Page 85 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“What if it doesn’t?” I asked quietly.

Alex turned to me. “Don’t you already know what the result of doing nothing will be? Or, I guess, the result from continuing to do what you’ve been doing?”

I took a breath. “Yes.”

“Do you like that result?”

Once or twice in a lifetime, if you are so blessed, you will meet someone to whom you feel immediately bound. If not by blood, and maybe not be something as banal as simple friendship, then by some secret force that only the universe understands. The second time this happened to me, it came in the form of Alex. Understandably, this is a momentous occasion in what is a small life—because that’s all we have. Lives that are small compared to the enormity of the universe—for you have found a soulmate.

If you should ever discover a soulmate, and as time goes by, you realize you will never know much of anything about this person, it will either sour your feelings about the relationship, or it will become intoxicating. Intoxicating in that you must desperately discover the center of the universe contained within this creature who is simultaneously everything you needed in life, yet the one thing you know you will never understand. That was Alex for me at that moment. Maybe forever.

While affable and witty, intelligent and crass—all things rolled into one—these things produced an enigma. The things that drew me to him were the things that kept me from fully knowing him. Whether it was in the way he could become deathly silent while staring off at nothing when he thought no one was paying attention—because silence seemed to be his default—or the way that his smiles and laughter never reached his eyes, or the way he would say something profoundly insightful a moment before raucous, yet soulless laughter burst from his throat, something drew me to him.

After so much time, I realized it wasn’t my desire to figure out the mystery of what lurked beyond the walls he had meticulously built around his truest self. It wasn’t my amusement at his wry sarcasm and sometimes jarringly morbid humor. Nor was it the way that he had all of the confidence in the world. Because none of these things were true. My irrevocably damaged soul recognized his irrevocably damaged soul. People like us find each other eventually. We could understand each other with a look or a single word. Soulmates are rare—if you believe such things. People with souls which your soul recognizes at a glance are even rarer.

I didn’t know if it was hope that made me feel that way about Alex. Hope that I had found one person in the whole wide world that, even if they weren’t clear about it, understood me completely. Who didn’t judge me for being me? Someone who, presented with the need, would help me when it was needed, for no other reason than our souls recognized each other’s. I desperately wanted Alex’s help. So far, his help had been invaluable.

“So,” I asked. “What do I do?”

Alex smiled. “Easy. Decide if you would like to try Animal Fries or genuine Texas barbecue for lunch.”

Gin-you-wine. His exaggerated Texas accent was comical. I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

“Why not both?” I shrugged.

“See,” Alex said, putting on his seatbelt, an action I mirrored, “hope is easy. You just made a decision that will probably lead to heartburn, but we’ll hope for the best.”

You Really Got a Hold on Me

Traveling to Texas, I wasn’t sure what to expect during my visit. I certainly hadn’t expected the overwhelming heat. I hadn’t expected to find out that Texas wasn’t gunslingers and saloons and people on horses corralling cows everywhere. Ten-gallon cowboy hats were also rare. The most common accents were not nearly as pronounced as I’d heard in movies or television shows. It wasn’t as laid back as I’d been led to believe, either. The traffic, near one of the largest cities in the enormous state, was intense. The cultural, ethnic, and racial diversity in the area surrounding Dallas was also surprising—though in a good way.

As had been proven to me time and time again throughout my life, what one learns from the media is rarely an accurate and complete depiction of what a culture is actually like.

Texas was a pleasant surprise, the heat of summer aside.

Indian food could be found as easily as Mexican cuisine or barbecue. Chinese and other Asian foods were popular. However, Texans were as proud of regional cuisine and homestyle meals in their restaurants. They loved variety and choice. Imperfect, certainly, Texans seemed to be the Americans who valued freedom above all things, regardless of the repercussions, because pride seemed to be endemic. For better or worse, I found I generally loved the state and its people. Of course, a few days of vacation does not give one a whole and complete picture of what it is like to live in a state.

Since it was merely a vacation, I chose to be willfully ignorant. To enjoy my time somewhere new with a great friend.

Another thing I hadn’t expected when visiting Alex was that he had planned to take me to a party on the first night. After leaving Dr. Bradley’s office, Alex took me to the drive-through hamburger place—In-N-Out Burger. Expertly navigating the line of cars that seemed to stretch for miles, he placed an order for two “Animal Fries.” I was confused by the term but decided that Alex knew what he was talking about when it came to food.

Once the food was in our possession, he drove us a few blocks to a barbecue place that he proclaimed would change my life. Also available to drive through, I let Alex order the food for us through the tiny window in the building that was little more than a shack. An older Black man, who seemed to recognize Alex—they asked each other about their lives—took our order. Working faster than anyone I’d ever seen before, the man produced a large Styrofoam container full of a variety of meats, two large Styrofoam cups with opaque plastic lids, and two bucket-like covered cups that contained sweet tea.

After a few more friendly words with the man, Alex drove us to a mostly empty parking lot next to a park with a large pond. At the center of the pond, a fountain spout shot water fifteen feet in the air. Ducks sped across the pond, giving chase, diving for food, playful and ebullient. Alex and I grabbed the food we’d procured and walked down to a picnic table under a large Weeping Willow not far from the pond’s edge and laid everything out.

With no plates and only plastic sporks and thin napkins, we simply ate from the containers communally. Buttery, melt-in-your-mouth brisket and pulled pork, creamy, crisp coleslaw, French fries covered in onions, cheese, and Italian dressing, ribs whose meat fell from the bone at the slightest touch. A deep red, nearly maroon barbecue sauce, tangy and spicy. Everything was delicious. I simply could not stop eating, which we did in silence, enjoying the shade from the tree that made the world seem twenty degrees cooler.

After we ate, nearly all of the food gone, Alex and I sat there, sipping the cloyingly sweet, yet delicious tea, catching each other up on our lives. We didn’t speak of work or inconsequential things such as that. We talked about hobbies and interests. Things we did in our free time. Politics. Things that actually had an impact on our lives. We talked about what we hoped for in our futures. And we talked about the food. Neither of us could stop raving about the meal we’d shared. Of course, we had to plan the future meals we’d have over the course of the rest of my visit.

Alex chose to end our lunch discussion with the announcement that a friend of his was throwing a cookout in their backyard that evening. He wanted to take me if I was amenable. With the knowledge that it was a cookout—and I would get to try more regional foods—I was more than agreeable to the suggestion. The opportunity to meet new people was another benefit of going to the cookout.

You won’t regret it, Alex had said. There’ll be so much food. And music. And they have a pool.

Will everyone be swimming?

Some people will be, Alex had said, cryptically.

The party was shocking, but not in a way that unnerved me. In a state that I’d been led to believe was terminally conservative, possibly racist, and not exactly welcoming to the LGBTQIA+ community, the group of people at the cookout was the most diverse group of people I’d ever seen. Indigenous peoples, people of other Native and Latino heritage, Black people, white people, queer people, old and young, comprised the partygoers. I was surprised to find that a large group of people, all so different from each other, had gathered in one place…and it seemed so normal to them.