INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT

I tend to offer myself only to those who will not have me. Safety. Take in only those who give with limits. Comfort. In the quiet darkness of a morning I do not want to face, only because I am not sure I remember your name, I offer coffee. You are quick with the smile. It is a pleasant thing that in the morning light you are not heinous. There is a comfort in the familiarity of this routine; the aloofness following the intimacy. The hurried departure after the remembered place that must be arrived at or the thing that must be done. This is my comfort zone. This time, though, I am struck with the ease of interaction. I am fun, you tell me, interesting. “Is this a habit,” you ask, “the bedding of strangers?” The laughter that you take personally is actually self-deprecating. It seems strange to me that such a thing concerns you. It is odd that you would be concerned with my habits and, when I tell you this, you are once again affronted. Your accent intrigues me and I ask you to speak in your native tongue. The oral history of your land and people interests me and I ask you to take me back there, away from this place. Yours is a quick, easy laughter at such an absurd request. Except that at this moment, I feel that I would go. The morning that usually lasts long enough for you (or the version of you) to ask for my phone number out of the common courtesy that follows such couplings has now turned into hours. You know about my siblings (two), and the number of my stepfathers. As is the nature of foreigners, you know more about the place I came from than I do. I also know now of your siblings (also two), and the place from which you came. I know about your daily routine and how long it has been since you have had a mate. It strikes me suddenly; the realization that this is coming too close for comfort. I am losing my anonymity. My panic suddenly eclipses the comfortable ease of our exchange and, before your eyes, I morph. With my shield back in place, I revert to the sarcastic cajoling that is my public self. I promise that I will call you, yes, today, at work. I have things to do and places to be and I cannot waste any more time. I can see in your eyes the confusion at the turn of events and I know that you will leave wondering exactly what happened. I wish I could tell you I have just given you more of myself in 3 hours than most people have gotten in a lifetime. I wish I could express to you my desire to be more touched, more passionate, more human, about this experience. It is not mine to give. I will call you, yes, today, at work.