Each step I take toward the hotel lobby, I feel closer to vomiting. It's only the first day, and I've already run straight into Oliver. Now, I have to sit with him and ask him every question that's crossed my mind since Hanukkah of 1983. Seven years can create such a cesspool of emotions that it's hard to even pinpoint what I actually want to know. All my questions have always circled one truly terrifying one; the deliberation of love. We never particularly said it to one another, but there were moments I wanted to. Almost all of them were after he left, but one in particular came over me in the hills. We were exhausted but content. There came a clearing near this wooden bridge, and as we were crossing, Oliver pulled my shirt slightly to get me to look at him. I remember his eyes the most because his face was motionless. The only expression residing was found in the way his pupils dilated, and his tear ducts triggered. It had been the first time he cried in front of me. That's when I fell in love with him. Nothing around me even mattered at that point; I was almost sure we could fall off the bridge without me noticing. The only reason I never said it then was for the sake of fear. All of this was about to disappear, and I knew I wasn't ready to let him go. How could I be? Clearly I should have been.
I make it to the top of the stairs that descend to the main restaurant floor. Apparently the hotel we're in was give four stars right before we arrived; complete with a dining hall and ball room for some reason. I had been in neither until now. As I start to move pass each step, gliding my palm across the marble rail, the scent of steak and wine greats me. It's quite a shift from my normal fruit and grain meals. Not that I'm complaining; although steak has always enticed me. Once I reach the tile at the bottom, the scent and I become acquainted; it subsides. A woman in a burgundy and ash suit greats me.
"Are you here for the Matheus Dinner?" She looks at what I'm wearing as if to question my credibility. I'm wearing a periwinkle stitched Armani suit with gold laced dress shoes; the most expensive gifts I've ever received. What more does she want from me? A part of me starts to consider what my mother said before departing. Are they assuming I'm Italian?
"I am, yes," According to my father, Matheus is the founder of the organization hosting; or was rather. I'd consider the name pretentious, but my name is literally based from a greek god. It's also, according to most people I speak with, impolite to insult the dead. I like to think they're just all afraid of eternal possession.
I chuckle to myself as I enter a room full of middle aged art scientists, as I love to call them. I notice empty chairs here and there, but I know I'll never get a word in with Oliver if I sit in any of them. I notice there are several tables further back, so I start to move toward one of them. Trying my best to go unnoticed, I shuffle along silently at the edges of the room. Unfortunately my developed-in-five-seconds plan fails, and when my father sees me from his seat, he immediately stands to introduce me.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I take a moment to introduce my son, Elio! He is a lovely musician, I must say." He really mustn't say. "Not only that, but he's a charm to converse with. Come on over, Elio," he begins to wave me over to dine with the rest of the guests. This is not how I had hoped this dinner would go.
I reluctantly sit next to him and warmly introduce myself. My father taught me how to interact with people from quite an early age. It has come as a second language to me, something I'll never be able to repay him for. If only my knowledge could maneuver me through the maze of romance; possibly then I wouldn't feel like a total wreck for what feels like most of my life. I decide that the best plan of action would be to dine and speak with Oliver after. I don't prefer this, but it seems I have no choice.
I decide to study the table. To my left, two chairs down is a gentleman in plaid, waving his hands around to the man in front if him. I watch him briefly, purely entertained by his wild maneuvers. To my right is my Father, a soldier of science and history. Lastly, directly in front of me is a woman I've never met before. To my surprise she's quite young; possibly my age. Since everyone else remotely near us pays little to no attention to her existence, I decide to bud in on her thoughts.
