What Colors the Steel Sky Blue

I do not know if it was me or if it was the New Yorkers but it had been several months since I had moved to the city and had not made any new friends outside of work. The ones at work were nice people but under what seemed to be a permeable layer of personality laid a very tough shell like the seed of a peach, it was impossible to break through. So the friendships at work remained limited and gave me as much satisfaction as miniature people on a bookshelf.

The streets, the gym, the clubs, the restaurants were no better. Unlike the people in Austin, New Yorkers took pride in having a wall around them. At first this seemed a little strange to me. As months went by I finally understood. The answer was simple, these people were rude to strangers for a good reason: most of the strangers in New York City were FREAKS! The scariest part of it is the fact that these freaks were perfectly capable of hiding their freakiness. Through years of trial and error a new species of freaks had evolved in this city; a complete new species that on any day you would meet, conduct business with, exchange a simple subway banter but never ever know what you're standing up against.

With so many freaks roaming the streets it would make sense that some people would have these freaks as friends or perhaps at least as acquintances. Strangely enough the people we knew were never freaks, they were weird friends, strange acquintances, dear childhood friends with obsessions, coworkers with addictions and habits that they just can not kick but never full-fledged freaks. It seemed that this city had made it an art of hiding the freak in us all. On any regular day, the battlefield commonly known to others as Manhattan was full of freaks in camouflage. The strangely kind water man, the old nasty neighbor lady, the couple that you ran into in the mornings, people walking their dogs, all were freaks in hiding.

You can only imagine my shock and delight when one day a particularly normal looking guy approached me at the gym and asked about the pair of shorts I had on. I was wearing the last surviving pair of Duke shorts from my college days. It turns out he too was an alumni and we hit it off right away.

I was soon to find out that unlike the Mid-West, people's schools mattered a whole lot more here on the island of brands and images that were applied and re-applied more frequently than Staten Island makeup. Entire friendships and relationships could be based on people's educational background here and I did not mind it. In the land of diploma elitism I had nothing to fear with my BA and MA degrees tucked under my arm.

The guy's name was Bob, and he was in advertising which meant that he was mentally pretty sharp. We soon started working out together and it was fun to be talking to someone at the gym for a change. I always looked forward to running into Bob at the gym because he always had lots of stories to make me laugh.

It was also a no-frills friendship. It was completely clear that I was taken and he also made it clear that he was too tired to date anyone anymore. He had been out there in the playing field and had suffered his share of injuries and disappointments. I think one should always watch out for these people in life; because just two moments after they announce that they have given up and admitted defeat, they turn around and do something really out of character and end up doing better than you are somehow.

Bob was no different. He disappeared for a week or two without a warning. It turns out he went on a gay cruise where he met the man of his dreams (surprise!) who happened to be living in Chicago. I was a little shaken by the fast pace of changes in Bob's life but nevertheless I was glad for him. Next thing I knew he was making plans for moving to Chicago and the full nine yards of kissing adolescent independence goodbye once and for all.

Bob was in what I call the marriage mode. A type of mental state when sentences almost always begin with "We" and mostly are about home furnishings, home improvement, babies, and financial plans for the future. It is most apparent in women but the convergence of gay towards mainstream has resulted in gay men also exhibiting the same type of codependent behavior. What's interesting to me as a foreigner is the word "codependent" almost always carries with it a negative connotation in the US. What is so bad about needing someone to hold onto, needing someone to talk to, needing someone to share an agenda with? I still do not know.

Every brick of every building, the pavement beneath my feet and all the people around me friends or not seemed to be silently whispering "independence, go for independence" when I was not looking. Independence; sounds great. Sign me up but then what happens next?

Codependence, independence, multi-dependence, anti-socialism all become no different than long distance carriers that each have individual benefits and caveats leaving us wishing there was one plan to put all the good stuff together and leave out the bad. So far no such luck so we carry on with our choices...and still get frequent tele-marketer calls from the other carriers.

It bugged me. No it disturbed me that Bob, my independent, never gonna date again, "I will be alone and fabulous for the rest of my life" friend had gone four weddings and a funeral on me overnight.

To cap things off, Bob was having a huge birthday party in a week or two. I was not really looking forward to it but he kept harassing me until I had to say yes. Most people love birthday parties for some reason. I guess it is because they only have fond memories of birthday parties past. What I remember from my birthdays in the past is, I would invite all my classmates and only 5 girls out of 25 people would show up every time. So after primary school I just gave up on the idea of trying to make friends. Something about me was annoying people, I was too young to know exactly what but I knew even then a crowded loneliness waited for me in the future.

