Sleepless Chapter 10: Leap of Faith

San Francisco, California May 2015

“Are you headed there now?” asked my father on the phone.

“Yeah, I’m meeting her by the stadium.” I replied.

“Okay, well, do you still think this is a good idea?”

“Yeah, I think it will be fine.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound very convincing. Are you sure about this?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I promised I’d show her around, and it’s just going to be that.”

“Okay. Tell me when you’e on your way back.”

“Will do, thanks Pops, love you.”

“Love you too son.”

It was a cloudless day of weather that many would consider to be perfect. San Francisco has the one slice of Mediterranean weather in the United States with its trademark sun and ocean breeze coming in from the Pacific.

“I just got to the stadium Arthur,” read a text from Celine.

My heart sank. It had been close to a year since I had seen her, but it felt like it had been four. June 30th, 2014: I’ll always remember that date, the day I flew out of Heathrow, leaving a false dream behind. My parents looked at me with grave concern on their faces when I arrived at SFO. My mother remarked how my soul was still over there. She wasn’t wrong. I was willingly engaging with being haunted. It’s an intoxicating feeling to be haunted. I walked around the Bay Area with one eye in the present and one eye playing reels of the past. I was never the same after moving to England both for better and for worse. Jeremy didn’t see me all summer cause in his words “you were just weird man.”

I was holding onto a life that wasn’t working anymore for more reasons than just being 5000 miles away. After fights with my father, I walked into the Marine Corps recruiting office close to his apartment to inquire about career opportunities. Something told me not to sign up, and my father retracted a previous demand to get out of the house for good. I held onto living there for Celine’s sake, to work in Silicon Valley and get her to America for us to be married. This was the plan until January when I cracked and told her, “I can’t give you what you want,” triggering our breakup. She didn’t seem to take no for an answer, chatting me on Facebook almost every day with me obliging in return. This all culminated into this moment, her coming out to Los Angeles to see friends from her class in drama school with a quick trip up to San Francisco to see me. I’d have to face her and tell her I don’t love her anymore, even if it isn’t exactly true. I had come to Christ, and I swore wouldn't slip into an old life with a woman I knew would cost me. There was love there, but it was murky. Our defenses were always high, yet the outpouring was seemingly unstoppable at times.

“Meet me by the Willie Mays statue,” I replied.

“Okay.”

I grew up adoring the San Francisco Giants. My first baseball game was at what was then “Pacific-Bell Park,” four rows behind home plate for a game against the Atlanta Braves in 2000, the first year of the stadium’s glorious recent history. Other stadiums are Americana like those in Detroit, Chicago, New York, and St. Louis, but San Francisco’s jewel of a ballpark is distinctly West Coast both in a classical sense and a modern sense. It’s burnt orange brick and moss green steel beams screamed to me an understanding of a frontier culture needing a city to be a fabled Paris beyond the Mississippi on the edge of the world. The sailors, gold rushers, and frontiersman made this city so far removed from the well-developed East. The plains and Rockies between us and them made our culture something else entirely, and it showed even in a stadium for what many would deem a “silly little game.”

When Tim Lincecum led the Giants to their first World Series win in 2010, my high school got a day off to go celebrate. It was my first sense of hometown pride, and it was an electric time to be a San Franciscan. In 2012, I received another joy during my gap year between high school and drama school, working the closing shift at Urban Outfitters for $8.75 an hour, hearing the news that the Giants swept the Tigers. Most recently, I was in awe of the most clutch performance in sports history, watching Madison Bumgarner pitch as close to perfect as one could ever fathom to kill the Kansas City Royals’s dreams, solidifying a dynasty out West. I loved this team, and I love it still. Out of all American sports, baseball is the only one that simultaneously breaks your heart and tells you everything is going to be okay.

Just a year ago, I went home for spring break away from drama school. I picked up a black Giants baseball cap to put on Celine’s dainty, blonde head. In 2014, it seemed like anything I did just made her melt, and this occasion was no different. I wanted to place something that kept me at ease on something that bore so much erraticism.

