Mitchell's Presence (3 page)

“I don’t get it.” Arthur was shaking his head, eyes focused on Mitchell’s face. “You’re intelligent, well-spoken, probably well-educated.” Arthur raised his index finger and pointed at the window. “And yet you can’t see that they could solve their own problems if they really wanted to.” Arthur started to count off his arguments using his fingers. “Most of these homeless people are drug addicts or just too damn lazy to do anything else, and what’s worse is that there are people who give them permission to remain that way by giving them money. I just don’t get it.”

Mitchell looked down at his hands, “I’m sorry you feel that way, Arthur.” Collecting his scarf and standing to shrug into his jacket, Mitchell turned at Arthur’s fumbled apologies. “You haven’t insulted me, Arthur, so please stop apologizing.” Mitchell extended his hand as Arthur stood, draping his own jacket over his arm. “I’m very sorry you don’t get it, Arthur, because you seem like the kind of man who probably did at one time.” Mitchell waited, willing Arthur to understand what he was saying. “Thank you for asking me out.” Mitchell’s hand felt warm and soft, those long fingers squeezing with just the perfect amount of pressure. “Goodbye, Arthur.”

Arthur slumped back into the chair, stunned that he’d managed to say the wrong thing, again. How had he screwed up this time? All he did was point out that homeless people were there by choice, that each and every one of them was homeless not because of circumstance but because of a lack of desire to change.
Isn’t that what everybody believes?

With a bit of a shrug that seemed to sum up all of his feelings, Arthur made his way to the subway station, and in another fifteen minutes to his warm condo and a glass of bourbon.
What a weird day,
Arthur thought as he sidestepped yet another homeless person on the steps to the platform. As he neared the bottom of the steps, he turned and looked at the young lady, hair greasy and stringy, clothes stained and worn. Arthur didn’t know anything about drug addicts or alcoholics, and he wasn’t sure if this lady was either, but he reached into his pocket and dropped about three dollars worth of coins into her outstretched hands. Arthur’s chest swelled a little as he saw the look in her eyes, her voice seemingly genuine when she muttered her thanks.

 As he neared the middle of the platform, looking for a spot against the wall where he could lean and wait for the next train, Arthur felt himself smiling, although he couldn’t bring himself to admit that the young girl was anything but a runaway or a drug addict who’d dropped out of school. He took his gloves off and put them in his pockets, not hearing the familiar jingle of change this time. He turned as he heard a soft familiar laugh. To his left, he saw  Mitchell, squatted on his haunches, leaning against the wall, deep in conversation with a disheveled teenager who was obviously homeless—
a runaway looking for everyone else to support him
, Arthur thought as he heard the rumble of the train. Arthur wondered how Mitchell would know such a person.
It’s one thing
, Arthur thought as he neared the yellow line,
to give them money, but to try to get to know them?

Arthur entered the car and took a seat near the back, noticing that Mitchell was at the other end of the car, nose in a book. Arthur looked at the lone figure, sitting in profile, head bobbing slightly as the train moved along the tracks. As Arthur moved his eyes over the pink skin and rosy cheeks of Mitchell’s face to the long legs underneath the black slacks, Arthur saw a hand come up beside him. Arthur looked up and shook his head, not feeling any guilt this time, since his pockets were empty of any change.

Arthur watched the elderly gentleman move up towards where Mitchell sat, and a knowing smile crossed Arthur’s lips as he watched Mitchell reach into his pocket and pull out a few coins, plopping them into the old man’s hand. The smile faded as he observed Mitchell closing his book, saying a few words to the old man, and then shifting a little to allow the homeless man to sit. As Mitchell turned to speak with the old man, Arthur could no longer see Mitchell’s face, but he could see that the old man was smiling, laughing, his eyes glinting as the lights from the tunnels and the approaching station flashed through the windows of the car.

At the next station, the old man disembarked and Mitchell went back to reading his book. On impulse, Arthur stood and made his way towards Mitchell. Mitchell did not look up as Arthur approached until Arthur sat beside him. “I’m very sorry, Mitchell.”

“You don’t need to apologize for what you believe, Arthur.” Mitchell smiled wanly and went back to his book.

“No, I know,” Arthur leaned closer, willing Mitchell to look at him, “but it’s not what you believe. You let me know that and I criticized you. And for that, I apologize.”

