Gabrielle #9 – God Forbid (II)

The second in a series of short stories regarding fleeting sexual encounters. This one takes place in Chicago.

‘Done is Done’ by Chicago artist Darren Thompson, 2023

We were born one day apart. Same year and everything. This is significant, we decide, wide-eyed and talking too fast, hunched over tall boys on a park bench like conspiracy enthusiasts. It’s close to 11PM and the park is silent the way someone deeping bad news over the phone is silent. Pregnant, fevered. The noise of downtown Chicago – a city neither of us lives in – is barely audible through the brush and the trees. The moon spills across the pond in front of us picture-perfectly, making the whole scene feel staged.

I’m aware in the moment that our hands – wildly gesticulating, now – are grasping for meaning where there is none. What are the odds that two people would find themselves in the same unfamiliar city, for the same event, with almost the same birthday? Not that low, probably, but it’s as good a reason as any to get carried away. The last American guy I hooked up with sent me a ring in the post and then fell off the face of the Earth. Resurfaced two years later with peroxide hair, a broken nose, and a new psychiatric diagnosis. So I figure this is what they’re all like: intense bordering on nuts. There's a born and bred Brooklyn accent coming out of this one somewhere but I struggle to trace the sound back to his mouth. His face seems to change every few minutes, like it’s being digitally manipulated in real time. Like it's trying to avoid recognition. He looks better than his photos, I think to myself. All likely signs that I’m drunk.