JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW
“Jamal Jones, w--”
“You’re depressed again, aren’t you?” Addison, or Addis, how I like to call my best friend and assistant, interrupts my greeting.
“No, I’m not.” I don't know why I deny it, maybe because I’m trying to convince myself that I’m ok, or that this time, the excruciating memories didn’t cause me as much pain as they did the last time, but what can change in a few hours?
“You answered your phone without looking who’s calling, so, you’re depressed.” He states, making a point, and a valid one because I usually look before I answer any calls.
“How is the family gathering?” I try to put the spotlights on him, even though I don’t think it's gonna work.
“Jamal, darling, don’t you try this reverse psychological thing on me. It’s not working.” I sigh heavily, not knowing what to say, and not wanting to talk about it.
“I’ll be fine as soon as I get out of this... Hell of a city.”
“I was thinking about that, and I want to talk to you, but please hear me out until the end before you get all crazy, ok?” His voice is pleading and that worries me right now.
“I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t wan--”
“Jamal, please, for me. Just listen.” He pleads, and I roll my eyes in defeat even though he can’t see me.
“Fine, but I don’t pro--”
“Perfect.” He interrupts me, making me chuckle.
“So, as I was saying, I was thinking about your... predicament, and I think it would be for the best to seek him out and talk to hi--”
“Nope! No! No! No! I don’t even want to think about--”
“You promised you'd listen, so listen!” He demands in a firm voice that I don’t accept from anybody else, but, which makes me cave.
I mean, I can listen. I won’t do it even if someone puts a gun to my head and threatens to pull the trigger, but I will listen.
“Fine. Go on, tell me your terrible idea.” I said in a sarcastic voice, making him scoff.
Sometimes I regret telling him, like right now, but it wasn’t much of a choice at the time. It was three years ago on the date when I found them together, and as usual, I got drunk out of my ass, and when I was balling my eyes out, Addis happened to come to my place because I didn’t answer the phone and he had to give me some papers, and being drunk, I told him everything. Well, as much as I could considering the fact that I passed out, but, he forced everything out of me the second day.
“It’s not terrible, actually I think that it’s the best idea I ever came up with. You need closure, Jamal, you need to heal, and only by talking to him will you get it.” He tries to explain in a pleading voice, but I don’t even consider it. Not for a freaking millisecond.
“I got my closure when I saw them together, I don’t need more, and I’m healing just fine. Yes, I have days when I get a bit depressed, but not all the time, and I’m seeing people. It will pass, I just need a little more time.” I reply, not believing one word, but wanting to from the bottom of my shattered heart.
“Ok, I think it’s time to be brutally honest with you. Your one-night stands, which I bet you can count on one hand, don’t count as seeing people, and besides that, I don’t know how the guy looks exactly, but from what you’ve told me, don’t think that I didn’t notice that every guy match his description, and if they don’t have the right skin tone, or the right hair color, height, or eyes, you don’t even give them a shot to introduce themselves. It’s been ten years, Jamal, and you’re not even close to getting over him. You still call his name in your sleep, for God’s sake!” He snaps, and I want to say that it’s not true, that I've been with countless men, that it was just a coincidence that they all looked like him, or that I don’t call his name in my sleep, but we both know that I would be lying because he heard me a couple of times when we watched movies and I fell asleep, and the fact that I can count them, on one hand, is because I need to keep my reputation clean, and not be labeled as a sex-crazed gay, but again, it would be a lie.
But I still won’t seek him out.
“Ok, maybe you’re right--” And I’m interrupted by his loud, exaggerated scoff, which forces me to admit defeat.
“Fine! You’re right! Happy?” I snap, and I swear that I can see him beaming.
“Over the moon. So?”
“I won’t seek him out. What if they are together? I can’t see them, I can’t... I don’t know what I’ll do if... and I can’t... please, Addis... no.” I finish the pleading session with tears in my eyes, and with that familiar excruciating pain that rips me apart.
