Chapter 4 from Blind, Deaf

It's back to the perspective of one of the adults.  This time, the grownup Amelia continues her observation on the Asian guy who claims he knows her very well.

Chapter 4

Amelia

‘You really don’t remember who I am, right, Amelia?’ the tall Asian queries.  

I hear him stressing the r in ‘really’, 'remember' and ‘right’.  He almost rolls them.  I wonder what the emphasis is for.  Refraining from looking at him as I study the poinsettia, I shake my head.  The guy and I are the only ones at the checkout counter.  I’m all schizo; this hasn’t hit me since I first saw a poster of hunky Tom Cruise for Top Gun which left me swooning. 

Chad left us a while ago to fetch something for one of the begonia ladies.  I nearly begged him to stay.  Chad, picking up the need in my facial expression, promised to attend to me shortly. 

My mind’s in overdrive now.  It’s racing through possibilities of who the Asian guy is.  I should have remembered well anyone as attractive as him.  His look is very put together yet casual.  He's tall and masculine.  His nicely toned upper arms beg for attention from underneath his camel colored pullover.  He's sporting blue jeans.  A stand out among the crowd, I conclude.   He’s undoubtedly not super handsome.  However, there’s something about him warranting a double take.  Perhaps he exudes charisma.  Perhaps it’s the way he carries himself: not cocky, but all self-assured.  Perhaps it’s just a simple fact as pheromone.  There, that’s it, I inwardly decide, he has too much pheromone.  And I’d better not try to get entangled in any way with him, because I haven’t got laid for, hey!  Good lord!  Why am I thinking all this?

He interrupts my train of thoughts.  ‘Why are you blushing?’

The question reddens me more.  I quickly feel my face around with both hands.  My skin’s incriminatingly warm.  I view the guy in a rather awkward way.  ‘Umm, you won’t believe this…but…I recall I had…an embarrassing incident the last time someone asked me if I remembered him.’

‘Oh?  Is that so?  Care to share with me?’  Eyebrows arched, he certainly seems curious.

I turn somber and fold my arms.  ‘Mister, the incident was too embarrassing to be shared with anyone.  So, please don’t egg me on for it.’

‘Amelia honey!’  Chad interrupts me as he saunters behind the cashier counter. ‘Sorry to keep ya waiting, honey.  Ya ready on that?’ 

I viewed him gratefully.  ‘Just a sec, Chad.  Can I get one of those tiny cards with the ribbons behind you?’  I point to the group of white and red striped message cards.  Chad picks one and hands it to me.

‘Thanks Chad.  Ring this up too and I’m all set.’ 

‘Nope.  This is on the house.  Ya give us good business.  Ya’ve been here, what is it, five days in a row?’

I smile at him.  ‘Oh come on, Chad.  Those trips don’t count.  I was here due to the special purchases for work.  This plant however is a personal gift.  Ring it up, will you?’

‘Nah, honey.   It’s free.’  Chad pushes the cashier open and heaves it shut to illustrate his point.  He’s a sweetie, as usual.  I gracefully thank him before he leaves to tend to a middle aged couple.  I fish for a pen from my pocket book, open the card and start writing on it.  The bean pole watches me as my words form:

Olivia,

I hope you’ll like this.

                                    Love,

As I write, I suddenly recall To Kill A Mockingbird.  I’m brought back to my favorite character, Scout, in the story.  So full of innocence, I muse.  And I remember Atticus.  Who would have thought? I silently whisper to myself as I sign my name at the end of my note.  I close the card, store the pen and busy myself tying the ribbon on one of the poinsettia stems.  The bean pole stands sentinel beside me.

‘So, you’re totally clueless on who I am,’ the tall guy states.

I stretch my silence, not wanting to meet his penetrating watch.   My mind’s stark blank.  Try as I might, I can’t seem to figure out who he is.  I’m usually good at this sort of thing: remembering past clients, even though they’ve aged through time.  And I’m disappointed with myself for being unable to identify this attractive man.  Foremost, the way he approached me is bothering me.  It’s not the kind which ticks me off, though.  I scoop up the pot of poinsettia and head toward the flower shop entrance.  My mind speeds through all the possibilities again. 

