personal blog: simon

the monotonous feeding of my anger and I clutch the computer mouse as I obsessively dissect the image on the screen. my meticulous preoccupation. the work has to be perfect. recalculating the board’s specs. I have done these countless of times but today I cannot focus. it may signify the end of my systematic life.

after spending more than six hours picking the right shade of red, I’m considering the correct font type. a prison for my mania. something to distract me from Bryan. a scrap of leftovers from Kevin’s meal sustaining me since my return. skipping lunch doesn’t help my hunger but I’m undecided about dinner. Kevin’s just across the street, but I cannot allow my empty stomach dictate and navigate my decisions.

I turn the screen off. my reflection’s demeaning and vague in the window, as I bob my head to the Post Malone’s Rockstar thinking I should eat. glad that I resemble very little of my father. looking more like my mom’s brother. even my physical build comes from my mom’s gene pool. tall with slight broad shoulders, unlike my father, tall but hefty, stocky like a brute. my blue eyes like my mom’s with a hint of green. my father’s are of a darker hue, almost charcoal grey.

digesting the image of myself, lures me to frown and I turn off the music. my khaki jacket on, the key in the slot, speed across the empty street, and halt before the RICK’S signage on the door. must be a ‘castellar’ font or in a similar family. the inside of the lettering remains frosted and the outline’s in the bold black, or maybe it’s a midnight tone. I hate it nonetheless or maybe I hate the company inside.

the usual crowd gathers in the afternoon with some suits from the nearby bank. I scan the room recognizing few familiars.

“Kevin’s in the kitchen!” Sonny shouts from the bar.

I wave my thanks and trot to the back.

“hey… what are you doing here?” with spatula in his hand, Kevin surprised expression should be taken seriously.

“food,” as if I was incapable of getting and prepping my own meal.

he wavers but then reconsiders, “I’ll bring something out,” and returns to his post.

I plop down at my regular booth near the kitchen, where the light streams a little darker, and the reserved sign sits in the middle of the table. I’m much obliged by the ambiance and rest my head on the back of the seat, closing my eyes.

“Simon, what you’re having?” the server’s call wakes me.

“hey, Jess. Molson Canadian.”

“Kevin taking care of you?” she asks.


“good,” and she jets off.

I examine the empty seat opposite of me. the two-seater booth’s usually empty, as it’s too close to the kitchen’s noise, and rarely someone requests it. a reason why I like to hide in it. something no one ever wanted. something unwanted, I would treasure. that and it was the closest for Kevin to sneak food out during his break for both of us to enjoy… and I’m hoping he’ll do the same tonight. keep me company. I need a distraction and Kevin’s a familiar distraction.

Kevin might have been the last attempt of a fling and that didn’t turn out the way I planned. he claimed plenty of times that we have met at the farmer’s market. his Western hat was a standout, but it’s not what caught my eye. it was Kevin’s genuine and generous smile which I immediately dismissed. although, Kevin made very effort to flirt with me that day, only to be receive a cold shoulder. but, that’s not how I remember our first brief engagement. I hardly recall the day Kevin has described often enough for me to have it engraved in my mind.

the sunny ceremonial day of July first. the red and white balloons fluttered along the parameter of the event. that’s the day that I can describe in detail and how Kevin casually sat next to me. his usual grin, the same hat in Kevin’s lap, as if it was a prop to get attention, to a point that it became ridiculous. it made me chuckle.

like a gentleman, Kevin took the most unoriginal approach, “hi.”

“hi,” I answered amused. it might have been flattery and a game of how quickly I could corrupt Kevin, but without much ado, Kevin stole a kiss. a peck. an invitation. a targeted intention. then as quickly wrapped in our arms at my place, Kevin flirting, I speaking to a minimum… and when Kevin’s fingers pried my skin, my bulletproof got pierced and spoiled.

Kevin insistently stung my skin, pulling at my buckle, crawling under my shirt. like a vulture impatient to devour his prey, an eager boy to inflict his allurement, his unquenchable urge, and I caved in. the battle lost and I settled for an oral. disoriented with my rules, I stayed in limbo. grasping and pushing Kevin’s hands to where I wanted them to be; although, I wanted them no where near me.

it was supposed to have no meaning. it was supposed to be quick, hollow, and insignificant.

Kevin sets a plate of steak linguini on my table and I grab his hand, “stay.”

“gotta get back to the kitchen,” cold and dismissive. he disappears.

for a moment I sit empty, in prominent need of company, before it dawns on me. Kevin might be lying. he only brings food out on his break.

I get to my feet, pass the door of ‘Employees Only’, through the kitchen, and to the back of the building. the hot steam follows me out the door.

Kevin’s pitifully perched against the brick wall, chatting with a colleague, Vincent, who smiles at my sight. “hi, Simon,” giving me a pat.

“hey,” but my eyes do not derail from Kevin. “may we talk?” my question directed to Kevin.

Kevin clenches his teeth.

Vincent seeing that I mean business, casually waves us a bye. “I’ll see you inside,” he says to Kevin. “later, Simon,” but his flat expression gives little to read whether he knows about the breakup.

a disdain tone, “I’m working and I don’t want to talk.”

I open my mouth.

“what can you possibly say?” he adds angrily and hurt.

I reach for his apron and pull myself to him. “can you come inside and sit with me? I need a friend.” knowing that the line ‘I need a friend’ is Kevin’s weakness.

he rolls his eyes with derision and lets the silence speak for itself.

the truth however, I am in a need of a friend. I need someone to talk to as my anger cannot so easily subside and I don’t even know what I’m angry about. it’s a steaming furnace and I am selfish because Kevin does not deserve this right now. the combination of being by myself, being angry, and hating myself, all at the same time is not advisable.

I can tell that Kevin’s having trouble deciding whether it’s his devotion or his logic who’ll gain a leverage. he scowls but then relaxes his face and shoulders. “I can’t do this with you any longer.” his broken voice. “you returned my stuff.” the four words strike poignant, stern, and condemned. “I think that pretty much says we’re over.” the diminished spark in his eyes and I burry my head to his chest. pleading with my body, but he dislodges my arms from him and pushes at my shoulders. “your hot then cold temperament… I can’t,” and the painful twitch on his mouth. “you broke my heart.” squirming out of my grasp. “I can’t.”

the door shudders with a loud bang as it swings to a close.

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© simon whittle — second act