“Oh, Jamal, sweety... I’ve never been in love, but I can see and hear that you’re suffering, so you need to do something, anything that will help you heal. At least a little bit...” He pleads in a sympathetic voice, and I let myself fall on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, cursing the day I met him, while the tears that I struggled to keep from falling are now painfully rolling down my temples.
“I’ll try dating. For real this time... but I can see them, neither of them. I hate them too much to face them... and I’ll be better once I come back home. And who knows? Maybe Santa will come this year and give me someone that will truly love me, and who will be able to fix me...” I trail off with hope in my broken, pained, soul, but my mind is filled with disbelief.
“I hope so. I never wrote Santa a letter, but I swear that once we end the call I’ll find a pen and a piece of paper and write him one.” He says in a very determined tone of voice, and I chuckle, knowing that he’ll do it.
“Thank you, Addis. I have to go now because I still have a few things to pack, and I can’t wait to get out of here.” I say, relieved that I’m leaving, and wanting to do it as soon as possible.
“Ok. I’m gonna get started on that letter, and please, drive safely.”
“I always do,” I reply, and he scoffs, and I smile, knowing what’s coming.
“I really don’t understand you. You can buy a plane, you can use mine, but you choose to drive. Do you know how many crazy people are on the roads these days? No to mention those crazy kids that throw bricks from bridges, and the truck drivers--”
“Addis, I’ll be fine. You know that I hate flying, and it’s only a five-hour long drive.” I try to calm him down, but he tsks his tongue, and I bet that he’s also shaking his head in disapproval.
“Call me if something happens, and go and check your tires and engine before you--”
“Yes, mom, I will,” I say jokingly, and he chuckles softly.
“I’ll let you be then. See you in a few days.”
“Ok, see you.” I greet back, then let out a breath of relief when the call ends.
Seek him out. As if! I would rather die slowly and painfully!
I let out another breath of relief when I finish packing, then another one when I finish placing my bags in the trunk of my car, and as I am about to get inside the car, I see a man, who looks homeless, around 40, maybe less, but the cold and dirt make him look older.
He's wearing a dirty pair of ripped jeans, and not in a fashionable way, and a hoodie, but by the way he’s embracing himself, I would say that the hoodie doesn’t help much with the cold. And over the dirty hoodie, there's a dog tag hanging, which tells me that he’s a veteran.
“Sorry, sir. Could you maybe give me some change?” He asks through clenched teeth due to the cold, and I remember that my wallet is in my trunk, and as much as I want to help him, I gotta go.
“I’m in a hurry. Next time.”
“That’s ok. Drive safe.” He says with a pained smile and turns to go.
I look inside the car, knowing that if I drive now, the chances of meeting them are slimmer, but...
“Wait!” I call for him, not able to walk away without helping him in some way.
“What?” He asks as he turns around, and I gesture for him to follow me as I go towards the trunk and get my wallet out.
“I’m sorry for being rude. I just... this city doesn’t bring me nice memories.” I try to excuse myself as I take every dollar in my wallet and hand it to him, and his eyes go wide, looking at me puzzled.
“Sir, you gave me...” He trails off as he tries to count the money, but it’s not so easy due to his shaking hands, and not because he’s drunk because his breath is clean, but because he’s cold, and that makes me wanna punch myself for even thinking of refusing to help him.
“More than a thousand. It’s too much.” He says as he keeps one bill and wants to hand me the rest, but I refuse.
“It’s not too much.” His blue lips from cold curled into a grateful smile that reached his cerulean green eyes, and out of nowhere, he pulled me into a hug.
“You are a good man, and you’ll be repaid for your kind deeds.” He says in a smooth voice, and I almost chuckle humorlessly and tell him that actually, the saying that suits me is no good deed remains unpunished.
“Take care of yourself and go to a hotel and get some rest,” I say as we break the embrace, and he nods.
