When a person refuses to share the reality of who he is with the people around him – even with friends and family – he does more than live a lie, and he does more than project a false façade to appease the prejudices of others.
I’d been projecting a false façade, appeasing the prejudices of others.
He cuts himself off from his support mechanisms; he isolates himself from the very people who might be there to say ‘Dude, that’s fucked up!’ if things start to go wrong.
* * *
‘No, nothing’s wrong,’ I said to Zac at the library entrance, zipping my jacket against the cold wind. ‘I’m just surprised to see you.’
He adjusted his glasses, raised his eyebrows. ‘Like I said in my text, I was in the area.’
We walked. Zac’s Balenciaga shoes, his Ben Sherman suit. He lit a cigarette – no thanks, I didn’t want one. The article I’d been reading was still on my mind:
It’s not necessarily safe to rely on all the people around you keeping your secret. When you choose to stay closeted, you potentially hand a terrible weapon to all the folks who know you, a weapon they can dangle over your head all the time.
We walked along Lonsdale Street. Zac pointed at the Emporium shopping centre, said, ‘That’s where I was this morning.’
‘Oh yeah.’
Wednesday – was today Wednesday?
‘I had a job interview, as it happens.’
‘Fuck, man. How did it –?’
Dingding, my phone. Biddy: THANKS again for this morning. And … Wowwwwww X
From me, powering ahead of Zac, high on life: You’re very welcome!! :) X
Zac caught up with me, said, ‘It’s actually my second interview there. I didn’t want to mention anything, just in case. You know Kiki & McCall?’
‘The jeweller?’
‘It’s mostly high-end watches, dude. But yeah, other things too.’
Striding, strident … I wanted dumplings, wanted them now. I’d taken Zac in, under my wing – now he had to run to keep up with Daddy.
‘Here OK?’ I said at the door to Shanghai Street.
‘Yeah, whatever, dude.’
We sat, looked around. I drummed my knees, yawned, felt wilted, full of vigour, exhausted, delighted. Time alone. When did I get that? On the bike ride to and from work? And sometimes on my lunchbreak, but not today.
Zac held the menu. ‘What’s good here?’
‘Everything.’ I’d buy his lunch – he’d been helping with the kids and supplying intel.
We ordered, waited. I made to wipe my mouth, spat my chewy into the paper napkin, squeezed it. Zac’s grooming game was strong – his stubble well-trimmed, his quiff nicely done. His cologne, our house reeked of it. Cardamom, cedar – I loved Zac. Nah, just liked him. Did I even like him? Sarah certainly did.
His elbows on the table, chin resting on his thumbs. ‘So, you didn’t reply to my text this morning about Sarah.’