Late night Friday, I rushed in from the cold weather outside before my bones start quivering. Once in, I threw my midnight blue jacket over the crest railing back of the chair, and I slouched. Hass came in ten minutes after, with a pile of work.
First thing he said was, "Look what I got for weekend, more work!"
"Mmm, that can be good. It makes you feel like you're extra productive, you know, to accomplish something over the weekend instead of just day dreaming it away like me." I smiled.
"Hah, thanks but no thanks. I'm productive enough already." Hass replied, laptop opened. "What did you order?"
"My usual. The ever elegant bergamot flavored Earl Grey." And as I was saying that, my cup came.
"I see, not changing much with your tea of choice, huh?" he glanced from the corner of his eyes, proceeded with unloading a pile of papers onto the table.
"If you haven't noticed Hass, I am one quite faithful to my choices. Unless in several things where I am still ambivalent and undecided."
"Right."
"You're a man of a few words tonight."
"That, I am."
Hass put on his glasses and started typing away. I sank my face to the book I brought, The Essential Rumi, Coleman Barks. Ten minutes passed.
"Hass..." "Haaaasssssssssss...." "Haassss, Haaaaasssss, Haaaasssss"
"Oh my freaking God, stop hissing!"
"I wasn't. I was Hassing. Aha!"
"You and your weird humor, what is it kiddo?"
"Hass, I don't like my name."
"Yeah? I won't even bother to ask you why. Got anything new in mind?"
"I'm so into red. I did not even know this before today. I've been into red for a long time. I was so infatuated with those red Amaranth flowers, they are so alive, a feisty type of grass plants that thrive even in the most adverse lands. I want to be the red that makes Kitri swirl in her dance, irresistible yet she wears it with fragility. I wish I have the intoxicating mystery the red in wine leaves in your palate. But I also want the old age wisdom that Rumi's maroon cloak keeps. Red has shades and depths that can go from vibrancy to sanctity. I want to be named Red, or any other words that mean Red."
Hassan gave me that look over his laptop; one, two, three seconds. "But you are already all that. Names are just an additional attachment."
"So Hass, tell me again why I am not your girlfriend?"
"Because I have already got one. Still the same like the last five years."
We laughed.
"Besides, you're in love with someone else. You know. The one that gives you funny faces when you get texts from?"
"Oh hush!"
I bit my lips in a faint try to keep my cheeks from blushing. I continued,
"But I don't buy Shakespeare's 'what's in a name' shit. There is obviously a lot in a name, just as much as a title is to a book. It gives you the entrance, the plot, the prediction, and sometimes the essence of the whole story. It serves the creator's intention for presenting the story. Their wishes, their vision. That's the reason why a kid named Thatcher would be bullied to death in this day and age."
"Well, if you are talking about superficial realities of names, sure. But you are not anyone's story, you are not a story in that sense, period. You don't have to be anyone's entrance, reminder, or meaning. And you shouldn't be held prisoner by anyone's intentions, wishes, or vision. You could be called Fury, Bleak, Lost, Rage, yet you are not that, those names are more what the callers of the names are and they attach that part of themselves onto you. Those are not your true names. Or, maybe you are all those. Like when I was late for an hour here and you almost sent me to the ER." Hass stuck his tongue out.
Those are not my true names, yet they can be mine for a while. The 'I' keeps changing yet the changes make the constant 'I'.
I stared out the window, mindlessly stroking my chin.
I could hear the soft clanking of rose gold-colored tea spoons when people stir their drinks, subtle chatters in the cafe.
"Where has your mind traveled to this time, kiddo?" Hass said as he closed down his crisp silver screen.
"To the night he first kissed me."
And I turned red.
First thing he said was, "Look what I got for weekend, more work!"
"Mmm, that can be good. It makes you feel like you're extra productive, you know, to accomplish something over the weekend instead of just day dreaming it away like me." I smiled.
"Hah, thanks but no thanks. I'm productive enough already." Hass replied, laptop opened. "What did you order?"
"My usual. The ever elegant bergamot flavored Earl Grey." And as I was saying that, my cup came.
"I see, not changing much with your tea of choice, huh?" he glanced from the corner of his eyes, proceeded with unloading a pile of papers onto the table.
"If you haven't noticed Hass, I am one quite faithful to my choices. Unless in several things where I am still ambivalent and undecided."
"Right."
"You're a man of a few words tonight."
"That, I am."
Hass put on his glasses and started typing away. I sank my face to the book I brought, The Essential Rumi, Coleman Barks. Ten minutes passed.
"Hass..." "Haaaasssssssssss...." "Haassss, Haaaaasssss, Haaaasssss"
"Oh my freaking God, stop hissing!"
"I wasn't. I was Hassing. Aha!"
"You and your weird humor, what is it kiddo?"
"Hass, I don't like my name."
"Yeah? I won't even bother to ask you why. Got anything new in mind?"
"I'm so into red. I did not even know this before today. I've been into red for a long time. I was so infatuated with those red Amaranth flowers, they are so alive, a feisty type of grass plants that thrive even in the most adverse lands. I want to be the red that makes Kitri swirl in her dance, irresistible yet she wears it with fragility. I wish I have the intoxicating mystery the red in wine leaves in your palate. But I also want the old age wisdom that Rumi's maroon cloak keeps. Red has shades and depths that can go from vibrancy to sanctity. I want to be named Red, or any other words that mean Red."
Hassan gave me that look over his laptop; one, two, three seconds. "But you are already all that. Names are just an additional attachment."
"So Hass, tell me again why I am not your girlfriend?"
"Because I have already got one. Still the same like the last five years."
We laughed.
"Besides, you're in love with someone else. You know. The one that gives you funny faces when you get texts from?"
"Oh hush!"
I bit my lips in a faint try to keep my cheeks from blushing. I continued,
"But I don't buy Shakespeare's 'what's in a name' shit. There is obviously a lot in a name, just as much as a title is to a book. It gives you the entrance, the plot, the prediction, and sometimes the essence of the whole story. It serves the creator's intention for presenting the story. Their wishes, their vision. That's the reason why a kid named Thatcher would be bullied to death in this day and age."
"Well, if you are talking about superficial realities of names, sure. But you are not anyone's story, you are not a story in that sense, period. You don't have to be anyone's entrance, reminder, or meaning. And you shouldn't be held prisoner by anyone's intentions, wishes, or vision. You could be called Fury, Bleak, Lost, Rage, yet you are not that, those names are more what the callers of the names are and they attach that part of themselves onto you. Those are not your true names. Or, maybe you are all those. Like when I was late for an hour here and you almost sent me to the ER." Hass stuck his tongue out.
Those are not my true names, yet they can be mine for a while. The 'I' keeps changing yet the changes make the constant 'I'.
I stared out the window, mindlessly stroking my chin.
I could hear the soft clanking of rose gold-colored tea spoons when people stir their drinks, subtle chatters in the cafe.
"Where has your mind traveled to this time, kiddo?" Hass said as he closed down his crisp silver screen.
"To the night he first kissed me."
And I turned red.
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