Now, where can I begin?  I wonder.  Yes, Alistair… Alistair Wong whom I encountered in Zurich has light brown eyes.  Nonetheless, I’m pretty certain this guy’s are dark brown, just like mine.  Besides, Alistair’s eyes are smaller than this man’s.  And don’t forget another point: Alistair speaks with a lisp.  He stuttered every time he met me.  Yes, he had a crush on me.  And Alistair isn’t handsome to begin with.  He needs a plastic surgery and has to go on a diet to get half as good looking as this guy.  God!  My stalker can be mistaken for a model!   I shake my head.  Alistair’s off my list of suspects. 

Speaking of models, could he be Naquib Ebrahim whom I met in Paris?   Nope, he’s too fair to be Naquib, a half French half Moroccan sports enthusiast.  Yes, Naquib used to model part time for a few fitness magazines.   And he used to go around with a good tan.  Yet this guy appears like he hasn’t seen the sun for weeks.  And darn it, Naquib was vain.  He couldn’t help pausing to stare at his reflection on any glossy surface.  He and glossy surfaces are inseparable.  I won’t be surprised he stays that way.  I can’t imagine Naquib leaving home without a tan.  And his sunglasses, damn, he’s vain.  This guy however hasn’t even stopped for a second to check out his reflection in this flower shop.  Naquib is definitely out of the question.  I glance over my shoulder.  The guy has picked up a nice leather jacket from behind the cashier counter.  Now…leather jacket, I say silently, is it a sign of vanity?  I check him out again and catch him struggling to get into the jacket while keeping watch on me.  He’s seriously tracking me he looks almost comical trying to don the jacket.  I don’t think so!  I conclude.

Let’s see…What about Justin Bunluesin whom I haven’t seen ever since I left Barcelona?  Justin’s charming and cute.  And he used to write poems to me in Italian, which he’s half fluent in.  Ah!  What a romantic guy!  Wait a minute!  Justin certainly will have to stretch himself on a rack for years to grow simply an inch closer to this guy’s height.  Am I mad?  He can’t be Justin.  The Thai guy’s a five footer! He’s almost a midget compared to this strapping guy. 

‘Bye Chad!’  I call out almost instinctively to the beefy shop owner as I walk past him and the couple he’s conversing with.

‘Buh bye,’ Chad answers.  A thought of Francis Vicenco springs to my mind.  Francis, yes, dapper Filipino Francis who had a soft spot for me.  I met him in San Francisco a while back.  Francis and my cute stalker are roughly the same height.  Francis too is fair.  He used to go on shopping spree with me but I can’t picture this guy doing so.  My stalker's too virile compared to Francis.  And Francis is cultured; he loves good films especially by Aldomovar and good books and can quote Tennessee Williams and Oscar Wilde like the back of his hand. With this guy’s remark on Snow White and Rapunzel, he probably watches Disney cartoons and reads fairy tales in his spare time.  Despite the last conjecture, I can’t help admitting he's attractive. 

And suddenly, a voice inside me quickly reminds me Francis is more handsome. 

Just take a look at Francis’ skin.  It’s spotless, glowing, healthy.  What am I thinking?  There’s no way the guy can be reincarnated as Francis.  Francis had stacks of Biore, Kiehl’s, Clinique and Lauder in his vanity cabinet and they put my meager cosmetics to shame.  Francis loves all things by gay film makers and writers.  Francis shopped for lingerie with me.  Of course Francis won’t be hounding me like this guy is. Francis is gay.

‘You’re not the least bit curious to know who I am?’  the bean pole needles me.  He sticks closer to my heels.  I’m instantly uncomfortable.

I shake my head while walking ahead.  The bare truth is I’m a complete liar; an avalanche of more male names and mug shots is filtering through my mind.  None of them, however, seems right.  My disappointment with myself grows. 

The Asian guy doesn’t know the meaning of giving up.  ‘You see, Amelia, I find you quite bizarre.  Here I am, someone who knows your name, and can verify it’s really you, the Amelia I really knew from years ago, by the way you talk, and yet you’re not interested to know who I am.  You never ever give me a chance, do you?’ 

The guy’s certainly relentless.  I can’t help suspecting he indeed has stalking genes in his DNA.  Before he follows me all the way home, I resolve to scare him off.  I swivel around abruptly to confront him.  This second time, he’s unlucky.  Or rather, I’m the unlucky one.  He’s too close to me I accidentally hit my forehead against his nose.

‘Whoa!’ he cries out.

‘Mister!  Don’t you know when to stop being too persistent and when too much is much too much?’

