We agreed to meet at the local gay coffee house on Robertson, both realizing it'd be dumb to meet at Mocha Daze -- just to make tongues wag. If this was a meeting to discuss whether or not to get back into the lawsuit, why had I spent two hours deciding what to wear?
Look casual, look like you didn't even think of what to wear...
I looked great-- if a little "produced".
He -- Mark Fitzgerald -- was dressed as usual in a flawless, navy suit. Some men can wear navy suits and look fine, others look like the President of the United States. Mark was "B." I'd always wanted to be the guy that turned heads when I walked into a room but I had to settle for being cute.
Mark turned heads as he approached my table. I couldn't hold back a laugh when the boys at the coffeehouse looked at him, then looked at me-- then looked green with envy.
"Drew," he said simply and sat down.
'Ohhhhh, we're playin' it cool, are we?' I thought...
We ordered coffees, some muffins, and he tore right into business.
Hours later, my head reeling from facts, from reason, from argument -- I agreed with Mark that we should go on with the lawsuit. But one thing I couldn't deny was...
"Rudy has an alibi, Mark." I said. "His father told me he was out of town for the majority of the letters. He wasn't in town to send me those flowers, or to give me the gift on Greg's birthday -- he was at his sister's in Florida. He has proof. Now, how are you gonna make anything stick, Mark, if the guy wasn't even in the state?"
He paused then leaned in and spoke, "Andrew, that's my problem. Not yours. You have to focus on things like your job, your life. Not this, this is my responsibility. My job. God, Andrew -- let me help, I want to help."
"Why, Mark?"
"Why?" he asked.
"Yes, Mark. I've never understood this. We're not friends, we're ex-lovers. You don't supply me with anything beyond erotic dreams, and I do even less for you. I don't mean to be rude, or cold Mark -- but it's true. Why the vested interest in my well-being? Why do you want to help?"
"Because of what I did to you, Andrew."
I didn't know whether to believe him or not. He continued, "Because of the way it ended with us ten years ago. I was stupid. And in the process, I've never had anyone in my life as great as you... this is the least I can do, Andy. The very least."
He meant it. I could tell, he was sincere.
Somehow, the unfinished business I felt when he walked into my yard sale months ago -- the unfinished feelings of anger and resentment-- had faded. Simply, easily. No exploding fireworks, no roaring of crowds. Simple. It was done.
I forgave him. I forgave Mark Fitzgerald for breaking my heart on the basketball court at Atlanta U. ten years ago.
