Day 9: Abdoun

One of my favourite ever movie lines is from "Mansfield Park" when Fanny Price says to her sister, "I have no talent for certainty." Fanny is referring to the dashing, womanizing Henry Crawford and at this point in the film, has changed her answer a gajillion times to his proposal of marriage.

There is nothing special about this line. It's just a handful of words. But I liked it so much because Fanny is talking about a man and as such, it totally applies to me. The opposite sex and I share a very special relationship in that I have not one miserable, fucking inch of talent for certainty when it comes to men. None whatsoever.

That first morning with Marco I was determined that me and him at Level Two were all wrong. Totally ixnay. Naturally this conclusion came after a good half-hour in the bathroom privately consulting me, myself and my paranoia, and I was fine with that decision. Anything to get the storms out of my head and for a little while, it seemed to work just fine.

I stuck to my guns and so my second day and second night with Marco passed by the same way. He parted ways when we were with Raj's family and at night, we talked. About everything under the sun. We talked until we were tired, and then we fell asleep.

That third morning I woke up to James parked in front of the TV, rubbing my cocoa butter lotion onto his feet, and Raj clucking about. He had some family duties today, and so the three of us would be alone this morning. I went in the direction of the breadsticks and jar of cheese for my first meal of the day when Marco said, "Come out for breakfast with me."

My morning was blissfully free and breakfast out, I thought, would be very nice. Besides, it was his last full day with us. Tomorrow Raj, James and me would be touring Jordan's touristy landmarks, and Marco would be going home.

We got ready on the sly, he hailed us a cab and we went to a trendy little cafe in Abdoun with contemporary seating and a display case full to the brim with Parisian-inspired pastries. All sweets, especially chocolate sweets, fuel Marco's fire and he picked us a table with the nicest view of the baked goods. I had to laugh. Marco's heaven is cocoa oceans on chocolate shores, and spun sugar trees growing pastry fruit under a soft rainfall of gargantuan cacao beans. Willy Wonka's factory spread out across infinity.

My heaven is a different story, and it was his turn to laugh when our three coffees came. One for him, two for me. My heaven is orchards of coffee beans with waterfalls of espresso, rivers of latte dotted with biscotti sailboats, and creamy white clouds of milk foam against a cappucino sky.

We ordered breakfast to share: a chocolate danish, French toast with assorted toppings, and leaned back on the couch to relax. He had his arm around me and I was okay with that; he did most of the talking this morning, and I was okay with that too. Being with such a person, being with Marco is otherwordly: his voice, the way he talks, his calm demeanor. It is awe-inspiring, humbling even, especially next to the ups and downs of my pogo stick personality.

But it was frustrating being with him too, because I just couldn't believe he hadn't said or done even one thing to react to my freezing up the way I had. One part of me I wanted to shake him and scream, what's wrong with you? Why haven't you stormed off or told me off or done anything you're perfectly within your rights to do because I've been such a bitch? While the other part of me wanted to bury my face into his neck, apologize profusely and cry for a hundred years over all the mess I'd made and emotions boiling inside me. How on earth could he always be so balanced?

But with Marco there is no overreaction or screaming over anything; this is just the way that he is. Definitely a more advanced human being than I am, that's for sure. In Buddha's books, I am positive that Marco is on his 99th life. I am even more positive that I am on my fourth.

Breakfast over, we headed back to the apartment where Raj was still awol, so the three of us played a game of Scrabble to kill time. Marco won and I would've come in second if James' sucky expression hadn't played on my sympathies. I gave him a U tile, ignored the word IQUEER, and lost by a mile. Bastard.

James took off for his room leaving me and Marco alone to clean up. He was putting the tiles in their cloth sack when he said to me, "Thank you for breakfast."

"For what, I didn't even pay. Thank you."

"No, thank you for coming along."

"Yeah, issues and all."

That was the first reference I'd made about my shittiness. He just smiled. "Your issues are what I like best about you."

If this conversation had taken place at a meal and my mouth was full of food, I would have been choking on it. "You're kidding, right?"

Marco laughed, stood up and pulled me into a hug. "No, I'm serious. You wouldn't be you without them."

It is very nice to be accepted. It is even nicer to be understood.

I started to let go.