Cupid Painted Blind

by Marcus Herzig

  “Did I do what?”

  “Come on, Matt, don’t play dumb! Did you sign up for Track & Field?” She looks at me, and as much as I’m trying to conceal a stupid grin, I can’t.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  “That’s awesome!” she exclaims and jumps up and down. “Well done, you!”

  It’s really heartwarming to see her so excited on my behalf, and I’m glad I can share this moment with her, so I hug her and jump with her like the giddy little girl that she is, and I say, “I know!”

  Once we’ve calmed down, Zoey asks, “Okay, so now what?”

  I know what she’s getting at, and my excited smile freezes into a grimace. “I have no freaking idea!”

  “You better come up with a plan. Don’t blow this now.”

  “I know. Anyway, guess who came passing by just when I was signing my name on that list!”

  She thinks for a moment, then she looks at me with her eyes wide open. “No way!”

  I nod emphatically. “Way!”

  “Oh my God! Did he see you? Did he say anything? Come on, Matt, don’t make me pull it all out of your nose!”

  So I tell her, making sure to include every little detail I can remember, especially the moment when Chris put his hand on my shoulder.

  “Oh my God,” Zoey says again. “Do you know what that means?”

  I frown. “No, what does it mean?”

  Zoey throws her arms up in the air. “How can anyone be so clueless? Yesterday he winked at you. Today he put his hand on your shoulder. Plus, you now know for sure he’s gay. He’s totally into you!”

  “Yeah, no, I wouldn’t read too much into that. I mean, you hug me all the time. Does that mean you’re into me?”

  “Eww,” she says. “You’re my brother! That’d be like incest or something! Besides, you’re gay!”

  I glance around. There are people on the other side of the street, and it doesn’t look like they can hear us, but I still have to remind Zoey, “Keep your voice down, okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, sorry.”

  As we reach our house, Zoey’s getaway car is waiting, engine running. Mom reminds me to look after Greg, then they take off. When I enter the house, I find Greg in the living room, watching TV, his feet resting on the coffee table.

  “Have you done your homework?” I ask.

  “Who?” he says without taking his eyes off the screen.

  “You!”

  “No, who cares?”

  “Your mom cares!”

  “You my mom now?”

  “No,” I say and walk up to him. “But Mom asked me to make sure you do your homework. If you don’t I’ll be in trouble, and if I’m in trouble you’re in bigger trouble. Take your feet off the table.”

  When he ignores me I lift my foot and gently nudge his legs.

  “Ow!” he moans. “Why are you kicking me, asshole?” He tries to kick me back but I take a step back and he kicks a hole in the air.

  “Trust me, you have no idea what it’s like when I really kick you, and you don’t want to find out.” I lean forward and pretend that I want to hit him in the face. When he raises his arms in defense I grab the remote control from his lap, switch off the TV and take out the batteries. I put them in my pocket and say, “You can have them back when you show me your homework.”

  “You’re such a square!” Greg says and rolls off the sofa.

  “Yeah. And you do your homework. Now!”

  Pulling a silly face, he walks towards the stairs. On his knees, like a thirteen-year-old who’s pretending he’s eight.

  In the kitchen I grab a bottle of juice from the fridge and make my way upstairs. When I pass the open door to Greg’s room, he’s sitting at his desk.

  “Square!” I hear him say loudly.

  I stick my head in his room and say, “Watch it!”

  He grabs a piece of paper and waves it at me, his face feigning angelic innocence. “No, I’m doing my homework. Geometry. Lots of squares, you know?”

  I let him get away with it, go to my room, and close the door. While my backpack is still on its way flying toward my bed, I slump down in my chair at the desk and fire up my laptop. I open Wattpad and navigate to my messages.