“I will, but first, I need to help someone that helped me.” He says, and I can’t help but smile seeing the kindness in his eyes and the willingness to help someone else when he needs every penny that I gave him.
“You know what? Take this as well...” I trail off as I take my Rolex off, and place it in his hand.
“First, with the money I gave you, go and buy some clean clothes, take a bath, and only after that, take the watch to a pawnshop. You should get around one hundred thousand dollars on it. But don’t go like this because they won’t pay you the right amount.” I say as I gesture to his poor clothing, and he looks at me shocked.
“Are you sure?” He asks as he looks at the watch, then at me, and I nod.
“Very,” I say, sure of the fact that by giving him the shot of putting his life together, he’ll help other people as well.
“Now, I really need to go, but it was a pleasure meeting you,” I say wholeheartedly, and he nods with a gentle smile and grateful eyes.
“Thank you, sir, I---”
“No. I thank you,” I interrupted him, pointing at the dog tag.
“Yes... but still... thank you.” He says in a truly grateful tone, and I nod, then walk towards the driver’s door to get inside the car and get the Hell away from here.
“Drive safely, sir.”
“Be safe yourself, and I wish you all the best, and a Merry Christmas,” I say wholeheartedly as I get inside the car, and he nods, then, as fast as I can, I turn the engine on and start driving away from this doomed city.
Maybe they moved, I don’t know, but I don’t think so.
Anyway, better safe than sorry.
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEWI make sure to take the route that’s the farthest from the ghettos because even though it’s snowing, and people wear hats and scarves to protect themselves from the cold wind and snow, I don’t want to drive around that place and risk seeing him, seeing them, and to be extra careful, I keep my eyes on the road, avoiding to look on the sidewalk or at other drivers, afraid that I’ll see them hand in hand... or...“God, I’ll go crazy here!” I exclaim as I realize just how paranoid I am, but still do not look around.The phone rings in the speakers of my car, and I see that it’s mom, but I’m not in the mood to talk to her right now, so I ignore it.Yes, she helped me tremendously during college, sending me at least five hundred dollars monthly, and giving me thirty thousand dollars when I finished so I could start my company, but that doesn’t mean that I forgot all those years of abuse, all the cold nights, the hunger, or the guys that she brought home, and some beat
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW“Hello, sir, what can I help you with?” A tiny guy, not taller than 5 ft 6, and not heavier than 110 pounds, with brown curls that fall over his brown eyes, asks me with a smile on his freckled face.“I have a flat tire, and some warning light popped up on the dashboard. I have to drive to Massachusetts, and I don’t want to--” I don’t get to say what my problem is because the guy’s eyes went wide, and interrupted me with a squeal and a high-pitched tone of voice.“You’re Jamal Jones! The billionaire, with the apps and games!” He exclaims enthusiastically, and on a normal basis I wouldn’t mind talking to him, but I’m in New fucking Jersey, and every minute spent here means more chances to see them, and I already had more delays than I wished for.“Yes, I am. Now please, I’m in a hurry.” I plead, trying to remain polite and not blow up because the poor guy did nothing to me, but as I said... gotta get out of here.“Yes, sorry. Bring the car in, and we’ll take care
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW The pain I felt when I heard Dee's name can’t be put into words. My eyes haven’t stung like this since the day I caught them. My insides, which were already broken, feel like they are put in a blender, which destroys me all over again, this time even worse if that’s even possible. I see Dee, or a blurred image of him, fact that tells me that I’m about to cry, and I bite my cheek hard in order not to and focus on the pain and the metallic taste of blood that floods my mouth, then close my eyes shut for a second to push the tears away, and without wanting, my eyes land on him again, examining him, trying to see what he has that I don’t, trying to figure out why Tristan chose him. We look different, but he’s also black, just a darker shade than me, he has a buzz cut, he's taller than me and even Tristan, and bigger, he always was. He's about 6 ft 6 and has around three hundred pounds of muscle. Maybe
