he had power over me.

“Hello, Ethan and Christopher,” Drew said as he quickly forgot to introduce me to both men . Ethan reminded me of my friend Tim back home, who also pursued the New York dream at one point but became disillusioned by the elite, seemingly shallow aspect of the social circles he ran with; ironically, Tim would actively seek this out in LA to the point where it defined his personality. The Harry Potter-looking guy, this man; we had met before.

He looked identical to that man I hadn’t seen in years, almost a lifetime ago. That man who was, by all personality accounts, bred in New York but found his way to LA before we met.

“Hi, I’m Christopher,” he finally introduced himself, or better put, reintroduced himself. The were one in the same; same height, same black, wavy hair, and a charming smile. With only one exception; Christopher’s eyes exuded life, while the one before exuded the heaviest pain imaginable. Even so, we had met again.

“I have to get going, family call,” Drew said as the remaining guests crowded around Joey to congratulate him on his performance.

“I have to do that virtual interview, so I will walk you out,” I said to Drew, despite my eyes begging me to stay with Christopher. I wanted nothing more in that moment. I couldn’t let go of that man after finding him again.

“We’re going to a nearby bar, a queer establishment, I believe, to celebrate Joey,” Christopher said as Drew and I were about to say our goodbyes. An extension of our time together, I thought to myself.

“You know, Christopher is in that movie you wanted to go see tonight before I bought tickets for Joey’s show,” Drew whispered in my ear. I had indeed suggested a movie, because I would always suggest a movie over a live performance; I was born and bred in LA, after all.

So, curiosity got the best of me and I googled Christopher; Christopher Paige Thomas.

Not only had he been in two box offices successes in the past year, he had slowly built a name for himself in Netflix miniseries and had started in Broadway, holding a Tony.

That didn’t matter; all that held my eye was that he was born one day and a year after the man before him; they were almost one-in-the-same.

“This is where we bid you goodnight,” Drew said as the group was a few feet ahead of us while Christopher, Drew, and I had walked elbow-to-elbow. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. Not again. I couldn’t let life circumstances take me away from him again.