  2-b-pretty:

  Oh my! Poor Matty having quite a day; coming out and staying in the closet at the same time; his clothes soiled by his arch nemesis. All this on his first day of high school to which I can relate as I myself start high school soon. Without preexisting enemies or friends, I must add. Matty has friends, but will they accept him even when they know his dark secret? Will his enemies hate him more? Questions that intrigue me while I wait to find the answers. But not as much as beautiful, handsome Chris. As he catches Matt’s eye, and captures Matt’s heart and mind from the beginning. And to the end, the happy end where wedding bells will send the two young princes off to a life of eternal love and bliss? One can only hope. Hopefully Matt didn’t do anything irrational that he might later regret. Hopefully Chris turns out as the prince charming as which he is first perceived. Sorry for being such a delusional dreamer, pouring out uncontrollable thoughts as I express overly too much in my comment but it is necessary for me to do so for this is how much I LOVE your story. Your writing is very intriguing as always. I’ll say no more until next time, Mr. Mattoid. If there will be a next time, that is. There better be, because the story MUST go on. I’m totally obsessed. Can’t wait for the next chapter.

  Leave it to 2-b-pretty to put a stupid grin on my face. I don’t affectionately call her My Biggest Fan for nothing, although I don’t even know anything about her. Her comments are always quirky and fresh and honest, but she never reveals much personal information in her comments—at least not intentionally. In fact, up until today I didn’t even know her age, but since she’s about to start high school, I guess she must be my age. Her unconventional use of English grammar and spelling makes me think she’s probably not a native English speaker. She might be some fourteen-year-old girl from France or the Philippines or some equally obscure place. But who cares, really? Somewhere out there among seven billion human beings there is someone who truly enjoys my literary effusions, and I’m sure that whoever does that cannot be a bad person. And one true fan is really all it takes for me to aspire to become a better writer.

  I need to reply to her comment. Our conversations usually stretch across several days because she doesn’t get online more than once or twice a day, so I want to reply to her right away, because the longer I wait, the longer I’ll have to wait for her response, but a sudden noise makes me jump. I hastily shut the lid of my laptop, but it’s just the door bell, so I go downstairs to let El Niño in.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  We’re playing FIFA 16, sitting on my sofa, our feet resting on the coffee table. Technically, my sofa is not a sofa but a loveseat—a sofa designed to seat two people—but it feels awkward to think of it as a loveseat when I’m sitting on it with Alfonso.

  Or anyone else, for that matter.

  Alfonso is killing it at FIFA, scoring one goal after another while I can’t get a foot on the ground, but I don’t mind. I just enjoy spending time alone with him, having fun, and being close to him—literally, physically close. I never had a sexual or romantic interest in Alfonso—it would be pointless because he’s the most heterosexual guy I know—but I’ve always enjoyed the snug feeling of getting physical with him, whether he was wrestling me on my bed when we were younger or we were fooling around in the pool in his backyard or sharing a sleeping bag when we were camping out. Or just sitting next to him and getting my ass kicked at FIFA.

  It’s still summer, we’re both wearing shorts and T-shirts, and our arms and legs frequently touch. I love Alfonso’s warm, smooth skin, even more so now than I did one or two years ago, now that oodles of testosterone are pumping through his veins and oozing out of every pore. It’s moments like this when we’re both alone and relaxed and having a good time and I’m feeling so close to him that I’m dying to just get it over with and t
ell him I’m gay. Yet at the same time I know that by coming out to Alfonso I would inevitably render these moments that I cherish so much a thing of the past, because I simply cannot see how once the cat is out of the bag we could ever wrestle in the pool again or just sit on my loveseat like we do now without feeling extremely awkward. The moment I step out of the closet I’ll walk into a room with an elephant in it, an elephant that for all I know might never leave us be. It’s the only sensible reason I can think of why I’m not ready yet to tell Alfonso I’m gay. I just want to stay his best friend a while longer before I become his gay best friend.

  Alfonso heads the ball into the net, extending his lead to 5-0. “¡Gooooool!” he jubilates. “¡El magnifico! El grande! El impresionante Cristiano Ronaldo ataca de nuevo! Goooool!” He tosses away his controller, and as if to prove my point he pounces on me, puts his arm around me, exuberantly gives me a noogie, and pokes my ribs with his finger.

  “All right, all right!” I say, trying to writhe out of his rambunctious embrace.

