Being man (part 11)

A careful look on him would divulge a bittersweet smile lingering on his face. First time in minutes, I saw his eyes on me, and they seemed to appreciate the kind words I gave him. With folded arms above his chest, he gazed back at the stars shining down at this darkness of our life together. Through the color of night, I could discern the gloom still written on his countenance.

Somewhere in my mind, it dawned that there couldn’t be any difficulty as regards others throwing deriding eyes on him. Why, nobody has taught nobody about the subject on Mark. Only they and I, and God, have access to the room. And come to think of it, for all these years, not a single detail demonstrated to me that, indeed, there was something, well, ‘unusual’ about my buddy. It would take a supernatural talent, a metaphysical light, to comprehend Mark as Mark. I perceived that what was really problematic here was ‘combative’ in essence; Mark was to wage war against the other Mark lurking inside.

“I know how it is to be damned under that undesirable label but . . .”

“Now you know I am one of them. My company is undesirable then,” Mark interrupted.

“No. Of course, not. I was just musing about how they might deal with you. And I’m not one of them. I’m your friend.”

“I know . . . I know.” That gloomy kind of smile returned to him.

“And I was about to say, you’re different. You know how to act well, huh.”

He took my meaning. “Who knows who I am?” he asked the stars.

“Exactly. No one has the slightest reason to think that somewhere within you, there beats a, well, a . . . soft heart.”

“That I am a sissy . . .”

I stood up. “Mark,” my voice sounding close to pleading, “nothing without you ever told me of what was going on within you. Outside, you’re basically the Mark Garcia I made friends with many years ago. You’re a very nice person. I’m certain this is not the first time you ever heard this. You’re intelligent, talented, generous, and helpful. You have all what it takes to be one very good friend. I should tell you, however, as your friend, that you must take care of yourself. Watch out for her. Don’t let her do her things. Be on guard that she does not go chasing the red lights. Then, you’ll still have reason to smile at the world.”

No close observation of him could disclose any reaction to my counsel. There wasn’t any hint whether he assented to my statements. At one point, I feared that they sounded to him more like disbelief in his capacity to withstand the summon of the red lights than caring words to a troubled friend. Or, perhaps, he had already thought of these long ago. (February, 1998)

To be continued...