Milkshakes and Cheap Shoes

Gabi's foot rubbed the coffee spot by his seat in the tube as details of his evening with Eva replayed in his head. The dry octopus, the circular conversation, her vanilla perfume - Gabi rubbed his face as he felt his stomach twisting. He should have never accepted to meet her again. Paula, his therapist, would sneer at him, the next day and he would mumble and twist his fingers. Not only had he met Eva again - when he was supposed to tell her they were incompatible - but he had also not fulfilled his part of the deal with Paula. For the tenth week in a row, he had failed to express what he thought to people. Paula had been clear, if he could not reach that next level of dialogue that week, she would stop counselling him and he would have to find another therapist. That meant starting treatment all over again, telling his story from scratch to a stranger. And, most importantly, that meant being stuck with his social anxiety for at least another two months. Paula and him had been making good progress in treating his wet hands, tachycardia, and blushing. And he was ruining it all, for the tenth time. Their next appointment was in less than ten hours and Gabi stared at the coffee spot blankly.

His phone tinkled in his pocket. Eva. They had parted only thirty minutes ago, and she was texting him already.

What a great evening ! I really enjoyed. Would be nice to meet again :) How ... Click to read full message.

Hi Eva, I'm sorry. You're boring, just didn't work. No matter the tone, the media, the time of the day - that sentence he had never managed to pronounce. Gabi locked the phone with a swipe and pushed it back in his pocket.

"Gabi? Hey Gabi? Can you hear me?"

Damn, he had pressed the calling button instead of locking his phone. Dammit.

"I know you're there, Gabi. Haha. Say something!" Gabi stared at the screen, paralysed. The woman sitting next to him cleared her throat and sneered at him. Mind your own business, old cow, Gabi thought. But she was right, he was being rude. He felt his throat tensing as he picked up the phone.

"Hi... Eva"

"Hey, so nice to hear you." She was smiling at the other end of the phone.

"Yeah, very nice to hear you too... I'm on the tube. Can I call you back when I'm home?" He avoided the woman's eyes as she glanced from above her newspaper again. "Looking forward to it." He heard his voice add. Even that old cow from the tube he needed to please.

*

Gabi locked the door of his flat and leaned against it. Right. It would take two seconds, he would just say goodnight and that would be - wait, was Eva calling again?

"Hey sorry, am I disturbing?" She was still smiling. "I thought I'd call back, I was curious to hear what you had to say."

What he had to say? Nothing. He had nothing to say. He just wanted to cry in Paula's arms.

"No, you... you never disturb."

"Oh, you're so cute."

"Yeah. Listen, was really nice hearing you. That's all I wanted to do - hear your voice. Now I got to go, I have something in the oven and -"

"In the oven? After dinner?"

"Yeah. I was baking a lemon pie for my dog."

"I didn't know you had a dog! What kind of dog? What's his name?"

"The kind that ...moves his tail to samba. His name is Samba, actually." Gabi's fist hit his forehead as he spoke.

"Haha. You're so funny. You should bring Samba along next time we meet. How about that?"

"How about that? About that very much. Hehe."

"Great! Same day and time next week?"

"Same day, same time, same place. Yes." Gabi turned around and hit his head against the door.

"I knew you'd love that place! Cool. Good night!"

"Good night, Eva."

Paula was right. But now he only had two options left: calling back Eva right now to tell her the truth, ugly as it was. Or renting a dog for next Tuesday evening. The latter sounded wiser.

*

Gabi removed his boots and tiptoed down the corridor - he didn't want his flatmate, Matt, to yell out at him again for being noisy. Matt had no trouble throwing parties whenever Gabi had a client deadline while blaming him for his own mistakes. Plus, he still owed Gabi two hundred pounds. Gabi had prepared a speech to claim his money back but hadn't found the opportunity yet to rehearse. The image of Paula shaking her head at him appeared in his mind and he wiped it off. He would tell Matt in the right time, for now he was asleep anyway. Gabi held his breath as he approached the next door. Bellen's. He had been avoiding her for three weeks now - cold war was the only way with her. Meanwhile, he was preparing a comeback at her for he had discovered lately that she was the one who had forgotten to pay the gas bill in June. He didn't want to use that weapon against her just yet. He was still perfecting his attack but once the opportunity would appear - he would hit. And strike.

