Dick Around by Sparks

Untitled, Chapter four

i've got two tentative titles now: "about awareness" and "the book of okay, alright"

Sandra Tay was Clark's third girlfriend but his first pinay girlfriend. He had previously dated a Chinese girl named Wanda (losing his virginity to her his sophomore year of high school) and a Persian woman called Sanazz (who was insufferable, had hairy arms and big-time daddy and insecurity issues -- otherwise the sex was firework-inducing).

While Clark obviously came from a more obvious lineage of Malaysian and pre-colonial Philippines (dark skin tone, 5'5", stocky build), Sandra was part of a much less defined heritage. Her skin was fairer, her eyes rounder, her surname Chinese.

Clark's parents had always nurtured an awareness of his culture. They had bought him books on the Katipunan, Jose Rizal, Philippine presidents and the like. He also had Filipino friends, but it wasn't until Sandra that he actively searched for that part of him in his own life.

After graduating, she started as a midwife at the local hospital and working an inconsistent schedule. They met at a grocery store. It was after midnight and Clark was a buying a last-minute Mother's Day card after second-guessing his initial purchase. He was changing from a sentimental card for a cheesier one ("It's Your Day! M- is for your Matronly strength, etc. etc.).

They both knew the register clerk, Harold. Harold was hitting on Sandra with the veracity of a great white shark. He sensed blood, Clark would later joke, because she was there to buy tampons.

It was Harold who introduced them in line. She was ahead of Clark, who had listened to Harold's tactless come-ons with guilty delight. Sandra was polite but obviously exhausted. Harold had asked Sandra to wait a bit so he can supply contact information for a party he was throwing next weekend. His invitation to Clark had been an afterthought.

On their way out, Sandra obliged to make small talk.

"So are you going to the party," she asked.

Clark shrugged his shoulders.

"I can't plan that far ahead right now," he answered. "We'll see. How about you?"

"My horoscope says I should accept any invitations that come unexpected."

"Oh, so I guess that means you're going."

"Nope," she replied. "I might go but I don't believe in horoscopes."

She winked at him. He smiled back.

He sat n his car, re-writing his Mother's Day card and then drove home.

Not a second of that evening crossed his mind until the night before the party. He was at a sandwich shop ordering a bowl of chili when he noticed Sandra sitting by herself. He wasn't sure if she would remember him so he didn't say hello but sat in a strategic location where she can see him just in case. She instantly recognized him. Clark reacted as if he didn't see her first. She invited him to take a seat and they started talking. Clark had to cut it short because he was just on lunch break, but there was neither a lull nor a forced word in those 15 minutes. The conversation wasn't earth-shatteringly deep but the chemistry was comfortable -- like an old favorite song you happened to catch on the radio.

Before he left, Sandra asked Clark if he was going to the party the next day.

"I don't know," he replied. "What does my horoscope say."

She laughed. They exchanged numbers and made plans to meet up at the sandwich shop after work and play it by ear. The next day, Clark brought Elden and Carly while Sandra's friends flaked on her. Carly had the same first year classes at college with Sandra so there was no awkward introduction and ice breaker hullabaloo.

They never went to the party. The topic of Sylvester Stallone was somehow brought up and they ended up ordering pizza and watching Cobra at Clark's place. Right before the big fight scene was coming on, Carly and Elden decided to go to bed and Sandra had dozed off. Clark decided to stop the movie to watch a Cheers rerun. Sandra woke up to Clark's laughter (Woody kissed Sam in a dark office) and laughed at Clark laughing.

That evening they talked about everything but with the casual airiness that usually accompanied talking about nothing. This talk continued for two weeks, with interruptions for work, school and sleep. They spoke to each other about anything and everything. They were entrusting each other with information that would be considered classified for all but their closest friends. They were never uncomfortable hearing those things and never felt vulnerable saying those things.

He told her about his parents' ailment and how he felt like he let them down by not becoming a neurosurgeon. Her reaction was when he realized how she never felt sorry for him, but rather an empathy that you could see radiate around her. When people would tell him that everything will be okay or to that he was lucky with what he had so far or told him that they was sorry, he felt like they were programmed as human beings to be polite -- a detached segment of their voice that subtly exposed that they had nothing to lose when saying that. Sandra would say the same thing, but he felt and knew she had an investment in his heart.

One month after watching Cobra, they were sitting on his couch watching Rocky 4. When they held hands, it was as if the entire space of the universe was confined in that living room: just Clark, Sandra, Drago and Rocky.