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEWWe barely managed to carry him. Dee is way stronger than me, so he didn't have a problem, but I lost my breath, and my back hurt by the time we reached the destination. It's a decent-looking room that has a dark wooden table for six surrounded by six chairs, and a few feet away there’s a dark green sofa, where we lay him, and I, -unfortunately-, reluctantly let go of him, let go of his arm, which falls, touching the ground.For reasons I do not wish to discuss, I took his arm to place it on his broad chest, which moved as he breathed, and something got my attention.A tattoo that goes along the inside of his forearm.The date when we first met, when he rescued me from those bullies, is written in beautiful calligraphic numbers, which is followed by regular, strong heartbeats, then the date when I caught them together, but these numbers are ugly written and broken, and they are followed by erratic heartbeats which get further apart and smaller by every half an in
“You want to say how much he loved me,” I emphasize the word ‘loved’, and my heart stops again, my eyes land on Tristan, then I look back at Dee, hoping that he’ll contradict me.Is it possible that he still loves me?“J.J., he never touched anyone since then. I’m no doctor, but I think he developed a phobia because except for his kid, well, brother, his adoptive kid, who is Sean’s boyfriend, and me, he doesn’t even shake hands with anyone.” He explains, and I don’t even bother to hide the smile or the tears that are still rolling down my face to my neck, wetting my shirt.But Dee’s expression changed into a remorseful one as he continued talking.“I’m sorry... but it was so hard to see him crumble day by day, and after one year, I tried to convince him to try and get over you, go on dates, but I got myself a black eye. The second year, on my birthday, I managed t
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEWI rub my eyes to see if I’m seeing things, but the watch, money, and Santa's hat are still there, nicely placed on the seat. But to really be sure that the watch is mine, I turn it, and my eyes get even wider when I see my initials.J.J.Am I going crazy?But I know that I gave my watch and money to the homeless guy... but he was white... Santa was black... how?I get out of the car and run outside, even though I know that the possibility of seeing either of them is non-existent, but my brain needs answers. Logical answers, not fairy freaking answers.As expected, no one was there, or at least none of the men... with that thought, their eyes came into my mind. Cerulean green.But it can’t be... right? I mean, one was white and the other black... but the eyes... then the conversations...“I will, but first, I need to help someone that helped me.” Was the homeless guy talking about me?“I’ll make your biggest wish come true.” Santa’s voice echoes in my head over a
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW“Sir... I...” The shaky voice of the woman makes me turn, and out of nowhere, I get another hug, which I reciprocate with a smile.God, I got hugged today more than in the last five years. I hope I’ll get another hug... the most important of them all...“I wasn’t actually going to work...” The woman says as she pulls back and barely looks at me.“Ok...” I trail off, confused about why she’s telling me this, and after she wipes the rest of her tears, she continues with a guilty voice and guilty eyes.“I switched shifts with a coworker, that’s why I wouldn’t have been able to spend Christmas at home... and today... now... I should have gone to... God...” She trails off as she looks away nervously, fidgeting with her hands, then she opens her mouth to continue, but nothing comes out, and she looks at me apologetically as if she’s sorry that she can’t finish the sentence.“You don’t have to tell me if--”“No. I want to. I want you to know what you did today...” I loo
TRISTAN'S POINT OF VIEWI wake up with the familiar headache and the excruciating heartache that for ten years only increases.“Hey, T., are you ok?” Dee asks with a smile on his face while sitting on the end of the sofa, and I shake my head as in no but regret it as soon as I do because my brain feels like it’s stabbed with each shake.“Do I look ok?” I ask rhetorically while trying to sit up, hardly succeeding.“Well, you look like shit, but... don’t you remember anything?”“Oh, God, Dee... your honesty is...” I trail off trying but failing to find the right words, and he chuckles.I love him, I don't know what I would have done without him all these years, but sometimes... sometimes...“I know, I know, I’m special. But enough about the awesome moi, well, not enough because what we’re going to talk about is gonna involve me as well, and once you hear me out, you’ll make me a statue and worship me until the end of your daaaayssssssssss.” He prolonged the words and changed his voice i
