Dinner With Verbil

Well, I already knew not to judge a book by its cover, but I wasn’t quite expecting so complex a storyline.  I’ll spare the details, but by all accounts, Fender is to say the least, alright.

We met at the Greg, and continued to the Walk, and understood each other very well too well.  In my acceptance of Nature as smarter than myself,  I spent most of the night wearing my signature sideways smile.  No need for masks.

It was comforting on the one hand, and disturbing on the other, much like the first time I saw Shai face to face.  I knew my life was going to change no idea really how, but that it would.  This time I’m not as blind as I was in my very slightly more naive youth though.  I’m proceeding with extreme caution.  I was speaking to someone who could see into my soul, but this time, has no fear of what he observed there.

We have so many mutual acquaintances that it’s strange that we hadn’t met before.  We go to the same cafes, buy cigarettes at the same places, have a similar style of dress, sideways smile/smirk, vast vocabulary but simplified and blunt delivery, been on the net since there was one, and have quirky browsing and community habits, but both use it to enhance rather than replace our offline lives.   He’s impressed that I managed to squeeze some money out of it, though we both attempted to get through the night without talking too much about business.  We both come from “ethically mixed” families.

So now we get to the suspicion.  We know so many of the same people and have so much in common that if he’s never met me before, it’s coincidence on the level of a lightning strike.  He was so comfortable and smooth on the first meeting, that I knew I was talking to a guy with mad game MAD game.  Nervous as a corpse.  I suspect that we have encountered each other before, but that at that time, I had no chance.  I’ve seen photos of his grandparents, but none of him before the last accident.  I believe he’s saving those for after he knows I’m into him.

In his defense, he was probably married all the times we’ve very likely been in the same room until recently.  It would have to have been over 2 years ago.  I’ll usually however, at least get a smile, a hello, and maybe some cavallier smalltalk from married guys who recognize.  They’ll go home and tell their wives about this incredibly interesting lady they met, who they should meet and swap recipes with or something.  I’ll see them with their wife later, and have a nice conversation, and she’ll either love me or fear me, depending on her personal hoe quotient.  Hoes don’t fear me at all until well, I digress.

Point is, the little devil on my shoulder, much wiser than whatever angel I must have gotten assigned, says stall until he’s fully recovered.  Granted, listening to said devil completely would leave me a total recluse, but there is some grain of truth in her warnings.  If he preferred hoes and was new school looks conscious before the last accident, he still is, and just thinks I’m a better option because I’m more old school.  While he’s physically vulnerable, he’s loved up from the good women in his family, and going with the sweetness and hard core loyalty flow.

When or if he no longer needs them that much day to day, he might go back to his old ways.  If his old ways are the same as his new ways, I’m in.  If on the other hand, he was a skirt chasing maniac with bad taste in hoes, then getting involved with him would be emotional suicide.

So in case this is all a Verbil Kint act, bad ass with a heart of gold, I’m keeping things light.  I think I’ve already made a friend with tension.  Thing is, since we do know many of the same people, and these people are treating me differently now, I need to know why if it’s because they’re afraid for the condition of my soul, or if they’re afraid for the fragility of my heart.

In my sphere, there is no actual talking about people behind their back.  There are statements of hopefulness, and collaborations on how to handle issues that have been brought up with the person in question but if one doesn’t have anything good or constructive to say, one doesn’t say anything.  Nobody talks about other people’s business.

Yet there are unspoken things that come into play.  One is that suddenly all of our mutual male friends who used to be mildly flirtatious, are boyscouts looking over their shoulders before giving me a simple hug.  If he’s present, I barely get a handshake, and nods have turned into near bows.

this from guys I know are thugs of some rank, and non thugs who normally walk around like they own everything.  Twice, places were closing around us, and nobody said anything until I noticed and apologized for delaying them.  Instead of an it’s alright that meant it’s not alright, we got told to relax and stay as long as we liked, and asked if we wanted anything else.  I said no, and looked at him, and he seemed to be waiting to see what I would say.

At the beginning, I thought it was a “pushy disabled guy” thing, but now I know different.  Nobody’s going to tell me if I’m his normal fare, and I’m not going to ask.  I’ll just wait for the physiotherapy and time to do their work, and see what happens.


My pronouns are whatever you're comfortable with as long as you speak to me with respect. I'm an Afruikan and Iswa refugee living in Canaan. That's African American expat in Israel in Normalian. I build websites, make art, and assist people in exercising their spirituality. I'm also the king of an ile, Baalat Teva, a group of African spirituality adherents here. Feel free to contact me if you are in need of my services or just want to chat.

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