"Mr Gabriel." A voice called from the living room as he climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He froze.

"Gabriel, I'm talking to you."

"Hi, Bellen."

"Do you call that cleaning?"

He turned around slowly. What do you mean do I call that cleaning? I have been cleaning the kitchen after you for the past two months, hoovering around and taking the trash out. And by the way, now I know. I know you're the one who forgot to pay the gas bill in June. I know everything.

"What?", he heard his tiny voice answer.

"The bathtub. Is it what calling means to you?"

"I shower in the office."

"Cut the crap, Gabriel." She threw a sponge in his direction, he ducked and dodged it. Now was the time, Gabi dropped his boots on the floor and put his hands on his hips. He took a breath. "Listen, Bellen."

"What 'Bellen'? Enough of your non-sense."

"What non-sense?"

"You know what I'm talking about!"

"Guys, guys, guys!" Bellen and Gabi turned around, Matt was standing in front of them, in his underwear, eyes semi-closed. "Can I get some quiet here?"

"Sorry, Matt. Bellen was-"

"Shut up Gabi. I have an interview tomorrow. You're stupid or what? Making flirty calls in the entrance. I told you several times to be quiet this week. For **** sake." Matt went back to his room and smashed the door.

Bellen walked to the other side of the living room to collect the sponge. Gabi felt his heart beating in his temples. He would never handle that conversation with her. That was impossible. He picked up his shoes from the floor and before Bellen could turn around with her sponge, he was already out of the building.

*

Shoreditch was buzzing with noise and traffic. Only a peanut butter milkshake could save Gabi at that point, and he knew exactly where to find one. He headed to the 24/7 coffee shop by the roundabout. A couple of new buildings concealed it from the crowd's view. It was a small secretive space that, no matter what, brought him three magical Cs: comfort, courage, clarity. The place was empty and sat at the suspended desk in front of the vitrine. He rubbed his eyes again - that evening had been throwing at him countless opportunities to speak up and achieve Paula's weekly goal. And here he was, hiding behind peanut butter. He had to take action. There was no point in him showing up the next morning to confess he had failed. Better was to confess that to her, remotely. He would write her a farewell letter to her and post it. He felt the pockets of his duffle coat for his notebook, he had forgotten it. He grabbed a napkin and asked the waitress for a pen. She made eye contact with him and gave him a smile. That kind of smile. He looked away, wondering how people could be so intrusive. He grabbed the pen and mumbled a quick thank you without looking at her.

"Gabi? You here?"

Gabi looked up. Oh. No. That was the last straw. A tall silhouette he recognised right away had spotted him from the counter of the café and was heading right to his stall.

"I didn't know you lived in London, man. Lydia this is Gabi. Gabi, Lydia. Gabi and I went to the same university, fifteen years ago or something? Man, why didn't you tell me you lived here?"

Indeed, Gabi hadn't told Quentin he had moved to London, and there was a reason for that. Gabi had had a story with Quentin's girlfriend while on an exchange program abroad. And same, he had tried to tell him about it, but no matter how much he had rehearsed, he had never found the courage to confess that to him. Especially because it was not his fault, his girlfriend had lied to him, to both. He discovered it too late and knew that would not change anything. Anyway, there he stood, looking at him with a genuine smile.

"We only came here because their bagels are good and she wanted one."

Gabi forced a smile back.

"We're going to this new disco skate place nearby. Want to join?"

"No, thanks. I -"

"Come on, man. Don't be boring."

"I'm not boring. I'm just ..."

"Depressed? Man, you've been depressed for the last fifteen years." Lydia laughed and Quentin took off his sunglasses. "They even a great milkshake bar."

