North of Mercy Street

I see him. My heart stops. I curse, resenting myself for allowing him so much power over me. It’s so much easier to avoid him when he is not standing with the exact person whom I’m meeting with. I cannot say I’m not prepared for this final showdown between Teboho and myself. It will go one of two ways, and the only one that matters is the exact same one I had in mind. It’s the one that happened.

Our circles were merging and it was beyond me to try and stop it. Our feud, if I may call it that, is a trivial affair. There was a girl, the girl was with him. I thought I she deserved better, I truly did. He could never sing to her heart as I wished to. He could never hold her the way I did. He could never spark the fire in her heart that my own heart felt it mastered. I was arrogant. I saw want, where there was only love. It wasn’t my love to have, but I wanted it. It is in the past, and so is any hostility I held him accountable for. His back was turned to me.

“And here’s the man I’ve been wanting you to meet!” James exclaimed. His smile always neutralizes me. It has this innocence to it which betrays the intimidating imposition of masculinity portrayed by his well-toned, borderline buff and chiselled-to-perfection exterior. I smile. Teboho turns to face me, a look of having swallowed an exceptionally vile piece of rotting cheese.

“Hellow,” I say, not allowing there to be any silence long enough for fists to start flying. I realize that these are crucial times; that make or break point where the slightest wrong move can end in a cataclysmic nuclear explosion of fists flying. I seize my chance.

“This is awkward,” I laugh. “James, Teboho over hear is restraining himself from reaching for my throat. Either that or he’s thinking of twelve places he would rather be right now than standing there watching words coming out of my mouth. I get it. It’s really well-deserved. I fucked up.

“But that was such a long time ago, dude,” I say, turning to face Teboho. “I don’t know about you, mate, but I’m here for this one true and beautiful thing that we share. I’m here for our art. I’m here to make music and memories with people who share the dream of living in a magical utopia as opposed to this – this world with all its egocentric notions of ‘mine’. I’m sorry I disrespected you last year. I was a different person when last we met. You don’t have to like me yet, you never have to like me. But I love and respect your art, and I would like to fuse our magic to create heaven for us both to share. All we need do is co-exist and make art, mate. What do you say? Truce?”

I extend my right hand. His face twitches. It’s now or never, I think to myself. I drop my shoulders, keeping my hand in the air. A dry, crisp breeze sweeps by. James is looking on, shocked by the scene before him which could now go any one of two opposite ways. Teboho smiles and takes my hand. Victory! He squeezes tight. I return the force. He stares me down. I smile on, sincerely.

“Thank you,” I beam.

“I don’t like you,” he snarls.

“Fair enough. So shall we go make art?” I held his stare for a second longer, then turned my gaze to James, gracefully withdrawing from the handshake. “Let’s go make art.”