What The Hell Happened?

1

My little brother Phil is such a dramatist. Literally. Phil is a photographer working for the New York Times.

He clapped his hands together, applauding the two latino kids who'd dared to strike a determined pose that was going to be used for his weekly column. "That was fantastic! You guys did great. How about we all go out on a stroll tomorrow morning? Ice-cream on me."

The elder kid, a blonde girl around six-year-old or so grinned broadly. "Well, If Mum lets us."

"Well tell Mum that you're both gonna be featuring in my newspaper column next week. Isn't that great? Millions of people would see your face on the paper's front cover!"

Phil had come out to the Bay Area to visit some latino families around, getting to know their history, way of life and culture. He'd made lots of progress since we're both half Ecuadorian. Most of the locals were beyond welcoming.

I loved my job at the Mission Branch Library. It was just about the only thing that was going on right in my life because I found the job less challenging. The only downside was the fact that I was so lonely. I needed something or someone to fill the void Freddie left me with but I just couldn't because every guy I was attracted to had latino roots just like him, which is unhealthy. You're not supposed to start a relationship with someone who reminded you of your ex right?

Phil began packing as I watched as the kids ran to hug their Mum, a plump, slightly dark lady with a heavy accent. She waved at us, then disappeared into a waiting cab.

"I need to use the bathroom at your place, get a thing or two to help me survive the rest of the neighbourhood tour."

I'd recently moved into a neighbourhood that was just a few blocks away from the library. After Freddie and I split, I'd got my parents to switch schools for me since I couldn't survive the scandal that broke thereafter. Alex severed relations with Freddie too at the carnival. It was discovered that Freddie had been screwing Phina behind our back too and that she'd been the one who lured Alex out of summer camp, took him out to the woods and pushed him hard against a tree. Alex dashed his head real bad and that was the cause of his amnesia.

I moved to a more expensive school across town, wanting to distance myself from the pain as much as possible but I still couldn't achieve the peace of mind I was aching for. The following months were miserable for me, I completely lost control over myself, listening to sad depressive songs, crying all through the night, showing up for classes late and not taking down notes, aggressive towards anyone who tried to help me. It got to a point, I started sleeping outside on my porch steps, awaking at dawn to resume the whole routine again. Finally, my dad had to link me up with a therapist who took me sessions once a week.

My place was right in the south-central section of the Mission District. I loved everything about the culture in my new neighbourhood. Various cafès dotted on either side of the roads. The area was also rich in Latin culture which kinda sucked because Freddie was a pure Latino. Everywhere I went to and everyone I met reminded me of the guy who broke my heart.

Phil and I strolled down the street, stopping at a bakery so he could purchase some cookies which he'd use for dinner dessert back at my place in the evening. We also got two ice cream cones on the go.

I ran my tongue over the cold, strawberry confection as we walked. "So little bro, what was it you wanted to tell me about last night? Did something bad happen back home that I should know about?"

Phil sighed, pulling the camera straps over his head so the device hung loosely around his neck as he replied. "No. Nothing serious happened. Elaine broke up with me."

"Oh." I really had nothing to say to that. Phil never told me much about his British high-school sweetheart.

"Yes. So we're kinda like in the same predicament. The only difference is that I'm not beating myself over it. I've got more than enough distractions to take my mind off things than you do. It's not that I don't get sad, I just don't allow it to consume me."

"I told you I've been talking with this therapist Dad hooked me up, right?"

Phil took a lick then shook his head. "Not quite."

"Yeah, he found this psychologist who specializes in trauma from failed relationships. But he's in Germany. We do phone sessions once every week."

"Has it been helping you out?"

"I guess talking things out with a stranger does help. Remember the saying that a problem shared is a problem half solved."

"Sorry to say this big bro, but I don't see any changes in you. Besides I'm right here if you need anyone to talk to. There's no need paying huge sums to a stranger."

"It depends on my mood swings though. Sometimes I don't feel too good to talk to anyone, so I'd tell him we'd reschedule. You're always busy writing and taking pictures for your column. Besides Mom and Dad are horrible to talk to on these matters. What with old age and things being done differently at their time?"

