Episode
5 - Common Ground
Trace circled the town green for the third
time and began to worry about being late. His watch read 7:57
p.m., and he still had to find a parking spot and walk to the
coffeehouse. Spotting an available space on the far side of
the green, Trace sped up and pulled into the spot before anyone
else could. He left the windows down and the doors unlocked
as he jumped out of his truck. He could see the awning for Common
Grounds in front of him, but he still had to cross the green
to get to it. He scanned the sidewalk for Élan, but no
one who fit Élan’s description was there. He wondered
if this meant Élan was late or if he was already inside.
Trace found himself unable to remember if they said they would
meet inside or out. Becoming increasingly nervous, he could
not recall if this preparatory discussion was had at all. Taking
a deep breath, he calmed himself by reminding himself he was
an adult who could simply enter the coffeehouse and see if Élan
was there was or not. If not, he could then decide if he was
going to wait inside or out. Trace reprimanded himself for having
such provincial social concerns and reminded himself that constructing
a new life meant taking bold new steps.
Reaching the coffee shop, Trace pulled the
door open and stepped inside before his newly found courage
failed him. His attention was immediately drawn to a blonde
seated to his left, and his bravery faltered as he realized
this guy had to be Élan, for he fit Élan’s
description to a tee. Another clue lie in the fact the blonde
was expectantly smiling at him. Trace shuddered as he realized
he was already very attracted to Élan.
“Élan?” asked Trace.
“Hello, Trace.”
Trace walked extended his hand and hoped Élan would not
notice it shaking: “I was afraid I was going to be late.”
Releasing his hand, Trace awkwardly fell into the chair opposite
Élan.
“It’s nice to meet you, Trace.”
“You too,” responded Trace. Realizing
Élan already had a cup of coffee in front of him, Trace
seized the opportunity it provided for conversation and a quick
escape: “What are you having?”
“Decaf. I am tanked on caffeine as it
is,” answered Élan.
“Sounds good. I’ll be right back.”
Trace stood as he realized he should have spent more time saying
hello before running off to get a coffee, but he was too nervous
to care, and he could not steady himself under Élan’s
gaze for another moment. He had found a reprieve, albeit a short
one, for walking away, he fretted Élan was checking him
out.
Reaching the counter, Trace requested a coffee
and looked back toward the table. Élan smiled at him,
and Trace returned the smile as he confirmed his attraction
to Élan’s wet blue eyes and pleasingly pallid complexion.
This combination struck Trace as particularly attractive, and
he wondered if he had just discovered his ‘type.’
Returning to the table with a mug full of coffee,
Trace deployed his experience as a waiter to avoid the embarrassment
of dribbling coffee over the floor: Watch your destination
not your hand.
Arriving at the table without incident, Trace’s
dexterity with the coffee increased his confidence as he resumed
his seat: “Well, I guess this settles who drinks more
coffee. This is caffeinated!”
Élan laughed as he conceded: “I
guess it does.”
“Have you been here before,” asked
Trace.
“No, this is my first time. You must
have since you knew about it,” replied Élan.
“I’ve been here before with friends,”
responded Trace.
“Am I one of the many ‘friends’
you’ve met here?” asked Élan with a suggestive
tone that took Trace by surprise and reminded him this was a
first meeting.
Pondering Élan’s question, Trace
realized he was just as curious about the frequency of Élan’s
personal ad experiences: “Actually, no. You’re the
first. The others were friends.”
“Can’t we be friends?” asked
Élan.
Trace found the conversation suddenly very
complicated, and he felt he had somehow contradicted himself.
Unsure of how to answer, he opted for the easy out: “Of
course, we can.”
“I’m just giving you a hard time,
but I suppose I shouldn’t do that. You don’t know
me well enough to know when I’m joking.” Élan
smiled reassuringly before continuing: “How are you finding
the ad experience? You said this was the first ad you placed,
right?”
“Yes. So far, you’re the first
guy I’ve met.”
“Well, that puts all kind of pressure
on me,” Élan smiled as he spoke.
“Yes, it does,” replied Trace so
instinctively he failed to realize the curt nature of his response.