  He finally lets go of me and cackles. “And that was me trying to let you win!”

  “No, it wasn’t!”

  “It totally was, but you’re completely elsewhere with your thoughts. Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Alfonso looks at me for a few moments, and he clearly knows everything is not okay, but he doesn’t say anything.

  Greg comes walking through the open door. “The batteries,” he demands, nudging my thigh with his foot.

  “Have you done your homework?”

  He sighs. “Yes, mother.”

  I ignore the tease and say, “Let’s see it then.”

  “It’s on my desk. Go have a look if you want.”

  Without looking at him, I say, “Dude, you want something from me, not the other way around.”

  He moans and scurries away.

  “What’s he need batteries for?” Alfonso asks.

  “TV remote. I took them out. He’s not allowed to watch TV until he’s done his homework.”

  “Great parenting, Matt,” he says as he picks up his controller again. “Another match? I’ll be ManU this time. You?”

  “Does it matter which team you’re gonna destroy next?”

  “Nope.”

  “All right, I’m gonna be a patriot then,” I say and select the L.A. Galaxy from the list. Alfonso snorts, and by the time Greg returns with his homework, ManU is 1-0 in the lead.

  “Here,” Greg says.

  Without bothering to look at it, I say, “Desk.”

  He walks over to my desk and picks up the batteries. I cast a quick glance to make sure the lid of my laptop is shut and Greg doesn’t touch it. He steps back and looks at the TV. “Can I play?”

  “No,” I say. “Go away.”

  “You any good?” Alfonso asks.

  “Better than this douche anyway.”

  “You wish,” I say, not because he isn’t but because I have to at least try and maintain my fraternal superiority. It’s a natural law.

  “I’ll kick your ass anytime,” Greg says, and before Alfonso gets to ask whether Greg means him or me, I hand him the controller.

  “There you go then, dickwad.”

  Greg takes the controller and immediately starts playing. He climbs over my legs, scraping my knee with his sneaker which totally isn’t an accident, and squeezes his skinny butt between Alfonso and me. It turns out my loveseat can accommodate three people if necessary, but it’s not exactly comfortable, so I get up and go sit my desk. I open my laptop, and after thinking about it for a few moments, I start typing my reply to 2-b-pretty.

  Mattoid2002:

  Hi, Miss Pretty! I’m glad you enjoy the new story. And don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong with being a delusional dreamer. Isn’t delusional dreaming what fiction is all about, especially with a happy end? That said, don’t get your hopes up too high. Maybe there will be no happy end. Or maybe there will be. Maybe I don’t know. Maybe I do know but I’m not going to tell you because I want you to keep reading. I’m rambling, what is wrong with me? LOL. Anyway, we’ll see how it all pans out. The next chapter will be up soon. I hope to see you around. Thanks again!

  By the time I close the lid of my laptop, the Galaxy have beaten ManU 5-4, and Greg is the king of smug.

  “Woohoo! Bow down and worship your master, Alfonso!”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

  “I totally destroyed you, though.”

  “You won 5-4 on a last minute goal,” Alfonso says. “That’s not exactly destroying someone. Besides, I let you win because you’re a child.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  “Sure did.”

  “Whatever,” Greg says dismissively and looks at me. “So Matt, are you ready to get your ass kicked by your little brother?”

  “No,” I say. “Go away. Do something useful. Watch TV or something.”

  “All right then,” Greg says, puts the controller on the table and gets up. “I’ll leave you to your girls’ soccer tournament.”

  As he leaves the room, I kick after him. It’s a narrow miss. I close the door and sit back down next to Alfonso. Looking at him, I ask, “Did you really let him win?”

  He snorts. “Please! I never let people win. The little twerp destroyed me fair and square.”

  Grinning, I pick up the controller. “Another one?”

  “Sure. You want me to let you win?”

  “Shut up,” I say and nudge him with my elbow.

  He laughs and selects Bayern Munich.

  I feel stupid because I don’t even know what that is.