Gabi didn't want to be rude and, at least, if he went, he could tell Paula that he had managed to go out and have fun, in a social setting. He grabbed his coat and followed them.

*

The place was loud. With a colourful floor and a roller skating rink. As much as Gabi wanted to honour Quentin's invite, his could only grin around him for he still felt guilty. The milkshake bar was upstairs, Gabi hinted at Quentin he would skate with them later. The upper room had a low ceiling, blue electric lighting and pink neons that undulated on the brick walls like ivy. Waitresses with yellow mini-skirts and pink maxi-socks zigzagged around tables with milkshakes to old school hip hop tunes. A panoramic window overlooked the roller skating rink. Colourful suits, sequins jackets and funky sunglasses slid around. People held each other by the hips, skated backwards and moved their shoulders like hip hop dancers. Their wheels lightened up in blue, red or green. Gabi touched the glass as he watched them smile, move, fall and bounce. As if there were no tomorrow, no people to please and no feelings to spare.

"Want to dance?"

Here we go again. What did all these women want from him? As he turned around to face the woman behind him, Gabi prepared his thanks-but-no-thanks sentence.

"Hi, thanks but no thanks."

"Where are you from? I've never heard that accent before."

"Brazil."

"Oh nice. We can dance here if you want?"

Hadn't she heard him? He thought of Paula. He had to be honest. He could do it.

"Just leave me alone," he said.

"What did you say?"

He sighed.

"I said sure, great idea."

"Haha, I knew it," she said.

Paula would kill him.

"You're a great dancer," the woman leaned forward and said.

"Thanks."

"Is it because you can dance salsa?"

"Salsa?"

"Like the Rio Carnaval?"

Did she mean samba? She did mean samba. Gabi bit his lips and nodded without answering. As he swung from side to side, he wondered how he could exit that situation. The woman came closer. His cheeks started to burn. She came even closer and now his hands were wet. He thought he was done with those symptoms. He needed to get out of there. A waitress was sliding in their direction with three milkshakes on a tray. She was his exit ticket. Gabi made the woman turn to one side and to the other while the waitress approached. As she reached them, he stepped back and hit the waitress' stomach with his elbow. Milkshake flew up in the air and one of the cups hit his co-dancer in the face. Dammit, that was not what he had planned for. She had a glass splinter in her forehead and was now crying.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't see her," Gabi said trying not to touch her with wet hands. He tried to hand her a napkin but the woman cried even louder. He throat was dry and he was panting. He reached for his coat, his legs shaking. He stepped backwards and pushed on his legs to reach the staircase. Panic, intensifying in his legs, made him rush downstairs to the exit. He wanted to run away and never look back.

"Gabi, you're leaving already?"

God, was that Quentin still around?

"Yeah, was great seeing you! My cab is waiting-"

"Just text me, okay? And we go for a beer."

Text what number?

"Sure, I'll text you! Bye."

*

Gabi ran. To let out the adrenaline, the shame and his nausea. He ran fast. Past drunk faces, half-naked flesh and litter that stuck his shoes. He ran until out of breath. There was the price to pay for being coy. He had reached his peak and its nausea increased as his mind went wild. He needed Paula. He would beg her on his knees to work with him another year because no matter how hard he tried, he always failed. He ended up hurting himself or hurting people. He needed her. His legs slowed down as he reached the deserted streets of the City. His lungs screaming, his hair sweating and his cheeks reddened. He walked past the long and quiet glass buildings. The dark squares and abandoned scaffolds. He dodged tourists who asked for pictures with their hands and kept walking until he reached a tiny square, with a stone bench and wilted flowers. He sat down and caught his breath, while a cold breeze sneaked through his soaked shirt.

"Good evening, Sir." A beggar approached him. "May I?" Gabi had no strength to reply, he just closed his eyes and nodded his head slowly. The old man sat down next to him. "Banker?"

What a question.

"No, architect." Gabi said, putting his coat back on. His rubbed his face again and took deeper breath to calm himself down.

