The Man I Love

Someday he’ll come along,
The man I love.
And he’ll be big and strong,
The man I love.
And when he comes my way
I’ll do my best to make him stay.
– “The Man I love”, composed by George and Ira Gershwin

The semester had just started and there I was late for my class. I was a few meters away from my classroom’s door when I accidentally bumped into someone. I hurriedly picked up my books, went inside the classroom and sat down. My professor did not notice me because he was drawing a diagram on the board. I slouched on my chair and tried to relax so I would stop hyperventilating.

He was like the son of Venus. He entered the room gracefully as if he was walking on water – each step an effortless movement. His hair was pitch black and it moved like silk floating in the air. He walked towards me. I was staring at him as he came closer. He stopped in front of the chair beside me and, before he sat down, smiled at me. I looked away and pretended to be listening to our professor.

He leaned until his lips were near my ears. Then he whispered, “I’m Alfonso, sorry for blocking your way.” I looked at him embarrassed. “I’m so sorry I hope I did not get hurt,” I said discreetly while our professor was listening to the question of our classmate. His eyes glittered in contrast with the dullness of the cream-colored room. Our professor dismissed the class. I stood up and looked back at him – he was in a hurry drawing the diagram in his notebook that he missed when he went out of the classroom. I smiled and walked away.

After I met him I would usually go to class ahead of time and wait for him to sit beside me. We seldom speak to each other. But sometimes he asks for paper whenever we would have a quiz; what the professor said if he does not catch it; or he would just smile at me whenever I say goodbye after class. Sometimes I would catch him staring at me, he would look away and I would smile at the thought of him trying to pretend he did not like me. Soon after, Alfonso would usually go with me out of our classroom to the jeepney stop. While walking we would have conversations about art and music – from Boticelli to Picasso and Bach to John Williams.

One day after our usual boring class he asked me, “I don’t know how to say this but will you go out with me this weekend for dinner and maybe a cup of coffee after?” I was taken aback with what he said but to my surprise I said: “Yes, that would be fine.”

I arrived thirty minutes earlier in the Persian restaurant. The place was not as crowded as most of the restaurants during weekends. The chairs and tables were filled with vine-like sculpted patterns, which I guessed to have come from the Middle East. While I was trying to amuse myself by counting the glasses of water a man on the table in front of me drank, I could hear soft music from the sitar player on a platform beside the entrance of the restaurant. Alfonso came at exactly seven o’clock. He was wearing a navy blue shirt that accented his toned arms. He smiled when he saw me. When he was settled down he said, “I hope you like the place.” I nodded and asked him, “I never new this kind of place exist here in the Philippines. When did you discover this restaurant?” He told me that his friends would usually tell him good places to dine in. That restaurant was the most recommended place among his peers.

The evening had no dull moments. Alfonso ate slowly and I talked so fast that sometimes he would choke every time I would tell a joke. After dinner we paid our bill and went outside to his car. We drove off to the nearest café. It was just nine o’clock so there were a few customers in the café either sipping coffee or smoking their lungs out. We sat down inside the café on a mint-green-colored sofa. He asked me what coffee I wanted but I told him that I want hot cocoa instead. He went to the counter to order our drink and sat beside me. “I hope we could be free from the misconceptions of the people around us. What’s ‘normal’ in this world anyway?” he said after sipping his cup of espresso. I put down my cup of hot cocoa and said giggling, “Calm down. Don’t be too serious, you might hurt yourself.” He smiled. “It has always been a struggle for most of us and in someway we always tried to be ‘normal’ but in the end we’ll realize that this is what we are and we don’t need to change that.”

Alfonso took me home. It was minutes before midnight and only the streetlights illuminated the way. I was silent while he was driving. I just smiled watching him concentrating behind the steering wheel. He would smile back at me whenever he can. It took us a fifteen-minute drive to finally reach my street. I went down his car and said goodbye. He tried to grab my had but I was out of the car before he got the chance to.

I changed into my pajamas and lied down on my bed. I stared at my orange-painted ceiling and reminisced what had happened to us that day – his smiles, the way he would move his hand while he told a story, the smell of the perfume he had on, and his laughter that seem to reverberate joy to the people around him. I imagined him beside me that night. I hugged my pillow as if it was him. I never had that chance that day to touch him. I slept with the thought of his hand brushing my hair; his fingers touching my lips.

Two months passed and we usually went home together. During weekends we would try and buy an art film from a store nearby school and watch it either at my place or his. It was a Saturday when we watched “Sometimes in April” and I cried most of the time. We were the only ones home and he tried to comfort me by tapping his hand on my shoulder. I told him that I was fine and he stood up and got me a glass of water. Most of the time we would try to be together I would contact him after my classes and ask him if he was free to meet up with me. We would hangout in a coffee shop or just stay in his car and chat.

One evening after a long day at school, I was startled with the realities of this society. I never tried to ask myself if Alfonso was what I wanted but I knew that I was different. I was normal physically and no one would suspect that I was different. But Alfonso knew what I was and I knew that he was…

I was not ready for this.

The next day was a holiday. After breakfast I called him up and asked if he could come over so we could talk. It was the best time because my parents left for Baguio to my grandparent’s. He lived about forty-five minutes away from my house; so I hurriedly took a shower and sat down on our Kamagong sofa to watch television. I fell asleep. I was awakened by the squeaking sound of our gate. I went to the door and saw him glowing under the light of the sun. “Josh, I need to tell you something,” he said while going in the house. I closed the door. We stood there in our living room. He did not say anything. He just looked at me and I knew what he meant. He held my hand. I closed my eyes.

He kissed me…

We'll build a little home
Just meant for two
From which I'll never roam
Oh, what would you
And so all else above
I'm dreaming of the man I love