Élan’s smile faded as he raised
his coffee mug to his lips. Trace was forced to let the awkwardness
hang between them a moment before he found a way to remedy his
tactlessness: “Now I am giving you a hard time.”
“Ah, touché,” Élan
remarked as he smiled appreciatively.
Deciding he had had enough joking, Trace decided
to change the conversation: “Élan, do you mind
if I ask why you changed your name?”
‘Not at all, but it’s not really
an interesting story. I did it in my early twenties. I guess
I wouldn’t do it now, but I had just come out to everyone,
and I lost my job, most of my friends, and my mother didn’t
want to have anything to do with me anymore.”
“All because you were gay?” interrupted
Trace as he wondered over what price he would have to pay.
“Yeah, it was really not a big deal;
the job sucked anyway, and my mother suffers from born-again
amnesia,” explained Élan flatly.
“Does she talk to you now?” asked
Trace.
“Only during her annual recruitment phone
call to remind me I am going to burn in hell unless I change
my ways.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” offered
Trace.
“Thanks, but its really ancient history
now. Anyway, I had just come out and found I needed a new job,
new friends, and a new family, so I decided to take a new name,
so I did. Then—I quit college, found an apartment, and
started my business.”
“Why the name Élan?” asked
Trace.
“I wanted something other than a proper
noun. I wanted to name myself something I actually wanted to
be—something I wanted to become. Élan means filled
with self-assurance, and I definitely wanted and needed to become
that.”
“It’s a pretty unusual name, but
I like it,” commented Trace.
“It’s no more unusual than Trace
really,” countered Élan.
“It’s English. It’s means
brave,” replied Trace.
“Are you English?” asked Élan.
“By way of British occupation. I am part
Irish,” answered Trace.
“And are you brave or are you trying
to become brave?” asked Élan.
Trace pondered the question a moment before
replying, “Both—I guess.”
Shifting his weight, Trace was uncertain if
he was nervous because of the conversation’s content or
Élan’s blue eyes that seemed to contain every shade
of blue. He wished he could slip beyond the blue-eyed gaze for
a moment to catch his breath and steady his confidence. As the
conversation continued, he felt increasingly unsure of himself
and became progressively more self-conscious, and for the rest
of the evening, his attention alternated between the conversation
at the table and the tedious conversation in his head as he
wondered what Élan thought of him or what was revealed
by the words that passed between them. More than once he found
himself guessing at an appropriate response as the conversation
in his head eclipsed the conversation at the table. Fatigued,
Trace realized he had been completely unprepared for the work
involved in dating, and he wondered at exactly which sappy love
song was to blame.
Although he had enjoyed Élan’s
company, Trace was pleased when he found himself walking toward
his truck with Élan at his side. He was relieved to be
in Élan’s peripheral vision, but he became gradually
more nervous as he wondered why Élan had offered to walk
him to his truck and if he had been remiss in not offering to
walk Élan to his car first. Before Trace could ponder
an answer, he found himself standing beside his driver’s
door.
The two men exchanged what felt like awkward
glances to Trace, and urged on by an intuition of relief resting
on the other side of a kiss, Trace boldly stepped forward: “Are
you gonna kiss me?” As soon as he finished his question,
he pressed his lips to Élan’s before they could
part in response.
Élan pulled back and laughed before
returning his lips to Trace’s: “I guess I am.”
Both men were too tense in the public setting
to proceed beyond pressing lips, and there was no exchange of
tongues.
Breaking the kiss, both men surveilled the
street for possible repercussive responses to their public display
of gay affection, but their wariness was unwarranted, for no
one was to be seen.
Trace pulled his keys from his pocket and squeezed
Élan’s forearm: “I think we found some common
ground at Common Grounds. Let’s do it again.”
“I’d like that,” replied
Élan.
Driving home, Trace lowered the windows and
relished the wind as his truck flew down the highway. He heady
with the though of having just completed his first date with
a guy. Tiring as it was, it ended with a kiss, and the memory
of raced through his mind as he soared over highway and raised
the radio volume. A popular love song came over the radio, and
although he knew it was premature, he couldn’t help but
project himself into the song, for this time, he actually had
someone to take along.
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