Persuasion

Sy never wanted to tell people where he was from.

It’s not that he was ashamed of growing up in the Bahamas, quite the opposite. It’s just that he knew people would look him over--a handsome but standard young man in his 20’s--and think, Really? The Bahamas?  Nobody ever knew anyone who grew up in the Bahamas, but everybody had an idea of what that kind of person would be like. Charming, warm, and above all, special. People knew the word “exotic,” but they had no idea what it was supposed to mean. It might as well be palm tree wallpaper or those little umbrellas in a tiki drink. It didn’t help that Sy had landed in Newport, which is exactly where someone who coaches sailing would end up, but which seemed to be as far from the Bahamas as the moon if you asked someone who lived there.

It was almost closing time on a Friday night when Sy beat his friend Derek at a game of ping pong. Their regular routine was to go to Smuggler’s on Fridays and play ping pong until one or both of them was approached by a girl. Then, they would go back to the girl’s place and Derek would regale the young woman with stories about exciting yachting adventures he planned on taking after graduating from the university. He would tell her that he was eventually going to move to Paris, and the girl would fantasize about going with him. These were always local girls, and they knew better than to fall in love with boys with big plans, but they did it anyway. When Sy went home with a girl, she would ask him where he was from, and he’d debate telling her the real answer only to settle on “Here.”

That night, a girl walked up to the two men just as they were finishing a lackluster game. They couldn’t get the rhythm right, and the ball had spent more time on the beer-stained floor than touching either of their paddles. The girl asked if she could play the winner, and that ended up being Derek. As Sy took his place off to the side, a man came up and sat next to him.

“That’s my friend Andre,” the girl said, already showing a better rhythm with Derek than Sy had, “Be nice to him. He’s not from here.”

Sy looked at Andre and reminded himself to smile. The visitor seemed to be in his early thirties. He was wearing spotless white sneakers, tight blue jeans, and a button-down shirt with martini glasses on it. His hair had the look of a fresh cut, and he had thick glasses that, when matched with his dark hair, made him look a little like Clark Kent.

“Nice to meet you, Andre,” Sy said, “I’m Sy. Where are you from?”

“Oh,” said Andre, exhibiting a sheepish grin the way a poker player shows an ace, “I live in New York, but I’m actually from the Bahamas.”

The bartender announced last call, and Derek sent the ball flying too hard and almost hit the girl he was playing in the face. Sy asked Andre if he liked pizza, and Andre informed him that he didn’t like pizza, he loved pizza.

Across the street, they ordered two slices apiece and Mountain Dew. There was a young boy with his grandfather sharing a slice of buffalo chicken, and Sy wondered why the old man would take the kid out this late on a Saturday, but then decided that even thinking that kind of thing made him feel like a jerk. Saturdays were for breaking rules. Andre managed to eat the greasy pizza without making much of a mess, but Sy went through a five-inch pile of napkins. He wasn’t sure why that made him feel self-conscious, or why he was in his head all of a sudden. Why had he invited this guy to go get pizza with him? Did he want to talk about the Bahamas? Sy’s family had moved when he was only four, and they’d only been back two or three times since then.

“I grew up in the Bahamas too,” he said, as if he was confessing to it, “I’ve never met anybody here who was from there.”

“I’ve met a few people in New York,” Andre said, “But not many. One time I met a guy who grew up in Bali, and he kept saying it was the same thing. I was like--No, not really.”

“When did you move?”

“When I was fourteen.”

“Wow,” Sy said, “So you must actually--I don’t know. Sorry. We moved when I was a baby. Not a baby, but, yeah, I was young. I was--four.”

Why was he stumbling over his words? They were just talking. He wasn’t trying to pass a test on his own history. The grandfather and the kid took off, but more people were coming in from the bar. The pizza place catered to the drunk crowd, and pretty soon, it would be impossible to carry on a conversation there.

“Where are you staying,” Sy asked Andre.

“I’m at my friend’s place,” he said, “The one playing against your friend? She texted me saying they were going back there, so I should probably make myself scarce.”

“So, she’s not your girlfriend?”

“No,” said Andre, “She’s not.”

Sy never told anyone that his favorite view in town was at the all-night gas station right over the line in Middletown. It had a clear view of the water and the road that separated it from Easton Beach where the ocean was usually filled with red seaweed. You had to go up to Second Beach if you wanted a better summertime experience. Sy wasn’t sure where to take Andre since suggesting they go back to Sy’s place would give him the wrong idea. Sy just wasn’t sure what the right idea would be. Why had he asked this guy to spend so much time with him?

“Do you always take guys to the gas station,” Andre asked, and Sy didn’t bother saying that he never takes guys anywhere. What would be the point? Wasn’t he here now?

Instead he asked, “When do you leave?”

“She’s driving me to the airport tomorrow at noon.”

“Noon. Okay.”

Sy never brought girls back to his place. It wasn’t just the risk of them knowing where he lived and getting too attached. Going crazy and standing outside his house begging to be let in. He knew he wasn’t interesting enough to evoke that kind of response from someone, especially after a one-night stand. Sy never had girls over for the same reason he never had anyone over. He was worried the place would seem empty after they left. What if he liked the way it felt having someone on his couch watching a movie, or in his kitchen eating a meal? What if he liked waking up to someone in his bed? When you were at someone else’s place, you could always leave. You were in charge of when it would go back to being empty.

“Sy?”

Andre pulled his jacket a little tighter around him. He studied Sy’s face for a moment. Neither one seemed to know what was meant to happen next. Andre clearly knew who Sy was, but Sy wasn’t sure he knew himself. He thought maybe Andre may have just sized him up correctly and still developed the wrong conclusion.

“Hey,” Sy said, “Do you want to go back to my place?”

Andre laughed a little bit, and then gave a short nod. Someone drove by with their windows down playing an old song about summer and how good it feels. There were no cars at the gas station, but the interior light was bright enough to highlight both their faces while the moon took care of revealing the water.