At this point in the story, Clark asked Greg for a cigarette. They were at a red light.

"I've never seen you smoke before, Clark."

"Well, yeah. I figure it's my birthday week so I might as well indulge."

Greg obliged, lighting another cigarette up.

Re-telling the story, Clark's feelings resurfaced at it's maximum. He was talking about the only person who knew how he imagined stranger's parents fucking and understanding why he did that.

Although they were old feelings, the still felt immediate. Although they were immediate, they were still old feelings and those feelings at the start of the relationship begat uglier later feelings in different stages of the relationship that were harder to stomach. It saddened him that he even thought they way he thought. He thought differently now, hindsight tends to do that. It couldn't change the fact that on the way to the cemetery, Clark knew he and Sandra would never be the same age again.

Six months into their relationship Clark graduated from State with a degree in Library Science. He also graduated with a debt that would probably force him to take extra janitorial duties at whatever library he would work at.

While Sandra bulleted her way to four straight years at school, working full time at a medical supply store, Clark wobbled through three schools and four majors in six years. Going from Neurology to Library Science felt like buying a Lotto ticket and settling for it to just be scratch paper. His parents never showed it, but there was some concern with his future and what he was going to do with it. Sandra by his side did eased them their worry.

Clark was not only aware of how his folks felt but silently agreed with them. He didn't feel inferior to Sandra, but all signs pointed to him being inferior and it became hard to stop listening. Clark understood that his lack of a professional career was an issue with Sandra's parents, a well meaning duo of pediatricians. To them, every day she was with Clark seemed like another day he was derailing her from Med school. She was studying for her MCATs after a year and a half moratorium from school.

On their one year anniversary, Sandra had been accepted to her dream school in the east coast. They had always supported each other to the point that Sandra had already decided to be a Neurosurgeon. He was ecstatic for her, but at the same time felt a sense of emptiness. What she offered him seemed more than what he could offer her. He felt guilty for feeling guilty.

His job was a shortage control analyst for the same company that employed his father -- a chain store that sold defective brand name clothing at a lowered price. It was his job to make sure all stores don't run out of things to sell. It was an entry level corporate position with potential for upward mobility, but it was not something he had envisioned for the rest of his life. They had discussed him moving with her to Washington, D.C.. The was not remotely considered a deterrent to that option. It was his parents and the idea of potentially abandoning them when the symptoms struck. Although testing for Huntington's had been available since 1983, both Monica and Ivan had never sought that option (though the idea had been in their minds since discovering the breakthrough). It wasn't so much finding out if they themselves were diagnosed, it was the fate of their partner that paralyzed them. Both of them had been through the tumult of watching a parent struggle and couldn't bear to know the future just to prepare with coping a second time around.

Sandra understood -- sometimes more than Clark really -- and even considered going to a school closer to him. It was an idea Clark blanched at simply because of the loftiness of the compromise. Since he couldn't meet her halfway, why should she budge one step at all?

With the looming idea of distance between them, the itching suspicion of being more dispensable hung like a hooked lure in front of him which begat his resentment. Why be dependent on someone else, he had asked himself. Relationships were theoretically ideal when two independent beings were able to share the same love and were cool when the time had come to move on. He made it a point not to take the relationship seriously, which triggered an unnerving feeling of loneliness, a feeling he was never aware of until she arrived to fill that reservoir.

If you were to ask Sandra, she had never seen it the way he had and Clark knew it. He wasn't perfect, but she saw something Clark didn't see in himself and it was this hindsight that had Clark apologizing to the ghosts.

On March 12, 2006 -- seven months before his 24th birthday -- was the date when every insecurity he held inside decided it couldn't stay fettered. Sitting indian style in front of each other, eating burritos, they had a staring contest. Behind her was their desktop computer, photos of their trip to Big Sur as their screen saver. To distract her, he spit guacamole into his hand. She retaliated with smearing sour cream on face like war point. After two minutes, they called a truce, promising to blink on the count of three. She blinked and he didn't. Surrounding the bed was scattered junk, a forest of clothes, fast food receptacles and papers. They cleaned it together every Sunday. They called it "Gardening Day".

"I cheated," Clark said.

"What do you mean," asked Sandra.

"When we both counted to three, I didn't blink. I'm sorry I was just making sure if you blinked too."

Sandra laughed, punching him on the shoulder.

"You kind of are a bitch, then," she said jokingly. "Your punishment can only be a bitch slap as stated in the rules and regulations of Staring Contest LLC."

"Bring it," Clark said, playing along.