And at this point, I stood waiting next to San Francisco’s golden boy, immortalized in stone in front of our house of glory and pleasant contentment, waiting for the woman who dreamed of San Francisco, claiming she would visit here one day in her diary, the same week I auditioned for the drama school where we first met. It was all so star-crossed until it wasn’t.

“I’m next to the statue Arthur,” read a text from Celine.

“No you’re not, I’m next to statue and don’t see you,” I replied.

“Yes I am,” she replied.

“Is the statue by the water?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Yeah, that’s not Willie Mays, that’s Willie McCovey.”

“Okay, so where do I go then?”

“Walk to the street, then swing right, towards the front. The Willie Mays statue is on a street corner.”

I didn’t receive a reply. I thought she was maybe marveling at the water, the stadium, or the San Franciscan skyline. I felt myself putting my guard up, my shielded demeanor, my mask of unbothered expression. What else was I to do with all these unresolved stories and sentiments in my being?

I checked my phone once more when I heard from a voice swiftly approaching from my right, “this place is amazing babes.”

I looked up from my phone and saw Celine in a baby blue Jean jacket, white fitted t-shirt, classic blue jeans, and designer Nikes, donning a black purse, hoop earrings, and pink lipstick she swore not to wear. Her hair was shorter then, not as short as the time I met her in drama school, but still short enough to shape her piercing face that was softened with still loving eyes and beaming smile that seemed like she was giving every last inch of herself to keep our story alive.

I froze for a second seeing my life in England personified ripping a whole in my false world born back home. It seemed that the only person who knew who I really was at the time was telegraphing to the world that I was engaging in charade.

It was a dream I put away coming to fruition four months too late.

My being responded initially as if I was still there with her in England, in Greco-Roman cocktail bar, in corner Waitrose market, and in Edwardian house not quite remembering I was where the previous 19 years held their bedrock foundations.

My will kicked in, my will to hold my oath, and I stood up a bit straighter and switched my softened, shocked longing into an all-knowing half smile that I wore many times in attempts to outsmart her and keep her old games at bay.

“Hi Celine.”

“Hi Arthur.”

We both stuttered before hugging each other hesitantly. At the moment it felt like it could have been held for a long time, I broke away.

“I can’t believe I’m here.”

“Neither can I.”

We locked eyes fully for several seconds before we both looked at the ground. We both looked up again and then in the opposite direction of Willie Mays.

“Well, are you going to show me around now?” asked Celine.

“Yeah, I will. I promised I would,” I replied

“Well…where are we going then?”

“Right, well, we should probably make our way up third street, so you can see Union Square first.”

“Okay well, you lead the way.”

We crossed over from fourth street to third street in order to get a straight shot to Union Square, seeing Britex fabrics in the distance many blocks away.

“So how’s the place you’re staying at?”

“It’s alright, the owner of the airbnb is a bit weird, I think he likes me.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest.”

“He’s such a Cali bro, he has his UCLA gear everywhere, he’s a bit of a ball ache.”

“I’m sure he’s at least handsome.”

“In a beach-blonde, surfer boy type way, but he’s nothing compared to you.”

It didn’t take long for her to go on the offensive. I didn’t think I was looking any kind of special, and I made sure of that. I was wearing a baggy grey quarter zip sweater that goes all the way up a turtleneck collar, baggy moss green chinos, CrossFit shoes from “Inov8,” and and a blue and yellow Golden State Warriors skullcap. Yet here she was throwing me compliments that I grew so accustomed to in England.

“Well, I certainly doubt that.”

“What neighborhood is this Arthur?”

“This is SOMA, short for ‘South of Market,’ it’s a neighborhood full of tech bros who hike up the rent to unimaginable heights.”

“It does feel quite techie doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s a bit much for my taste, but it’s still a part of home.”

“How’s your dad, how’s Frank doing, Mr. New York?”

“He’s doing well, I think he’s taking to the single life. Man is so social, far more social than I’ve ever been.”