He clicks his tongue as he rubs the tip of his nose briefly with his forefinger.  ‘Just like the old Amelia I used to know.’   

I glare at him. 

‘Feisty, with a loose mouth, and a temper which is hard to ignore.’   

My glare now becomes a squint. 

‘You haven’t changed.  I can still picture you in your prefect uniform, your long perky pony tail with a blue ribbon, you licking your favorite sweet corn ice cream.’  He pauses, waiting for my reaction.   

Only I’m not squinting anymore and am levelly gazing him.  I’m surprised of his good account on my teenage self.  Yet, I try to remain as unimpressed as I possibly could.  At least I’m starting to have an inkling where he came from.  He must have been one of the boys from the elementary school opposite mine. Some hazy recollections of a lanky, handsome kid return to me.  My instinct nonetheless tells me chances of this guy being him are remote; something regarding the kid and the grownup doesn’t quite add up.  Who in the whole wide world is this guy? 

‘You were always aloof, Amelia, and often dismayed a fat schoolboy as if he were an insect worthy to be squashed. Once, you hurt him real bad!  Devastatingly bad.  That poor boy!’ He shakes his head in disappointment. 

There’s no hint of recognition from me.  I’m deep in thoughts I’m motionless, statue-like.  Naturally, I begin to wonder how he knows I used to dismay a portly student from the neighboring school.  I can’t quite picture the mug shot of the boy though.  His face is just a blob in my memory.  And I can’t recall any kid whom I had hurt badly years ago.  He must have been stalking me the whole of 1983 and I didn’t even know it!

The guy sighs, barely audibly.  He utters the subsequent words slowly, as if wounded by the past.  ‘And you really know how to tug the heart of a deaf schoolboy who attended the elementary school opposite yours, with your shenanigans.  Remember him?  Tall, good looking, and always googly eyed for you –’

Suddenly things begin to click for me.  I gasp and interrupt him.  ‘Jack?’

Jackpot!  He beams at me.  ‘Yes, Jack.’

‘Jack?  Jack?!’  I say ‘Unbelievable!’ as I take him in all over again.  As I marvel how utterly cool it is to meet my long, lost good friend, the Asian guy frowns slightly at me. I can’t help myself but exclaim more.  ‘Oh Jack!  Jack!  Jack!’  My dark brown eyes are bright and wide now.  ‘Why didn’t you tell me it’s you from the very beginning?  Oh, I’m sorry –’

He interrupts me. ‘I’m sorry I’m –’

I laugh at him, merrily drowning his next few words. ‘What are you sorry for, Jack?  I’m the one who should be apologizing for ignoring you just now –’

‘Sorry I’m not –’

‘Oh gosh!  Look at you!  Wow!  You look great, Jack!  Super!’  I gush he had me confused a while ago and add I should have known better; with the innovations in the medical field, things must have been very good for him.  My eyes dart to his ears.  I subsequently take in his face and notice his solemnity.  His expression signifies he has heard bad news.  Thus it renders me subdued.  I ask him what’s wrong.  He takes his time.  I suspect he wants my undivided attention prior to making his point. 

‘I’m sorry, Amelia.  I’m not Jack,’ he professes.

My voice comes out a tad shrill.  ‘You’re not?’  I pause, studying his face carefully.  In my mind, I compare what I see with the images of Jack.  I’m positive the guy appears like a grown up version of one of my childhood friends.   ‘You’re not Jack?’

He shakes his head.  ‘Uh-uh.’

I’m mildly irritated now.  ‘Hey mister!  Don’t lead me on!  You were making hand signs to me just now.  And you seemed a bit deaf when I told you a few times I’m not Amelia.  Mister, only someone who used to be deaf and can sign fits the bill!  You have to be Jack!’

He coolly repeats he’s not Jack.

I’m bemused.  ‘You gotta be kidding, mister!’

‘I’m not, Amelia. And I have a name.’

I take him in top to bottom, and back up again.  I know I’m supposed to make him feel uncomfortable.  Unfortunately he seems to be enjoying what I just did.  There’s a sparkle in his eyes.  I scowl at him.  ‘Then who the hell are you, mister?’

He smiles hesitatingly at me.  Almost bashfully, he gives me an answer.  That one name – Bean – blindsides me.

I gasp and reflexively cover my mouth with both hands.   Too late for me to save it, the terracotta pot of poinsettia I’m carrying has already dropped from my hold.  The next instance, it breaks into pieces on hitting the floor.

*