nathan chow:

1 am: My friend and I met two strangers on the street by smiling and saying hi. We talked to them for a full hour while standing on the sidewalk.

2 am: They went to my friend’s apartment with me to help move her couch down the stairs and outside.

1 pm: They drove us to Goodwill to donate stuff.

2 pm: They took two trips to drive my friend and her mom to the airport.

All within 13 hours of meeting them.

This world is full of good. And strangers are just friends you’ve never met. Believe it. <3

Let us not only forgive in order to move on.

Let us understand in order to move in.

- Nathan

I had my first CouchSurfing experience recently.

CouchSurfing is an online network for strangers to find “couches”—beds, futons, floors—to sleep on during their travels. In general, the program is very safe, but before you host someone or get hosted by someone, you check their list of references and how many other people they know in order to gauge their legitimacy. The site’s philosophy is that travel is not only about locations but also about people. CS “envisions a world where everyone can explore and create meaningful connections with the people and places they encounter.” (If you’re interested in joining, add me as a friend.)

My first guest was Ana, a Spanish student here in the U.S. for just a week. I hosted her for two nights and showed her around Boston. For CSers, one of the most important things to observe in a city is its people and culture. She asked a lot about American life and also pointed out several differences between America and Spain. My favorites:

- Our flag in the Boston Public Library is HUGE, possibly signifying our immense amount of self-love and entitlement. Nowhere in Europe would you find a flag that big.

- Of all the things she saw in Boston, she was possibly most amazed at the big size of my fridge. Fridges and plates of food are twice the size of the ones in Europe. “Could I take a picture of your fridge?!” she asked. I said yes and that often the things you want to show your friends back at home are not photos of the Statue of Liberty or Times Square or whatnot but little cultural and social details like that.

- Americans are awful at being fashionable. No explanation needed.

- When we were eating lunch in Quincy Marketplace, I noticed an attractive young lady sitting next to us, reading a Boston guide. I struck up a conversation with her and found out she was a med student from France and that she was traveling alone for that day. After talking with her for a bit, I told her I was showing Ana around and asked if she would like to join us. She said yes, and for the next few hours, we all toured Boston together, discussed American culture (or lack of), got incredibly wet together, and took photos of each other (Mathilde’s camera malfunctioned right before we met, so she was extra grateful we met her and were able to take photos for her and of her). After we said bye to Mathilde in the evening, Ana asked me, “Meeting someone you don’t know like that is not typical in America, right?” I said “Right.”

(I guess my openness to strangers is not very American. Read http://nathanchow.net/journal/2010/01/27/on-peace-love-and-harmony-part-i-believing/ for how I hitched a car ride from strangers when I was stranded on an island once! It restored my faith in humanity.)

Some of my own reflections on all this:

- I might say I learned as much about my town and country as Ana and Mathilde did. Almost everything they pointed out about America was known to me already, but for some reason, having a foreigner directly say those things to me drilled it into me. When I invited Mathilde on our tour, she correctly pointed out that I got to see things I normally don’t see in my town (I went on the Freedom Trail for my first time!). But on a deeper level, it’s as if I see my own town through Spanish and French eyes now. Marcel Proust: “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”

- Saying good-bye to Mathilde and Ana made me feel as if I were one of the characters in the films “Before Sunrise” and “Before Sunset.” This first CouchSurfing experience, along with welcoming another stranger to join my “tour,” really was about human connection. If I were to describe CS: You meet someone you might never see again, but you know you have a few days—or a few hours—to connect. You let them into your home, you step into theirs. You teach them, you learn from them. You do all this while knowing that shortly after hello is the threat of good-bye. It doesn’t matter. What happens between hi and bye is what matters—it’s yours, it’s theirs, it’s shared. And it’s kept forever.

Some special thanks: <3

- Leanne: (I just met her because she was a fan of one of my blogs.) I had a wonderful conversation with you and Ana on Ana’s first night here. Thanks for coming over so late on a Sunday night! More food adventures and dares to follow..

- Kayla H.: Thanks for stopping by! I rarely get to see you anymore. Put on your coat! We will finish our barter soon.. and possibly add more to it lol.

- Rossella and Sima: Thanks for introducing me to CouchSurfing!

- Sima and Weronika: Thanks for your very well-kept and frequently updated blogs on Spain. Some of the things I talked to Ana about were inspired by your posts!

- Paul: Thank you for allowing me to bring Ana over!

These lists will be updated as I think of more. The items are in no particular order.

By the End of My Life:

• I want to have made every decision I ever wanted to make and have no regrets about the past.

• I want to have left something behind that outlives my life and that continues to make a difference in the world (mainly my teachings, films, writings, and future children).

• I want to have left the world a much more loving, compassionate, understanding, and forgiving place.

• I want to have found laughter and beauty everywhere possible.

• I want to have given everything I could’ve given in all my years on earth.