My Mom was half Japanese and Korean. She never learnt how to speak English quite fluently and could only manage a very limited vocabulary. My Dad was partly German and Ecuadorian. They'd brought us up in nearby Sausalito before Mom got arthritis and we had to relocate to Brooklyn.

When we arrived at my building, Phil stopped to sit on one of the benches in the corner of the fenced-in courtyard. "Let's absorb vitamin D here a bit," His gaze swept across the field to my shirtless neighbour who was currently painting the wall opposite. "Okay, who's the guy in a bandana over there?"

"What's with you and bandanas?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Elaine always says I look good in them. How pathetic."

"You're pathetic."

He snorts. "Says the guy who still writes love letters to his ex."

"That's a lie. The letters are not even mine!" I lied. It was the only thing I could do to pour out my bottled-up emotions which I couldn't tell Dr Ginny for the life of me. It made me sad to write about him, and admitting to myself each day that I was still in love with him made me even sadder.

"So, who's that tattoed punk?"

I hadn't had time to get acquainted with the neighbours, but I'd seen this guy once jogging down the sidewalk with his earplugs towards the playground that was tucked behind the property. He did that every morning, as I'd learned but I couldn't figure out what to do with that information. He could go to hell for all I cared, I had more pestering problems to solve.

"Actually, he lives next door to me."

"Have you tried talking to him?"

"No. I haven't got that time to waste. Too busy to be social."

"That's not an excuse, he's your neighbour."

"I've tried speaking with him, but he just brushed past me, pretending to be taking a phone call. The guy's not friendly at all and he sings all the time. Not minding he's got a horrible voice."

"He does look like a musician, you know, upcoming and s**t. Maybe he's just shy with limited social skills or maybe... maybe he's got autism."

"No. He communicates just fine. I've seen him speak with a girl who always comes around every morning. I think they're both an item. He doesn't have autism. He's just a dick."

Phil chuckled. "In the neighbourly spirit, I think you should stop by his place with a cookie jar or something. Get talking with him. Maybe you both can find out you have a lot in common and before you know it, Freddie would be a topic of the past."

I rolled my eyes. "He's got a girlfriend, Phil. And that goes a long way to prove he's anything but gay. Stop dreaming up fantasies for me, I'm fine."

"You need a distraction, Ethan. You can't keep on wallowing in heartbreak all your life. This hot neighbour is a one-time offer."

I admired his broad shoulders and tanned muscular back as he moved the paintbrush evenly over the wall. "Damn, he's all ripped like Freddie with that dark hair... Those huge tattoos and piercings...bad boyish. Basically, that's the last kind of guy I'd be going for at this point."

"I don't get you, not every tattoed guy out there is like Freddie. You're just thinking irrationally. This is could be your last chance, big bro. Take a risk you'd be proud of for once."

"The last thing I want in any relationship I'm embarking on right now is being with a person who reminds me of my past. Maybe that's f****d-up, but I'm not gonna rush things. He's disqualified though. Don't try to talk me out of it."

"Well, that's a shame because this guy is hotter and better than Freddie."

"For the last time Phil, we're not going to keep discussing him. He doesn't even smile at me. He's not interested!"

The topic of our discussion suddenly wiped the sweat from his forehead, took off the mask covering his mouth and nose and dumped the paintbrushes into the empty containers which he threw into a sack. He strapped the sack on both shoulders and began to walk towards us. Phil raised his camera instinctively and I watched the shutter click, nailing my arrogant neighbour in a sleek pose.

"Chocolate's my favourite."

"Huh?"

"Cookies."

"Oh."

"And I don't owe the landlord any s**t. I've not got autism nor am I shy. I'm just a guy who fancies being an arse. Ooh, and your brother talks so loud, I could hear everything from a mile away. Every single detail so you might want to change that. Lower your voice in public."

He smirked and walked away before I could say anything else.

When he was well out of earshot, Phil whispered. "Bad boys are the best in bed."

"You just can't keep your mouth shut, can you? I've always told you that you sound like a trumpet but you never listen. Now, look how he insulted you. And you're not even cowering in shame."

"Look on the bright side. At least you finally got to talk with him. You'll thank me later when you're screaming his name as he slams into you."

I pulled at my hair. "I can't stand you!"

"I know. You love me a lot."