TRISTAN'S POINT OF VIEWThe way home is endless, and I’m not sure if I want the time to fly or to freeze because I don’t know what his intentions are.Will I survive if he’ll just come, get his answers, and leave?As I scrub my skin almost raw due to the nerves that don’t seem to give me a fucking break, I remember that he has someone, and my heart sinks so fucking low that I think that no one will ever find it again, and tears fell so effortlessly that I didn’t even realize that I’m in so much pain that I can’t even stand until I was sobbing on the shower floor.He just wants answers... he doesn’t want me... he never will... and why would he? He's a gorgeous, brilliant, businessman, and I'm a struggling mechanic with two kids.My airways clog again, and I manage to turn the water ice cold before I pass out, and slowly, very slowly, focusing on the coldness that envelops my body, I manage to breathe again, but it’s as hard and as painful as the day I lost him because now I don’t even
TRISTAN'S POINT OF VIEWI wake up with the familiar headache and the excruciating heartache that for ten years only increases.“Hey, T., are you ok?” Dee asks with a smile on his face while sitting on the end of the sofa, and I shake my head as in no but regret it as soon as I do because my brain feels like it’s stabbed with each shake.“Do I look ok?” I ask rhetorically while trying to sit up, hardly succeeding.“Well, you look like shit, but... don’t you remember anything?”“Oh, God, Dee... your honesty is...” I trail off trying but failing to find the right words, and he chuckles.I love him, I don't know what I would have done without him all these years, but sometimes... sometimes...“I know, I know, I’m special. But enough about the awesome moi, well, not enough because what we’re going to talk about is gonna involve me as well, and once you hear me out, you’ll make me a statue and worship me until the end of your daaaayssssssssss.” He prolonged the words and changed his voice i
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW“Sir... I...” The shaky voice of the woman makes me turn, and out of nowhere, I get another hug, which I reciprocate with a smile.God, I got hugged today more than in the last five years. I hope I’ll get another hug... the most important of them all...“I wasn’t actually going to work...” The woman says as she pulls back and barely looks at me.“Ok...” I trail off, confused about why she’s telling me this, and after she wipes the rest of her tears, she continues with a guilty voice and guilty eyes.“I switched shifts with a coworker, that’s why I wouldn’t have been able to spend Christmas at home... and today... now... I should have gone to... God...” She trails off as she looks away nervously, fidgeting with her hands, then she opens her mouth to continue, but nothing comes out, and she looks at me apologetically as if she’s sorry that she can’t finish the sentence.“You don’t have to tell me if--”“No. I want to. I want you to know what you did today...” I loo
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEWI rub my eyes to see if I’m seeing things, but the watch, money, and Santa's hat are still there, nicely placed on the seat. But to really be sure that the watch is mine, I turn it, and my eyes get even wider when I see my initials.J.J.Am I going crazy?But I know that I gave my watch and money to the homeless guy... but he was white... Santa was black... how?I get out of the car and run outside, even though I know that the possibility of seeing either of them is non-existent, but my brain needs answers. Logical answers, not fairy freaking answers.As expected, no one was there, or at least none of the men... with that thought, their eyes came into my mind. Cerulean green.But it can’t be... right? I mean, one was white and the other black... but the eyes... then the conversations...“I will, but first, I need to help someone that helped me.” Was the homeless guy talking about me?“I’ll make your biggest wish come true.” Santa’s voice echoes in my head over a