Promises to an Older Self:

• To always fill my room and office with mementos of loved ones (whether photos of them or cards and letters from them)–NOT diplomas, degrees, and awards. My greatest pride is in the love I have given and the love that has been given to me, not in my achievements and titles. Framed plaques don’t fully symbolize the ways I grew or capture my fondest memories. That credit always belongs to the people I’ve met along the way.

• To continue being curious about the world, life, and the people around me. To continue to read and write. To continue to teach and learn.

• To know that when I come home from work really tired and my kids rush towards me and nearly pull me down to the floor with their excitement, that these moments won’t last for long and that I should cherish the few years they’ll be doing that.

• To romance my wife in old age. To be content and appreciative of our changed type of love but still pursue her as if we were dating. Every day, to make her feel as loved as ever and desirable beyond measure.

• For my wife and I to be that set of grandparents whose gentleness, wisdom, and stories make kids wonder where we get our sense of caregiving from.

• For my wife and I to be that couple whose laughter, adventure, and joy of life make people wonder where we get our energy from.

• To continue to tell everyone what they’ve meant to my life and to continue to hear what I’ve meant to their lives.

• To continue to remind myself every day that the greatest gift the world gives me is the awareness that I will have to die someday. With that, I make my life as full of peace, love, and happiness as possible and I make my existence as full of purpose as possible and as much of a legacy as possible.

By Nathan S. Chow

————————————–

Peace. Love. Kindness. Goodness. Unity. Harmony.

Do you believe in them?

————————————–

I was stranded on an island over the summer.

After a job interview on Long Island, I wanted to explore the area for a few hours, so I took a bus to the nearby Fire Island to take photos.

When I was done, I walked back to the bus stop but saw the last bus of the evening already driving to the long bridge back to Long Island.

There I stood, alone at the edge of a quickly emptying visitor parking lot, as the sun was already setting and everyone was heading home. I had only two choices:

1. Walk the 6 miles back to the Long Island train station I had to be at.
2. Call a taxi company so I could pay the hefty sum for someone to get me off that island.

I looked at the parking lot behind me and saw a dozen cars remaining. The last few visitors were leaving.

In the spur of the moment, I reminded myself I could always depend on one of my deepest faiths: human kindness. I decided to create a third way back: I would ask for a ride from a complete stranger.

I noticed a large family with one of its members packing their car as the rest of them were still using the nearby visitor bathroom. I approached the one packing the car. I crossed my fingers.

“Hi, are you heading back to Long Island? I missed the last bus back and was wondering if you would just drop me off at the train station.”

He looked at me, seemed to kinda examine and gauge me for a while, as if—obviously as if—no one in this country ever asks for these kinds of favors.

But then his face softened at the opportunity. “Sure,” he said, “but the rest of my family isn’t ready yet. Come on over to meet them. What’s your name?”

There it was. The first stranger I asked said yes.

That family was incredibly open to accommodating me. After telling them I was visiting from Boston, they offered to drive me all the way back to Manhattan for my bus ride back to Boston (but I insisted I already bought a round-trip Long Island train ticket and that dropping me off at the nearby train station would be enough). Then they told me to take out my train map to make sure I indeed knew how to get back. And finally, when we got to the station, they even waited with me and chatted with me at the platform until I was safely on the right train.

But not only were they so accommodating, but they were also genuinely interested in me as a person. They treated me as if I were part of their family, asking me about my job interview, my career aspirations, and my missions in life. I was more than a stranger to them. They trusted me, listened to me, and befriended me—all while bringing me closer to home.

————————————–

Do we forget that kindness and goodness exist in this world?

The news and media have not only programmed us to pick up on just the negatives of human nature no matter how big or small, but they have also led us to believe that a world devoid of love is natural and inevitable. Their stories constantly warn us: Another murderer on the loose. War—still the only medium of exchange between countries. Be careful in your hometown. Be careful abroad. Don’t trust anyone. They’re all out to get you.

Is the world really that much of an ugly one and nothing more?

While everything shown in journalism may be real and while it may be a necessary evil dutifully warning us about dangers and threats, too much is left out. The big problem with journalism is not that its stories are not objective enough but that choosing which stories to tell will always be subjective.

True, cruelty and harshness exist in this world and yes, we must be aware of that, but if you look at the world with your own eyes and resist the lens that the cult of negative media wants you to wear, I think you’ll see that—although it often slips under the radar and is rarely publicized—kindness exists in this world; you’ll see that love—unlike loud and faceless hate—is often quiet and individualized; and you’ll see that we humans—at the very least—are capable of loving and being loved in return.

My friend Sidney Efromovich, the founder of Boston University’s Hug Don’t Hate organization, once said, “If you ever need to think outside the box, simply think into your heart; because your heart was never constrained by boxes.”

Imagine me again, stranded on that island.

Do I believe in love and kindness?

If I didn’t, I had two choices: walk or take a cab.

If I did, I could create new choices: ask for a ride, ask for money for a cab, call the bus company to explain my situation, knock on a local house to ask to stay the night, and much more.

Cynics laugh at these.

————————————–

The documentary God Grew Tired of Us tells the story of the “lost boys of Sudan”—the term given to the 30,000 who fled their war-torn country by foot during the Second Sudanese Civil War. In 2001, nearly 4,000 of them were invited by the United States and the International Rescue Committee to resettle in America.