“You got the anti-social part from your mom didn’t you babes?”

“Yeah, I suppose I did. I don’t know what it is, most people don’t have something to say that I’d actually like to hear, and I’d just rather enjoy my own company than slave over pleasantries.”

My speech patterns returned to the core of myself I had recently abandoned. I’d tell people that this was a facade, but this in all honesty was as real as I could be. I was trying to tell everyone and even myself that I could be a typical Cali-boy, enamored with life all the time, excited over sports to an unhealthy degree that most deemed healthy, and content with having beers on the beach with friends on the weekends. I had tried to be that simple, but I just wasn’t. I was somehow so American and so opposite to American all at once. Celine was making it all come crashing down in a matter of minutes.

“Well you always were Mr. mysterious weren’t you?”

“I think everyone thought I was mysterious in drama school cause I refused to lay may cards on the table to people who thought they wanted to understand.”

“I think people really did want to understand you Arthur, you just didn’t want them to understand.”

“I can’t really see why.”

"I don’t think that’s true. You know people looked up to you Arthur.”

“Well that ‘looking up’ always came out more like resentment.”

“Only at the end of it all when you decided you didn’t want to be an actor anymore. Before that, you know for a fact people looked up to you, but they were scared to try to get to know you.”

“I suppose I did do that on purpose.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s a combination of things. I didn't think a lot of them really had the depth to understand what was in my head, so I’d just try to hide behind subtle politeness and a stoic demeanor that was so acceptable over there.”

“Well, the part about the depth is probably true. It felt like we were surrounded by idiots sometimes.”

“That’s cause we were surrounded by idiots a lot of the time.”

“Yeah, but Otis was nice wasn’t he?”

“Yeah, but Otis is literally autistic.”

“I think I’m a bit autistic to be fair.”

“Celine, for the last time, you are not autistic.”

“I think I am babes.”

“Just because you played an autistic character that you took to easily, doesn’t make you autistic.”

“I think it doooooes babes,” trying to ramp up the flirtatious undertone I tried to ignore.

“No, it doesn't. You’re just quirky.”

“And do you like my quirks?”

“…you know I did.”

She lost a beat.

“Well, I wouldn't have been able to tell Mr. stoic. If it was hard for me to read, I can only imagine how hard it was for everyone else.”

“Well, they don’t matter now do they?”

“No, I suppose not. What’s this place babes?”

“That’s Britex fabrics, my mom comes here a lot for fabric to sew with.”

“Oh, I see. That’s cool babes.”

“Yeah, it’s a nice building. We’re going to swing left here to wrap around to Union Square.”

“Gosh, this city is beautiful.”

“It really is. I never grow tired of it.”

“I can see why.”

“So how’s Clara and all of them down in Los Angeles?”

“Honestly, it was really boring down there.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“Yeah, I mean it’s cool going to Venice and all that, but besides that, they just hang out in their shitty little living room and ask me what I want to do. I’m like I don’t know what I want to do, you’re the ones who fucking live here, why don’t you just show me around?”

“Yeah, that kinda sounds like the same way they were in England.”

“Yeah, cause they’re fucking boring Arthur.”

“Then why are you friends with them?”

“Oh, I don’t know babes. They’re good friends to me, I just need to stop being so harsh. I should be better to them really.”

“Well, it’s good that you know that, so this right here is Union Square.”

“Gosh, wow.”

We walked across the street into the center of the square through the small park to look at its pillar monument reminiscent of Trafalgar Square, surrounded by the gargantuan department stores of Saks Fifth Avenue, Macy’s, and Neiman Marcus.

“So this monument is dedicated to Admiral George Dewey, the man responsible for the victory at Manila Bay in 1898 during the Spanish-American War, securing the Philippines for the United States.”

“Oh really? I didn’t know the United States had the Philippines.”

“Yeah, we had it for roughly 48 years before they were granted full independence after eleven years of self-governance starting in 1935.”

“You’re such a nerd aren’t you babes?” poking at me flirtatiously.