“You want to say how much he loved me,” I emphasize the word ‘loved’, and my heart stops again, my eyes land on Tristan, then I look back at Dee, hoping that he’ll contradict me.Is it possible that he still loves me?“J.J., he never touched anyone since then. I’m no doctor, but I think he developed a phobia because except for his kid, well, brother, his adoptive kid, who is Sean’s boyfriend, and me, he doesn’t even shake hands with anyone.” He explains, and I don’t even bother to hide the smile or the tears that are still rolling down my face to my neck, wetting my shirt.But Dee’s expression changed into a remorseful one as he continued talking.“I’m sorry... but it was so hard to see him crumble day by day, and after one year, I tried to convince him to try and get over you, go on dates, but I got myself a black eye. The second year, on my birthday, I managed t
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEWWe barely managed to carry him. Dee is way stronger than me, so he didn't have a problem, but I lost my breath, and my back hurt by the time we reached the destination. It's a decent-looking room that has a dark wooden table for six surrounded by six chairs, and a few feet away there’s a dark green sofa, where we lay him, and I, -unfortunately-, reluctantly let go of him, let go of his arm, which falls, touching the ground.For reasons I do not wish to discuss, I took his arm to place it on his broad chest, which moved as he breathed, and something got my attention.A tattoo that goes along the inside of his forearm.The date when we first met, when he rescued me from those bullies, is written in beautiful calligraphic numbers, which is followed by regular, strong heartbeats, then the date when I caught them together, but these numbers are ugly written and broken, and they are followed by erratic heartbeats which get further apart and smaller by every half an in
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW The pain I felt when I heard Dee's name can’t be put into words. My eyes haven’t stung like this since the day I caught them. My insides, which were already broken, feel like they are put in a blender, which destroys me all over again, this time even worse if that’s even possible. I see Dee, or a blurred image of him, fact that tells me that I’m about to cry, and I bite my cheek hard in order not to and focus on the pain and the metallic taste of blood that floods my mouth, then close my eyes shut for a second to push the tears away, and without wanting, my eyes land on him again, examining him, trying to see what he has that I don’t, trying to figure out why Tristan chose him. We look different, but he’s also black, just a darker shade than me, he has a buzz cut, he's taller than me and even Tristan, and bigger, he always was. He's about 6 ft 6 and has around three hundred pounds of muscle. Maybe
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEW“Hello, sir, what can I help you with?” A tiny guy, not taller than 5 ft 6, and not heavier than 110 pounds, with brown curls that fall over his brown eyes, asks me with a smile on his freckled face.“I have a flat tire, and some warning light popped up on the dashboard. I have to drive to Massachusetts, and I don’t want to--” I don’t get to say what my problem is because the guy’s eyes went wide, and interrupted me with a squeal and a high-pitched tone of voice.“You’re Jamal Jones! The billionaire, with the apps and games!” He exclaims enthusiastically, and on a normal basis I wouldn’t mind talking to him, but I’m in New fucking Jersey, and every minute spent here means more chances to see them, and I already had more delays than I wished for.“Yes, I am. Now please, I’m in a hurry.” I plead, trying to remain polite and not blow up because the poor guy did nothing to me, but as I said... gotta get out of here.“Yes, sorry. Bring the car in, and we’ll take care
JAMAL'S POINT OF VIEWI make sure to take the route that’s the farthest from the ghettos because even though it’s snowing, and people wear hats and scarves to protect themselves from the cold wind and snow, I don’t want to drive around that place and risk seeing him, seeing them, and to be extra careful, I keep my eyes on the road, avoiding to look on the sidewalk or at other drivers, afraid that I’ll see them hand in hand... or...“God, I’ll go crazy here!” I exclaim as I realize just how paranoid I am, but still do not look around.The phone rings in the speakers of my car, and I see that it’s mom, but I’m not in the mood to talk to her right now, so I ignore it.Yes, she helped me tremendously during college, sending me at least five hundred dollars monthly, and giving me thirty thousand dollars when I finished so I could start my company, but that doesn’t mean that I forgot all those years of abuse, all the cold nights, the hunger, or the guys that she brought home, and some beat