Mitchell closed the book, laid it on his backpack in his lap, and turned to Arthur, eyes shining, smile brighter. “Apology accepted.”

“Which stop is yours?” Arthur nodded at the door, as if the question wasn’t clear enough.

“Sheppard. You?”

“Sidney.”

“You’re next then.” Mitchell smiled and retrieved his book. “Sleep well, Arthur.”

“Can I, uh,” Arthur stammered as he got to his feet, “would you let me call you again… sometime.”

“Do you still have my number?” Arthur nodded and saw the mischievous glint in Mitchell’s eyes. “Then there’s no one stopping you.” Arthur smiled and exited the car, stopping on the platform to watch Mitchell through the window until the car disappeared into the tunnel.

Arthur put his foot on the first step of the stairs and flipped open his phone as he climbed, slowly. He punched in the number and waited for two rings.

“Mitchell.”

“Just checking.” Arthur delighted in the laughter coming through the other end of the phone call.

“Don’t tell me you have trust issues too.”

“Only after I’ve stuck my foot in my mouth.”

“You’ll have to do penance, I guess.”

“Already did.” Arthur smirked. “Gave my last three dollars to a homeless lady in the Younge and Bloor station.”

“I know,” Mitchell quipped. “How do you feel? Not going to run and warn the liquor stores?”

“I deserved that.” Arthur laughed, feeling lighter. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Only if you want to.”

“Is there a bad time to call?” Arthur could hear the whir of the car, the opening and closing of doors as he waited for Mitchell’s answer.

“Sorry, I was getting off the car. No, there is no bad time to call.”

“I’ll call tomorrow around noon. Thank you for tonight, Mitchell.”

“You’re welcome, Arthur. Sleep well.”

Arthur pushed through the tall glass doors that led to the street, thanking whoever was listening for this second chance. As he rounded the corner to his building, Arthur couldn’t help but wonder how much change he had in that little bowl by the door.

*  *  *

Wednesday, December 13

“Mitchell.”

“Good morning, Mitchell; it’s Arthur.”

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting your call until noon.”

“I said ‘around noon’.”

“Okay.” Mitchell laughed, bringing an even bigger smile to Arthur’s face. “I guess ten o’clock in the morning is somewhere around noon.” Mitchell sighed as he finished his chuckle. “So, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you had any plans for Saturday?”

“This isn’t good, Arthur.” Mitchell’s voice was solemn, foreboding even. Arthur had a momentary anxiety attack wondering if he’d missed something in the conversation. “It’s only Wednesday, and you’re spacing out our dates already? Admit it, Arthur, you’re bored with me already.”

“Hardly.” Arthur chuckled, relief washing over him. “In fact, I find myself becoming quite, uh, fascinated by you.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Even with me sticking my foot in my mouth all the time?”

“It hasn’t been all the time, Arthur,” Mitchell scolded, and Arthur could almost see the knit to Mitchell’s eyebrows. “You have also been generous, kind,” Mitchell’s voice seemed calm, yet assertive, “I mean, you even gave Melinda three dollars last night.”

“Okay,” Arthur gave a mock bellow, the teasing tone clear in his voice, “I give up,
again
. Wait, how do you know her name?”

“I know a lot of things, Arthur.” Mitchell’s tone was mysterious, ominous to Arthur’s ears. “And in answer to your original question, nothing after eight.”

“Do you have to work on a Saturday?”

“People have been known to eat and buy books on Saturdays.”

“Sorry.” Arthur felt stupid all of a sudden. “I just figured you’d get one day off.”

“Two, as a matter of fact: Saturday and Sunday.”

“So what are you doing until—” Arthur caught himself and stopped. “Never mind. There I go being impatient again.”

“Arthur,” Mitchell’s voice was solemn, “have you ever heard of that old expression:
He who asks is a fool for five minutes, but he who does not ask is a fool forever?
”

“Ah, no, don’t think so.” Arthur was curious as to where this was going.

“It’s from an ancient Chinese proverb, and it sums up my feelings about questions.” Mitchell was sipping something; Arthur could overhear it, and he decided that even that sound was sexy. “You can ask me any question you want and I will give you an answer. It may not be—”

“The answer I want, but you’ll give me an answer.”