“The correct term is history buff Celine.”

“Suuuure it is,” doubled down Celine.

“You’re a nerd too Celine, that’s why we were able to get along.”

“I suppose you’re right…have to have something between the ears babes. What’s that on top of the pillar? That doesn’t look like a George Dewey.”

“That’s the Goddess of Victory.”

“I see, now that is cool babes.”

Pointing to the Southeast corner of Union Square I said, “that over there is Neiman Marcus, a department store that originated in Texas. My mom and I go to the restaurant at the top there every year around Christmas time called “La Rotunda.” The Christmas tree they have goes up the five stories in the middle of the store and the restaurant. We’ve been going since I was nine years old.”

“Awww, that’s so sweet babes.”

“Yeah, a lot of fond memories up there.”

“Well what now?”

“Well, I suppose it’s a good time to go to Chinatown now.”

“Chinatown! Going into Chinatown,” said Celine slyly referencing the classic film of the same name with a faint Jack Nicholson impression.

“I still haven’t seen that movie. Did you go to the one in LA?”

“Of course not, I told you they didn’t take me anywhere.”

“Well, we’ll go to this one then.”

“You always love a Chinatown don’t you babes?”

“Yeah, well, I told you I grew up in an all Asian school for the first ten years of my life. I wasn’t raised very American at home with my parents being so Euro, and I had all these Asian friends at school. So when I got to England, I’d go to Chinatown whenever I’d feel homesick.”

“You were trying to get away from school though babes, with your little Muay Thai gym upstairs.”

“Yeah, that’s true. I knew I wouldn’t bump into anyone there, and I liked that boba tea shop there.”

“I liked it when you used to bring me back the mochi from there. Mum and I ate that whole box that one time, and we felt like we gained a stone.”

“They did have the best mochi.”

“Are you still doing Muay Thai? You were obsessed when we were…still together you know.”

“Not right now unfortunately. I don’t have a car, and I can’t really afford the time or money to get over there with Ubers or buses.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit depressing to be honest, but I do have a weights gym.”

“I was going to say, you do look bigger. You were already a tank when I first knew you, and now you’re even bigger. Crazy babes.”

“Yeah, I’m doing alright. I’m not as big as I want to be, but I’ll get there.”

“Christ, if you get any bigger, you’re going to look too scary.”

“Maybe I like looking scary.”

“Why, so less people would approach you? You know that’s just going to make girls like you even more.”

“Maybe. A lot of girls here like the more Californian, slimmer type here.”

“Oh come on babes, I KNOW girls stare at you. I’ve already seen a bunch of girls staring at you while we’ve been walking all this way.”

“Well that makes one of us.”

“Arthur, I know you know you’re attractive, just admit it.”

“I try not to think about it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to go down into old habits.”

“What old habits?”

“I was too fucking arrogant in drama school Celine, you know that.”

“Yeah maybe. I guess I found it attractive didn’t I.”

“Yeah, exactly. I don’t want to attract the wrong kind of attention.”

“What, so I was the wrong kind of attention?” questioned Celine with a spark of an annoyed tone.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” said Celine as she started to walk faster.

“I was very deliberately seeking your attention Celine.”

“Yeah I suppose you were. I never should have went with you to that bar that night.”

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have.”

“Well that’s just great Arthur.”

“Look, I’m not saying you should or shouldn’t have. I clearly wanted to do, and so did you.”

“You know I did.”

“Well there it is then.”

“Yeah, there it is then as you say.”

“So this is the Dragon’s Gate,” I said pointing to the gate of three moss green pagoda roofs with two limestone dragons on each side.

“Wow.”

“The legend is you can’t enter and leave on the same side, or you’ll have bad luck.”

“I forget you’re all superstitious.”

“I’m not superstitious, I’m Christian. I don’t really believe in this dragon thing.”

“Yes of course, you’re a good Christian boy now all of the sudden.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Sure you are.”

“Yes, I am. Speaking of which, do you want to see Grace Cathedral?”

