Wicked

Kyle 4

Kyle

The painter had been willing to meet me at another fast-food venue, as friends. Instead of McDonalds I waited at a Hungry Jacks. I wasn't going to eat anything, the last of my savings was for a trip with friends to a waterpark on Sunday. There was a Wet And Wild a thirty-minute drive from Brine and through the busy suburbs in-between. Down the road from it was an authentic Buddhist temple. After this weekend I'd be proper broke so I'd have to hand out more resumes and hope to pick up work soon, at least Patricia would be a good reference.

The sun had set this Saturday evening, after my talk with this boy I was being dragged by friends to some beachside booze party. I'd bought my alcohol before the bottle-o shut, it was sitting in the backseat of my car. The window was all fixed and the mechanic had replaced some broken coil pump, supposedly the reason for its sudden stalling. I was still jumpy behind the wheel.

Daris Hadeel came in through the push door, dark eyes alighting on me within his tan face. I gave him a nervous smile. He clearly wasn't seriously interested in me. Unless he was a secret black magic practitioner with a vendetta.

"Hello," I greeted and he gave a brief smile and nod "I'm actually not going to eat anything, but you should if you want to." I pointed to the lit up boards, a cashier younger than us stood by the register waiting. There were only a few customers here.

"I'm not eating, it's Ramadan."

"Oh. You're Islam? Does that mean you don't eat for like a month?"

"Only when the sun's up. I'll eat when I get home."

"Alright."

I led us over to a booth. It was barely light outside. In here the fluorescent lights were bright on the fifties aesthetic I'd always admired about this place. Checkered floors, red vinyl seats, picture frames of Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe. As I scooted into the table I was curious about Daris being both Islamic and gay. All the Abrahamic religions forbade witchcraft, if my memory was serving me correctly. Then again if he was gay perhaps he wasn't too devoted to the scriptures. He sat opposite and stared at me, I was reminded of just how unfriendly and intimidating he was in person. The well-mannered conversations we'd had over messenger, I would've never believed it. He waited for me to speak.

"So how's painting going?"

"Good."

"Started any major works?"

"I finished a few self-portraits."

"That's good."

"Hm." An affirmative grunt. It looked like I'd need to get to the point.

I looked away uncomfortably while fiddling with the table's edge. Across the room two obese eaters were taking big bites of angus burgers and pawing at onion rings. It made my mouth water. It was probably their kids I could see through the backdoor, playing in the tunnel maze. I looked back into Daris's dark eyes.

"Why did you agree to meet me in the first place?" I tried.

"I don't have any gay friends." He shrugged.

"You're not looking for a relationship?" I watched him look away and scowl. There was some inner conflict there and I pitied him for being both gay and religious. For me, being gay had compounded my feelings of inadequacy, being yet another thing that deviated from my parents' expectations. It was hard enough to accept it on its own without adding a crisis of faith. I now felt like I understood Daris and his behavior, and I also didn't see him as holding vindictive feelings toward me. Perhaps distrust and projected internalized homophobia at my 'sinful lifestyle'. To be sure I blurted "You don't want me to die right?"