Unfortunately before I had time to get ready for it, the big day arrived. Bob had informed me that the party was at a restaurant in East Village. I thought to myself, good at least I do not have to venture to another part of Manhattan.

I am in love and have always been in love with having the option of bailing out when I need to. It is just this noncommittal part of me that needs to know I can hit a panic button and I will be taken out of the current situation with the fewest number of scratches and scars possible. And this restaurants location fit my exit criteria perfectly.

So I get dressed and show up at the party with a little happy birthday card mostly because I did not know what to get him. I was hoping for a party of ten to fifteen people. I was mentally prepared for ten to fifteen people. When I arrived on time at the restaurant there was no one. No sight of Bob, nor his entourage.

It was a little hole in the wall restaurant that specialized in French Armenian cuisine. I still do not know what kind of food that ends up being: very spicy, delicious and very little food that's beautifully arranged on a plate? The food was delicious but the quantity was simply not enough. Oh did I mention more than thirty people showed up. Our birthday party quickly filled the entire restaurant.

Bob arrived and everyone was on him like he was fresh meat in a shark tank. I must have exchanged two sentences with him the whole night.

Bob's best friends were sitting next to me. This super cool Manhattan couple, I bet they thought their dodo did not stink. I was mortified by the size of the crowd but I was making a concerted effort to engage in conversation and maybe get to know some people. Well I chatted with Bob's best friends for a while. The guy was a major player in some startup multimedia company. I told him about my job and my company, and did not forget to put a little Sape plug in there. The moment the words "maybe your company and mine can do some collaboration together" left my lips he snapped at me "I know your company, there is no reason for us to do any work with you all. I was talking to you because we're trying to get more talent like you." This was strike two for me because this couple had previously offered me a joint in the middle of a conversation and it seemed very incoherent and out of place to me at the time.

So I turned to my right, and noticed that what seemed like a random seating of individuals was almost dead on in terms of separating the GAYS into one corner and the straight people to the other. I was dead in the middle and it was appropriate in some ways. I was gay after all but most people did not figure it out until I started making frequent unnecessary references to musicals and movies.

The "gay" crowd was gracious and nice to me. So I pretty much remained turned to my right the rest of the night and had a blast with people I would never see again. I don't think people in Turkey do not have this experience when they entertain in public. Usually when you see a group of people in Turkey having a blast, you can be guaranteed these people have known each other for more than one night; or at the very least I can guarantee you these people will see each other again. I never saw these people ever again for the remainder of my stay in the city.

There was a lot of food, a lot of drinking, and it seemed like I was trapped in what seemed to be a re-enactment of the last days of Rome. When I felt that I could take it no more, I got up to leave and one of Bob's friends grabbed me by the arm on my way to the door.

She said: "did you pay Bob for the party?"
I said: "excuse me? pay for a party this size?".
She said: "Yeah we all have to pitch in to pay for the party and you owe $70."

I have never been the kind of guy that winces at the sound of a price tag or restaurant bill but this one bothered me. It bothered me that I was almost the only non-drinking guy there and I was paying for all the booze these people were washing the Armenian koftes with. I had $40 with me so I gave her that and told her I had to get more money. So I left and came back and gave her the rest. In the meantime her husband in his drunken stupor looks at me with recognition and says: "ah the douche bag is back to pay .... great". I was speechless, I really was but anger was brewing inside me and I had to get out of there before I got into some situation.

By this time Bob had also joined his friends in the land of drunken messy faced stupor. I felt like I had been transported to this alien planet and I had to go back, get out of this place before it claimed me.

So I turned around, and told her that I can not believe her husband has the balls to call me names at a friend's party. She was apologizing for him when I said: "that's all I have to say to you". I turned around, I could hear her still gabbing in the background but I kept my steady pace towards the door. Soon I was out, and what seemed like hell was behind the door, nicely contained in the East Village night.

I walked home silently in disbelief, and anger; anger for myself for going to a birthday party for someone I did not even know that well. I called up my cousin later to vent and he could not believe the story, he was convinced I was making it up or exaggerating the details but I was not.

I never saw Bob again, and never heard back from him again. I figured he had moved to Chicago to get married to his dream date and possibly if nature permitted squirt several kids out promptly so that he can commence his life as a soccer mom in the burbs of Chicago.

Bob called me almost a year later, two weeks before I left New York City. He left a message on my machine telling me he was sorry he did not have time to talk to me before he left for Chicago. He and his hubby were going to Turkey the next day so he had called me for tips and pointers for things to do in Turkey. I never called him back.