“I already went to Grace Cathedral Arthur.”

“What, you did?”

“Yeah of course I did, I wasn’t going to wait for you. Waiting for you is like waiting for bloody Christmas.”

“I see.”

“Where are you taking me now anyway?”

“Well, I was going to swing left at some point to go to Grace Cathedral, but since you’ve already seen it, we can see something else.”

“Well at least Chinatown here is pretty cool.”

“Biggest Chinatown in the world.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, bigger than both New York’s and London’s.”

"I see.”

I didn’t expect her to grow hostile. It was a very rare occurrence then, but I suppose women can only handle both subtle and outright rejection for so long. I didn’t expect her to genuinely want me to make an advance on her after breaking up four months prior. It was very clear that in her mind, that’s what was meant to be, but God had other plans. These plans were contingent on my devotion, and I wasn’t going to let my will break. There’s two ways to alienate a woman who is into you, disarming her flirtatious nature. You either act like an old man or act like a child. She’s older than me, so I opted for the latter, beginning to bounce around like an aimless fool.

“Wait Celine hang on, you have to try a lotus pancake.”

“What the fuck is a lotus pancake Arthur?”

“It’s like this gooey pastry, here I’ll show you.”

“Alright, fine.”

We ran into a small bakery with a narrow hall wedged between a jewelry shop and a dim sum restaurant, and I ordered two of the San Franciscan Chinese pastries, one for each of us.

“Here you go,” I said to Celine, handing her the pastry.

“What’s all this then?”

“It’s a lotus pancake.”

“Right, so you said,” she said before pausing to take a bite. She moved her mouth around with laborious chewing before looking up at me and cracking a slight smile and saying, “that’s really good babes mmm.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Yeah it is,” said Celine before looking down and putting her mask back of discontent back on.

“Right, I’m going to need some proper food though Arthur, this isn’t going to cut it,” said Celine in an annoyed tone.

“Yeah okay, uh, there’s some god restaurants in the Marina, why don’t we go there?”

“Yeah, sure, fine.”

“Alright.”

We walked passed the Transamerica pyramid that she didn’t seem present enough to witness before swinging left down Columbus street. I didn’t feel a need to point out the Beat Museum or City Light’s Book Shop despite her love for Ezra Pound, Jack Kerouac, and Alan Ginsberg. Bringing it up would make her too hopeful again for some shot at reviving our former passions, and me having to shut it down would upset here even further.

The Northwest direction of Columbus carried us through a side of Russian Hill before I decided to swing directly West to Fort Mason, the former Naval Base that now houses a theater often used for the opera, restaurants, and art shops. I figured it would be a welcome distraction.

“This place is incredible babes,” remarked Celine. “Everything in this city is.”

“She’s a hard mistress to leave.”

“I’ll say. I don’t know how you left this for bloody England.”

“I needed a change of pace. My parents were getting divorced and selling the house. I didn’t want to have to see that every day.”

“So you only went to avoid that?”

“No, not exactly. I can’t say I wanted to be an actor fully, but it was all I really had. My parents cornered me in between my junior and senior year of high school saying I wasn’t really showing any interest in anything else. Then when they weren’t convinced about my dedication to it, I grabbed the vase in the middle of the kitchen table and threw it onto the ground. My dad took it as me waking up, and in a way I was. I just didn’t wake up as much as I wanted to.”

“What the hell does that have to do with your parents’ divorce?”

“Oh. Well, yeah, I guess the only shot I had at being worth a damn was in acting cause I was good at it. And that would distract me from the divorce as well.”

“You were very good at it.”

“Thank you, so are you.”

“If you weren’t so scared of your parents’s divorce, you’d have been able to properly try out again for RADA and gotten in.”

“You’re probably right.”

“You’re the exact type of guy RADA takes, not a LAMDA guy or a Guildhall guy.”

“I’m definitely not a LAMDA guy, they like their teddy boys too much.”

“Yeah babes, you’re too much of a man for them. Too Intense. Too dark.”

