Knowing my luck, he’s a straight tourist who I’ll never see again.
But maybe not. I’m not psychic; I can’t rule anything out.
“I should go say what’s up.”
“I’m loving this attitude, O-Bro, but are you thinking with your dick by any chance?”
“I think I’m thinking with my heart?”
“Not exactly a reliable source either.”
“I’m getting a good vibe from him. He doesn’t seem like he’s taking in the city one last time before he lives out the rest of his days in an underground bunker, or about to go on a killing spree just because.”
“You have such a low bar for boys.”
“And you’re supposed to be my hype woman.”
“So true. If you’re really feeling this boy, then go carpe that diem.”
I begin turning but snap right back.
There’s been so many times over the years where I crush on someone around the city—Dave & Buster’s, Central Park, Barnes & Noble, the 5 train—but I never know how to jump from fantasy to reality. Then even when I knew someone personally, like a couple guys in high school, I couldn’t act on it because I wasn’t out to anyone besides Dalma until after graduation last month.
Even after coming out, I still don’t know my way in.
“What the hell am I supposed to say?” I ask.
“Speak from your heart,” Dalma says. “Not your dick.”
“Speak from my heart, not my dick; speak from my heart, not my dick,” I mutter like a mantra.
I don’t want to miss my chance to say hi to this guy, the probability of ever seeing him again in New York would be one in . . . I don’t know, some big-ass number that would take days to count to.
“I got this,” I say with zero confidence.
“Yeah you do,” Dalma says with zero believability.
I get a move on, thinking up questions to ask him with every step: Where are you from?
Are you here with anyone?
You look like Clark Kent. Do you ever dress up as Superman?
Do you play on my team, aka are you into guys?
Oh, you’re straight? Do you have an identical twin who is into guys?
Then I’m suddenly standing over him. His eyes—an icy blue that make me suck in a sharp, cold breath—go wide. At first I’m expecting him to freak out, kind of like how I did this one time I stepped out of my local bodega and found some white dude in my face threatening to kick my ass if I didn’t hand over my cash and candy. （I went home without cash and candy.） But this guy doesn’t look scared of me. His heart-shaped lips actually part into a smile, and I’m lit up like a flaming match to paper.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” I repeat, like he’s teaching me a new language.
“How’s it going?”
He’s not supposed to be leading the conversation, I approached him.
“It’s going good, I mean, as good as the end of the world can go,” I say. Then I realize this could be dead before it begins if I don’t make it clear that I don’t think the world is going to end at midnight. “Not that I think we’re all about to die. Some people have to die obviously, unfortunately, tragically . . . yeah, tragically . . . but I don’t think the whole planet is about to blow up in flames or drown or cave in or anything like that.” I try taking a deep breath, but I feel like my body is rejecting all air so I can take a whole second to shut the fuck up. For some mysterious reason this dude hasn’t run away. “Anyway, I came over here because you were staring at the hourglasses, and I was wondering if you were thinking about all this Death-Cast insanity too.”