  * * *

  2-b-pretty:

  Haha, you are such a tease, Mr. Mattoid! But happy end, ambitious end, unhappy end, I don’t mind either way as long as the master writer can make it work. A good story being about a good story and not the readers sensitivities or satisfactions, happy ends are overrated anyways, for their often unrealistic and contrived in my experience. A master writer such as your humble self will prefer creating art over pure entertainment. Not that there’s anything wrong with entertainment. I would never say that, oh no, for I am not a snob like many! But good art always being entertaining, good entertainment alone will not always be art.

  Mattoid2002:

  Ambitious, Miss Pretty? Did you mean ‘ambiguous’? ;)

  2-b-pretty:

  Sheesh! :P && What’s with that smilie? Don’t you have a nose, Mr. Mattoid? ;-)

  Mattoid2002:

  Touché, Miss Pretty. :-)

  * * *

  2-b-pretty:

  Another chapter, another day of torment and misery for poor Matty; as he is desperately trying to fit in; in a world he doesn’t seem to belong; trying to dissimulate himself into being something he is not; he is making a fool of himself. A endearing, charming fool, but a fool non the less. No one seems to notice still, apart from his loving and beloved sister, what Matty is up to. Maybe not even Matty himself. It is intriguing for me, as a humble but observant reader, to know what Matty wants even if he does not. Will he achieve his goal and find his luck? I cannot wait to find out. Keep at it, Mr. Mattoid. I’ll say no more until next time.

  P.S. What’s with your generic avatar? Won’t you show us your handsome face, Mr. Mattoid? ;-)

  Mattoid2002:

  Not sure what is more intriguing, and indeed more mysterious, Matt’s behavior or your analysis of it. Why do you think he doesn’t belong in the world he’s trying to be a part of? And what do you think he’s up to that he doesn’t know?

  P.S. I’m probably nowhere near as handsome as you might think.

  2-b-pretty:

  You portray Matty as thinking himself as a loser when he is a seeker. Seeking acceptance more than seeking love. Thinking he want Chris, what he really want is acceptance from everyone, as in: parents, siblings, friends, enemies. But he doesn’t want to come out. But he want to be gay. He will have to come up with something. His sister is right: he need a plan. If only he has
a good friend, a best friend he could talk to. >.o

  P.S. That is not for you to decide, Mr. Handsome. ;-)

  Mattoid2002:

  But he has a plan! He’s joining the track & field club so he can be close to Chris and take it from there. What else can he do?

  P.S. I have to protect my identity because I’m still in the closet.

  2-b-pretty:

  That is not a plan! It’s random unless he has a history of athletics. I think he should come out to his best friend.

  P.S. So you are gay? Gay and handsome? >.o

  Mattoid2002:

  He’s not ready to come out to his best friend yet.

  P.S. No. Just gay.

  P.P.S. If you were a dude I’d totally fall for you. ^^;

  2-b-pretty:

  Who is not ready? The author or his character? >.o

  P.S. Just checking, Mr. Handsome. ;-)

  P.P.S. I don’t think so.

  Mattoid2002:

  Oh be quiet! :P

  2-b-pretty:

  I’ll say no more until next time, Mr. Handsome. ^___^

  Mattoid2002:

  Good night, Miss Pretty. <3

  * * *

  2-b-pretty:

  Thank you for posting the latest chapter. Despite my criticism, I really enjoy reading your story and I devour every new chapter like chocolate cake, just so you know. That said, Matty is still confused; not knowing what he wants; not knowing he doesn’t know what he wants; thinking he has a awesome plan non the less which he doesn’t. I like the many opportunities he has to come out to his best friend and his other friends and how he squander them one by one; being afraid to jump in the water; thinking he cannot swim; not realizing the water is only 3 foot deep. I feel for Matty and I root for him despite his sillyness. I also like Sandy. She has a good heart. It’s sad that you choose to portray her as being ditzy, for she really isn’t. Oh and I hate Chris, haha. I wonder what Matty see in him except a handsome boy. I also wonder: being in track & field club with handsome Chris, what will happen when they shower together? Will it be hot and steamy or awkward and hilarious? Being the great writer that you are, I can’t wait to find out how you will handle this situation. >