Statements like these always made me forget Celine is five and a half years older than me. When we were in drama school together talking about our pasts with one another, it would sometimes startle us. In 2008, I was wrapping up middle school  obsessing over Nine Inch Nails, while Celine was a freshman in college and going to the Pharrell concert.

“Yeah well, I didn’t like them either,” I said.

“I’m just saying you could have really had a proper go at being an actor if you went to RADA. You could have gotten an agent and everything.”

“If I did that, you and I never never would have met.”

“I don’t think that’s true babes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I like to think we still would have met babes. It would have been fate.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ll never forget my diary entry declaring that I’d go to San Francisco the same week you auditioned for drama school here.”

“Yeah, that was quite a bit of fate.”

“Yeah, it was.”

I didn’t want to go further down this road. I didn’t want to take the natural course of conversation that we had been down many times. I didn’t want to discuss our future in London that never was. I didn’t want our former dream life as successful actors on the London stage to be killed in its cradle once more. I had to cut the tension again.

“While you’re here you have to try a Phil’z Coffee,” I exclaimed while speeding up my pace and pointing at the coffee cart on the Marina Green.

“Oh, right okay.”

“Yeah, hi. Let me get a mint mojito please, medium.”

“You got it,” said the coffee cart barista.

“Are you not getting anything?” asked Celine.

“No, I’m okay.”

“Oh, right.”

“One medium mint mojito!” announced the coffee cart barista.

“Thanks,” I said, handing the brown paper coffee cup to Celine.

“Gee thanks babes,” said Celine sarcastically.

“You know it’s rare for this spot of San Francisco to be sunny this time of year,” I said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, usually in May, the Northwest corner of the city has a fog, but not today.”

“When does it go away?”

“Usually around September surprisingly.”

“What? September?”

“Yeah, San Francisco has an Indian summer. July and August have fog, and September and October have sun.”

“Here, you can have this,” said Celine handing me her nearly full coffee like a dead animal.

“Do you not like it?”

“No, it’s fine, I just don’t drink coffee all that much.”

“Oh, okay, uh thanks,” I said while taking the coffee.

We had come to the water after walking for a good four miles. The pelicans were making a gentle ruckus while parading and dancing near the water. I stood on the pavement right before a wall that stood in between us and the drop into the beach down below. Celine seemed to go into a trance while gazing upon the Bay. It was I as if she was taking a mental snapshot with her piercing hazel eyes I could see the edges of when I briefly turned to look at her. She seemed to be defeated, heartbroken, and embittered, yet this newfound heartbreak seemed to have granted her a sort of cathartic release she saw as inevitable. It was as if holding onto hope exhausted her, and she could finally unburden herself on this edge of the world. Pensiveness was liberating at first, but then I saw the real descent into sorrow begin to exude from her being, causing me to leap into offensive non-sequitur.

“So this is the Marina proper, with everyone’s boats and all. You can see that boat has all the flags you need to know here, the San Francisco 49ers football team, the San Francisco Giants baseball team, the San Jose Sharks hockey team, and the Golden State Warriors basketball team.”

“It would have been nice to go to the baseball game with you today Arthur. You always said you’d take me.”

“Well, I couldn’t afford the tickets really, and it would have taken up most of the day.”

This was a bold faced lie. I could get six dollar tickets, but I didn’t want to sit in one place with her so close together.

“Oh, I see, right.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted our time here to just be a baseball game.”

“You know I’m here more than one day Arthur.”

“Yeah, but I have church on Sundays and have work on Monday.”

“Yes, of course you do.”

“I mean, I could probably come back tomorrow. Church is only in the morning, I could come back in the afternoon.”

“Would you?”

“I’d have to see honestly, I just need to make sure I’m ready for work on Monday. Probably not, but I could try.”

“Are we finally going to get some proper food Arthur?”

“Yeah, I know a restaurant a couple blocks away.”

So we gathered our thoughts and sentiments, and we made our way to Chestnut street, the main drag of the Marina District where techies and trust fund girls go to find each other. We settled on an Italian restaurant the name of which I can’t remember and is surely long gone now.