Leaning forward, he anticipated the slap. Sandra opened her right fist, cocked back and slowly directed the palm of her hand towards Clark's face. Just before lightly tapping his face, Clark ducked and spun her around to push her against the bed. He got on top of her and started kissing Sandra. She looked away.

"Clark, I kind of don't feel good right now."

"What do you mean?"

"It's nothing to be alarmed about, babe."

Nothing to be alarmed about infers that something might alarm him, a pre-emptive strike from being alarmed. This worried Clark.

"What is it?"

"I've just been feeling off lately, you know. And I'm sorta late."

Clark rolled off of her and laid beside her.

"So you're feeling off like morning sickness and a nausea-sort-of-off?"

"I don't know, I don't think so. It might be in my head. Craving Mexican hella didn't help."

Clark laughed. The image of Sandra waking up and deciding to lust after Mexican dudes couldn't help but fill his mind.

"Why are you laughing," Sandra asked.

"It's juvenile, not worth talking about," Clark answered. "So I'm assuming you're like a week late, right?"

"You're a dumbass. But yeah a little over a week."

"Why am I a dumbass?"

"You're laughing because I said that I was craving Mexican you pervert. I know it."

They shared a laugh, Clark denying her accusation and saying it was about The Mexican starring Brad Pitt and Julia Roberts. It wasn't exactly a shining moment in his history of making shit up.

"So," Clark continued. "That's not too long, right. I don't know, but what do you think about this? Have you felt sick for all those days?"

She sighed.

"A couple days I've been sick. I'm thinking too many things, honestly. Seriously Clark, a lot has happened within the year and it's leading up to a whole lot happening this upcoming year. I'm afraid, excited and everything in between and I just think it's making my body feel like shit. I do know that if something is there," pointing to her stomach, "I know it was made out of love."

Clark inched closer to her on the bed.

"Listen," he answered. "If Nino or Josephine is closer than we imagine, you do know I support you and whatever you choose to do. But I don't want you to fuck up your life. You are on the path to great great things, babe. Staying here, derailing that plan -- I couldn't live with myself."

Sandra sat up.

"Why do you use those words, fuck up my life?"

"I'm sorry. You know what I mean. I didn't mean to use those words. C'mon though you're brilliant. I walk around and see people surrounding me with these I-could've-faces, looking at the world yearning for an alternate universe. They seek refuge in hoping that universe they think about at least exists somewhere. And I know how you are."

"How am I," Sandra curtly asked.

"You're great. Everything I admire about the world. Your empathy, warmth, your ability to see things in a positive light. They way you act like you're not the center of the universe. You take any hurdle and just jump. You just jump and leave everything else to divinity and your faith. At 23 years old, I want you to be the best you can be. People always tell kids when they're younger that you can be anything you want to be if you put your mind to it. You actually accomplished most of it and the dirty work didn't phase you at all. You have more to offer the world than what we are right now and where we're at.. I don't want to be a contributing factor to that I-could've-face, you know."

Clark instinctively put his arm around Sandra. She pulled away.

"Listen to yourself, Clark. Trust me, I know and share your concerns. You know me as much as I know you. Even though you don't outwardly share my faith, you still love life in a manner that God looks for. But you show it in a different way than others; you doubt. You love life by doubting and examining every possibility of it, you're the model Catholic -- guilty on a count of nothing in particular."

"I'm a model human then, not a model Catholic. And why are we talking about this? I was talking about us, about you."

"I think that's what I'm talking about, too."

"OK, it might seem like I'm ready to drive to an abortion clinic right now but I'll support whatever happens 100 percent."

"No," Sandra interrupted. "Let's first acknowledge that they baby isn't even certain for now. And you know what, those I-could've-faces you saw could just be a bad day or it just could very well be because they didn't go through with having a baby. No matter what personal goals they had, in their heart they felt a connection with something and they decided to destroy it. Life isn't about making the right decision. It's about reacting to whatever decision you make. Declaring every action as right or wrong misses the point of it, and you were the one that told me that."

There was a pregnant pause.

"You know I love you," Clark said.

"That's never been an issue," Sandra answered. "I love you too."

"Then you know why I feel the way I feel too," Clark responded.

"I need you with me right now, Clark. I've been telling you about Manila. My cousin's getting married there and I really want to go there to see her and I really want to introduce her to you. I want and need you with me in July, regardless of what's going on in my tummy. Don't be a martyr, please. Let's let whatever will happen happen. I've still got a lot of thinking to do, but I'm confident in what I want in Manila."

"If I can, then I will."