“Exactly,” Mitchell agreed. “In answer to your second question, I will be volunteering at a homeless shelter from four until eight.”

“A homeless—” Arthur caught himself again. “You’re kidding right?”

“No.”

Arthur could hear the playful tone disappear from Mitchell’s voice with that one word. He desperately tried to think of something to say, other than another apology, but nothing was coming into his head. Of course, he should have realized that Mitchell wouldn’t be kidding about something like that.
God, I can be thick sometimes,
Arthur sighed to himself as he slapped his forehead, realizing that his hands had become damp,
and he’s eventually going to get sick of my sticking my foot in it.
Attractive, hard-working, energetic, decent, generous, and giving were the words going through Arthur’s brain when he heard a voice.

“Arthur?”

“Sorry, Mitchell.” Arthur closed his eyes and revealed, “I was just taking my foot out of my mouth again.”

“Arthur, can I ask you a favor?”

“Anything, yes, of course.”

“Would you stop apologizing to me every time you think you’ve done something to offend me?”

“Well, I, uh, but,” Arthur sputtered before he shut his mouth, opened it again, and said only, “Yes, of course.”

“Good.” Mitchell’s voice was light and cheerful again. “If you ever do anything
to
offend me, I will let you know. Now, I have to go and get ready for work. You have a good day, Arthur.”

“I will now that I’ve talked to you.”

“Charming!” Mitchell answered. “That was one of the other qualities to add to the list. You can be very charming, Arthur.”

Arthur didn’t say anything, wondering why he’d never met anyone like Mitchell before; he’d always thought that the men he dated weren’t rich enough, attractive enough, or just weren’t
enough
. Arthur wished more than anything he could be with Mitchell right now.

“Did I lose you again?”

“No,” Arthur was shaking his head as he whispered, “I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“I
know
that’s not true.” Mitchell’s voice was bright and cheerful. “Isn’t that the best part of sharing the planet with billions of other people; finding the ones who share your passions and your whatever?” Arthur just sat there shaking his head. “I’ll see you soon, Arthur.”

Arthur promised to come by the bookstore before going home and flipped his phone shut. He wasn’t actually concerned about the string of weird days he’d been having since meeting Mitchell, but he was becoming concerned that he was thinking about things he’d always taken for granted, like not caring if a homeless person had a story or not even thinking there was no one else on the Earth like him. Arthur picked up the phone to call Rune as he wondered if this was how falling in love started; if love was just nature’s way of changing people, one person absorbing the beautiful qualities he or she sees in the other.
And if that’s true,
Arthur pondered,
what qualities would Mitchell absorb from him? Mitchell was already perfect.

*  *  *

“
May
I help you, sir?” Mitchell’s eyes were bright and shining as Arthur turned to look at him.

“No.” Arthur adjusted Mitchell’s tie, hoping it wasn’t too intimate an act. “I’m just here to see this gorgeous man I met the other day.” Arthur leaned in and whispered, “His name is Mitchell MacDonald, and maybe you know him?”

“Flirtatious!” Mitchell blurted the word out before Arthur had finished his last sentence. “That is another one for the list.”

Arthur laughed, noting all of the faces looking in their direction, some confused, some smiling. “People are going to think I’m hitting on you.”

“Or that I’m hitting on you.” Mitchell shrugged and moved closer. “Either way, they’d be right.”

“Would I get you fired if I kissed you right now?”

“That depends on where you kissed me.” Mitchell turned perpendicular to Arthur and began pointing as he explained, “Travel is too open, Gay, Lesbian, Bi, and TG Interest is right beside the café, and Children’s, well, that would just be wrong on too many levels, but—”

“How about here?” Arthur leaned down and brushed his lips against Mitchell’s, delighting in the fresh, minty taste of his lips. Arthur made sure that the kiss was brief and chaste, no tongue. He would have been surprised if anyone had observed it at all.

“I don’t think that will cause any problems.” Mitchell smiled up at Arthur’s flushed face and placed his hand on the taller man’s chest, pressing lightly. “Good kisser should go on the list too.”

“Now who’s being charming?” Arthur put his hand over Mitchell’s, stroking the long fingers, feeling the heat coming from them. “Can I pick you up at ten?”