“Here’s some menus for you both, and here’s a wine list,” said our server of red hair and freckles, not more than 23 years old with petite build and “cool girl” demeanor.

“Thank you,” I responded.

“Yes, thank you,” said Celine.

“Gosh, she’s pretty isn’t she,” said Celine.

“I didn’t notice.”

“Sure you did Arthur, you can admit it now.”

“No, I didn’t, she must have not been very noticeable.”

“I could never nail down your type Arthur.”

“You know you’re my type.”

“I don’t think that’s true, I think your type was Natasha all along.”

“Natasha didn’t hold a candle to you.”

“I don’t believe you Arthur, you rejected me the first time I asked you out.”

“Yeah, cause I already asked out Natasha.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me out?”

“I was 19, and you were 24. In my mind you were this woman who had far more life experience than me who I couldn’t just walk up to an ask out.”

“It didn’t stop you when I made it obvious I liked you the second time.”

“Yeah well, don’t take shots you can’t make.”

“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I knew Natasha liked me when I asked her out, and I knew you liked me when I asked you to go to the Lost Library.”

“So you don’t like the chase?”

“What chase? I still chased you.”

“No I chased you, and you chased back. You don’t like doing the first chase.”

“It’s a waste of my time.”

“Oh is it?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“Why is that?”

“Why would I waste my time chasing a girl who didn’t want to be caught, when there are one’s who are signaling that they want me to catch them?”

“Some girls like to have their minds changed Arthur, in fact most girls do. We like to be pleasantly surprised.”

“Well good for you all.”

“Hi, are we all set to order?” asked the waitress swooping by.

“Yeah thanks, I’ll have a lemonade and a Margherita pizza please,” said Celine.

“And you?” asked the waitress.

“I’ll just have a sparking water and bruschetta please,” I responded.

“Great, coming right up,” said the waitress.

“Thanks,” said Celine and myself in unison.

“Why are you just getting an appetizer Arthur?" asked Celine.

“I have to stick to my diet pretty religiously, and that’s the order that does the least amount of damage.

“Oh for fuck sake, you and your bloody diet.”

“Yes, my bloody diet.”

“Just have a fucking pizza babes.”

“I’m alright.”

“I still know you think that waitress is pretty.”

“Why do you do this?”

“You what?”

“Why do you do this? You would do this every time we were out. You would insist that I thought some other girl is pretty.”

“Well you did think Olivia Swan was pretty.”

“Olivia Swan and I had literally one lunch, and then I realized she has a wet blanket personality and didn’t pursue her further.”

“Or maybe you just settled for me Arthur.”

“No, I didn’t. If you remember, the night I got you to leave with me to go the Lost Library, Olivia was actually waitressing at the Old Stock House, and she gave me a wink while holding a tray before seeing I was with you. I had every opportunity to pursue her, and I chose you.”

“Well, I suppose you did. She always gave me dirty looks after that. She thought she could have any man she wants.”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“I still really don’t think I’m your type babes, I think Natasha is your type.”

“So you think Natasha a half Greek half German girl, Olivia a purely British girl with blonde hair, and this fucking redhead waitress are all my type apparently. You think everyone but you is my type.”

“Well, the redhead IS pretty Arthur.”

“Yes, she’s pretty objectively. It doesn't mean I’m into her.”

“You’re supposed to say I’m prettier than her Arthur!”

“Okay, what the hell is this?”

“I don’t know.”

“Celine, I chose you out of many girls who I had the opportunity to pursue. Yes a lot of these other girls were pretty, but I couldn’t stand to be around them for more than five minutes. I don’t even know how I could stand dating Natasha for two months. You are a very, very beautiful woman with striking features who I fell for. We broke up cause it couldn’t work, and I’m a Christian now. You said you could never be Christian, so here we are.”

“You really thought I was pretty?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I’m sorry Arthur, I don’t know what I expected from all of this.”

“It’s alright.”