"True, your shoes are no banker shoes. What are you doing here?"

"You don't like my shoes?"

"They don't look expensive enough, let's put it like that."

"How about yours?" Gabi replied, offended.

"Mine are expensive." The beggar stretched his feet ahead of them. "But they grew old with time, like I did." He showed golden teeth. "I used to work up there, in that tower across the Thames. Can you see it?" His dark nail in mittens pointed at a tower, behind Saint Paul's dome. Gabi couldn't see it or say whether that was truth or fantasy, so he kept quiet. The old man drew a flask out of his pocket. "So what brings you to the City at that time of the night?"

"I needed a run."

"Want a sip? It will do you good." Gabi looked at the man. The old man laughed. "So what brings you here?"

"One of those evenings where the whole world seems against me."

"Seems or is?"

"Both. I have a meeting with my therapist tomorrow - she gave me a week to tell one person what is truly on my mind."

"You never do?"

"I used to when I was a kid but it got me into trouble and I stopped."

"You're afraid of conflict?"

"My therapist says I have social anxiety."

"But you're having this conversation with me now. Why do you feel comfortable?"

"Maybe because I know I won't see you again. Maybe because I don't care what you think, because ... Hm. because -"

"Because I am insignificant." The old man smiled. "I get it. Keep going."

"Sorry, did I offend you?"

"Haha, I have lived long enough to not care what a stranger thinks about me. Keep going, I'm curious."

"Are you sure? Alright. People pleasing is what to holds me back, she said. I care about what they think, what they feel, what they do... And what I do or say always backfires. So I overthink but they-"

"They always backfire." The old man took a sip from his flask. "Who cares?"

"I know nobody does, my therapist has told me that several times already."

"So what's stopping you?"

"I don't know."

"Too nice?"

"Not really, no. I don't say nice things either. I'm just polite, I keep people at a distance. My social anxiety has lessened lately, thanks to her, but I avoid certain conversations. Things that touch me, I can't express. Even saying "thank you" to someone who has done something meaningful for me is difficult. I feel exposed, you know?"

"Interesting."

"Does that happen to you?"

"No, it doesn't. But I understand. You should go back home and sleep. Tomorrow, take things as they come and stop caring about whether or not you're doing the right thing."

"But what if I do something wrong?"

"Your evening went all wrong didn't it?" The old man laughed. "You survived, no? Then keep going. You'll be fine."

Those words provided little insight to Gabi but he appreciated the tone of that old man. It wasn't warm, or reproachful. It wasn't deep or overly sincere. Gabi just felt comfortable on that bench with him.

"Is that your bench?"

"It is." As Gabi made a move, the old man stretched his hand towards him. "Stay, stay. I enjoy company from time to time. Not always, but tonight is fine."

Gabi kept quiet.

"What time is your appointment tomorrow?"

"7:30am, before work. I'll just tell her the truth - that's it difficult for me but that I have tried."

"And that people being stupid doesn't help. Tell her that too." The old man took another sip. Gabi looked at him and smiled. He kept his smile on as his turned his face towards Saint Paul's dome where bells were hitting 5am.

*

Gabi was still awake in his bed. He could hear the voice of his therapist saying that the game was over. Maybe he should just skip that appointment. Tell her he had missed the alarm. Which was likely to happen, anyway. Tell her people were stupid, like the old man had said. Gabi didn't even know the name of the man, but he smiled as he thought of their conversation. He felt something warm in his chest. He did. Gabi stood suddenly in his bed. How come he hadn't thought of it?

Gabi rushed down the stairs of the building, the road, Shoreditch, the milkshake café, the disco place, the City buildings and kept running until he reached the little square. He looked around for the man's dirty coat. It was gone. Gabi dabbed his pockets. He found the pen the waitress had given him at the café. With his shaking hands, he wrote a modest Thank you. on the bench and signed the architect with cheap shoes. A smile tickled his lips as he looked at his words on the bench. Words that to him, on that moment, meant everything.