Clark was thinking dichotomously. The path they had chosen together was something he begrudgingly took, but it wasn't as if he didn't have a choice. He was the one who pushed her to stick with Washington, D.C. He was the one who wasn't going to move. If this pregnancy was the real deal, then what his irrational side hoped for would arrive. Sandra staying for a little while longer, the idea of marrying her. What he didn't like was that it would involve an innocent child whose father was not prepared for parenthood and the financial and emotional responsibility it entailed. A father who was unable to figure what to do with his kid when he was still figuring out what to do with himself. He would have a child with a mother who was sidetracked from making good money with something she was not only driven about but loved. The pursuit of self was no longer an option if they had a kid.

"Do you want me to get a pregnancy test," Clark asked.

"Yes, please. Let's go when you're ready."

"No, I'll go by myself. I need to absorb this all and think."

Clark went to the restroom. He didn't need to go. Pants down to his ankles, sitting on the porcelain oval, he scratched his balls and thought about masturbating to relieve stress. He thought maybe Juan Lopez did that when Alice told him she was pregnant with him. Instead, he pulled up his pants and made faces at himself in front of the mirror.

"How do you, how can you, how dare you want and not want at the same time," he asked himself.

Conjuring up a terrible British accent, he answered.

"Because love is a cherished burden. It's better to have something to lose than live by just merely existing... you moron."

He flushed his imaginary dump and left the bathroom.

"I'm sorry about that, Sandra. I love you."

"I love you too."

They kissed and he went to the grocery store.

At the market he grabbed Vitamin D milk, hot cocoa mix, instant coffee (for hot chocolate), chicken stock, carrots, celery (for chicken soup), a six-pack of domestic beer (for himself) and -- after much hesitation -- a pregnancy test (for the both of them).

On his way back, he thought about Manila. It wasn't the first time Sandra had brought it up. Her parents were not too keen on the idea of his going but they put on a polite if not cold facade. He insisted if he did go he'd pay. Although they still offered to buy him a ticket, the idea of reneging his claim would make him vomit.

The thing no one else knew was that he was saving up for an engagement ring before she was accepted to med school. He was unsure of whether or not to propose to her, not because he didn't want to marry her but because it might not be the right time anymore. He didn't want to believe he was doing it to make a last-ditch effort to hold onto her, he wanted to do it because he loved her. Clark felt he needed to establish himself more as an adult. He didn't want her to marry someone so bum-like.

With the pregnancy test in the backseat, he had a revelation. He didn't want her to marry any bum-like person but himself. Whatever would happen, there would be 100 percent commitment from him, even if he had to wait for her. The decision of having the baby if she was pregnant was out of his hands. Knowing her faith in Catholicism, if the test ended up positive she was sure to keep it.

Regardless of the result, he was finally positive of one thing, and that was Sandra Tay was the one he wanted to marry.

He wasn't necessarily prepared but he was willing to accept any responsibility given to him. His concern was always more about how it would have affected her life. His life was a continous cycle of eating, shitting, surviving and breathing. His passion was living. Some people immersed themselves in math or fashion. Although not financially viable, he lived for the nuance of a man eating risotto or the way your breath looks on a cold day. He could sit around and not be bored by anything. It wasn't a strength and it actually gave people the perception that he was aimless (his and Sandra's parents included). His desire of living could withstand whatever confronted him, but he couldn't think about just himself when he thought about what he wanted to do. His desire of just living could withstand whatever confronted him. Sandra's med school was not as flexible, neither was his parents potential for Huntington's. This lack of concrete passion was something she understood and defended to her parents when they told her that his 24-hour introspection on life was just a way to play hooky with responsibility. That he was relying on her future to stay afloat. And maybe they were right, he thought. But he couldn't find anything else he wanted to do but take a walk, and even better than to take a walk with Sandra.

Driving back home, this sort of revelatory thinking had him preparing. He had around $1,600 of engagement ring money and he was ready to buy a ring.

He prepared for all possible responses. He was confident that what they had built up was real, that his concerns over his fear of what he would become was overriden by knowing she loved him for what he was. He decided to tell her after making soup for her. He'd get on one knee without a ring. There was confidence in what he wanted, whether or not he would be a dad.

Through all his plans, he was not prepared for one thing; seeing a charred 1999 Honda Civic flipped over 20 feet from his driveway, a bevy of on-lookers surrounding the lawn, or an ambulance carrying the woman he was planning on marrying along with four teenagers errantly making a right turn while going 125 mph toward his mailbox (where Sandra was getting the mail).

Greg then parked the car.