Celine looked down slightly to her left in melancholic sadness. She seemed desperate for me to put her out of her misery: to lean across the table to kiss her and restore our dying union. In many ways, I wanted to. I had just been put face to face with a reality four months prior that I was not the man who I pretended to be with her in England. I was using my student loan money like it was a salary I had earned, and when Silicon Valley wasn’t making enough money for me to move her out to California, the dream wrapped in an act died. I felt like a young boy who lost his shot at being a man early on. Here she was wishing for a man, and all I could be was a late stage adolescent. Christianity aside, this all felt unspeakably cruel.

We finished our meal in relative silence and made our way out of the restaurant to walk down a Chestnut street increasingly bathed in the twilight of a setting sun. Celine insisted in walking into a Starbucks to grab a tea while I waited outside and looked through the storied street of the Marina District. There are remnant dive bars from the old sailing roots of this district stuck between the staples of suburban white women like “soulcycle” and “Lululemon.” I had walked through here four months earlier the day after we broke up, listening to the same lyrics on repeat “you were there for me when I was in trouble.” It was all such a blur, our time in England. At times it felt like I was the one manipulating, and other times, it felt like she was manipulating me. Sometimes she was the only cure for a loneliness that I often never wanted a cure for in the first place, and at other times I was the one consoling her through distorted origins and alienation. Maybe we were both malicious, or maybe we were both defending ourselves. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore. I couldn’t tell if we fell in love because of shared suffering or fell in love in spite of it. Maybe we were two actors who didn’t know when to take the masks off. Give a man a mask, and he’ll show you who he is. But if you keep the mask off, that identity is thrown into the flux of an in between state that eventually becomes permanent. Neither of us had the answers anymore.

“It’s getting late, I have to get going,” I said to Celine who was exiting the Starbucks with tea in hand.

“Oh, well, okay.”

“Maybe we should head back to Union Square first?”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll get us an Uber.”

I didn’t look at her for the entire ride. If there was one thing I was avoiding this entire time, it was eye contact without speech, and I had nothing left to say. We got off at Union Square and walked down a couple blocks to third street before telling her I wasn’t far from the train station.

“Well, thanks for seeing me and showing me around,” said Celine.

“Yeah, it was my pleasure,” I responded.

Celine gazed at me intently with the first true eye contact we had all day and said, “so that’s it then?”

“Yeah. That’s it. You must be excited to get back to your friends in Los Angeles.”

“I didn’t come all the way out here for them, I came all the way out here for you Arthur.”

“Are you serious?”

“Of course I did. You know I did.”

She had said out loud what I knew all along but wanted to deny. I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, before grabbing her shoulders, looking into her hazel eyes and saying “some day, someone is going to want to love you wholeheartedly. You have to let him okay?”

She looked stunned and confused and angry all while conceding defeat and nodding her head while saying “okay.”

“Goodbye Celine.”

“Goodbye.”

I let go of her before backing up a step while looking into her eyes on the verge of tears to finally break eye contact and power walk down the road. I turned a corner and sprinted to make my train I was late for after our encounter. I called my father once I caught my breath and my bearings.

“I’m headed home.”

“Hang on, how did it go?”

“It went well.”

“Nono, hang on, what happened?”

“That was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

“Okay…and?”

“I just showed her around like I promised, and nothing happened. I kept the oath.”

“Okay, well great! How do you feel?”

“I feel alright, good for the most part.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it was hard to tell her no, but I know it was ultimately the right thing to do.”

“Well okay son, if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“Thanks Pops.”

“When are you home?”

“In about thirty minutes.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

“Love you Pops.”

“Love you too son.”

When I hung up the phone I looked out the window to see the now lit up Bay Area seemingly washed in its waters as much on land as in the Bay itself. There was always a notion I had when seeing the Bay at night that I could almost become one with the waters themselves. It struck me as equal parts silly new age and powerfully primordial.

I looked at my lit up phone screen on the train seat next to me with words from Celine:

“I left my heart in San Francisco.”