The film follows the lives of three of these lost boys, showing their initial sense of confusion, amazement, and wonder as they grow accustomed to things we have in America that they never even knew existed: electricity, running water, public transportation, supermarkets, readily available food.

But even though they quickly become familiar with our technology, they never feel acclimated to our social lifestyle. Their grueling hours at work prevent them from spending quality time with friends. They can never say hello to a neighbor without getting weird looks. They feel utterly baffled at how they must watch out for theft and murder every time they step out their door.

Despite all the conveniences and opportunities in America, the lost boys of Sudan long for their home country, where villages are true communities, where locks do not exist, and where wandering strangers are invited into their huts, fed, and welcomed to stay.

If refugees want to go home to their war-torn country rather than stay in the world’s greatest superpower, what does that say about us?

Aren’t we the ones who got ourselves lost? Aren’t we the ones who are displaced from true humanity, true community? Aren’t we the ones who constantly seek refuge?

The joke’s on us. Still laughing?

————————————–

If, somewhere in the world, there exists a community so open to love, why can’t it exist here too?

If, sometime in your life, there existed a person so open to love, why can’t the stranger next to you be like that too?

We were all raised differently, we have all been exposed to different experiences, we have all learned different social etiquette.

But we’re all human, right? We were all born with the same capacity to love and be loved in return, right?

—————————————-

Many people are starting to claim that “Love” is their religion. But what do they mean?

Do they only preach about it and pray for it? Or have they actually taken—as Kierkegaard once coined—a “leap to faith” to truly, deeply believe in the existence of love?

If a stranger asked them for a ride, would they give it? If they needed a ride from a stranger, would they ask for it?

If a stranger asked them if they could stay in their house, would they grant it? If they needed to stay at a stranger’s house, would they ask for it?

Are there different levels of faith in this religion called love? Are there different denominations of it too—some more focused on giving, some more focused on receiving, some more focused on preaching and praying, some more unafraid of doing?

Does it matter? Is that okay? Are they all still believers? I do not know.

But this I know: Every year America gives us a thicker, cloudier, and more cynical pair of glasses to see the world, and every year it takes that much more faith—that much more of a bigger leap—to take them off and throw them down, to step on them and crunch them, to want to approach every brand new stranger we see by leaning in, squinting at them, and recognizing in their individual, unique face that they, too, are human and that they, too, are capable of loving and being loved in return.

Saint Augustine said “Faith is to believe what you do not see; the reward of this faith is to see what you believe.”

If we crunch our glasses and approach every stranger blindly, if we believe in love, kindness, and harmony despite the murderer on the loose and despite the ongoing wars, if we have faith in what is seemingly not there and not newsworthy, it is only then that we will start to see what we all secretly want to see, and it is only then that our hearts will open up to others and other hearts will open up to us, and it is only then that we will have enough hope to believe that the hate, discord, and cruelty we have been programmed to see does not need to be our natural course.

—————————————-

Do you believe in peace, love, kindness, goodness, unity, and harmony?

It’s not about believing what we always see and hear. It’s about leaping and believing what we RARELY see and hear.

It’s not about denying and ignoring the existence of hate, discord, and cruelty. It’s about being faithful enough to believe peace, love, and harmony exist DESPITE anything that even resembles their ugly opposites.

It’s not about debating whether we are good or bad in our natural state. It’s about recognizing that all of us want love and peace in our CURRENT state.

It’s not about preaching and praying—we have more than enough of that. It’s about participating and performing—we need EVERYONE for that.

It’s not about resigning to safe neutrality and painstaking precaution. It’s about embracing blind positivity and undying, RELENTLESS love.

It’s not about giving up and saying most our hearts are already bruised and corrupted. It’s about giving in and saying ALL HEARTS, no matter how beaten, can still beat.

—————————————-

The naive are not the ones who believe love can exist but the ones who believe that hate is all that is possible.

Not one of us can say we have never had negative feelings, but each one of us can say we have the capacity to love and be loved in return.

Let us not—for even one second—cynically believe that our negative feelings will always turn into negative actions and let us not—for even one second—safely assume that our positive feelings will always turn into positive actions.

Feelings are natural, actions are not.

It is because of actions that we see that people are good, people are bad, and that peace exists, war exists.

Neither is natural, neither is inevitable.

Never has the whole human population believed in one side or acted on one side. The world has always been balanced on a see-saw where neither peace, love, and harmony nor hate, discord, and cruelty have completely taken over, whether in our beliefs or in our actions.

But one CAN win over the other.

And it has always been up to us today to decide which way the world will sway.

.
.
.

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“On Peace, Love, and Harmony” is a three-part series written by the writer, filmmaker, and teacher Nathan S. Chow (http://nathanchow.net).

This article is the first part.

While believing world peace is possible is a crucial first step towards it, it is not enough. We must also do.

~~~ In Part II: Interbeing, Giving, and Receiving, find out how we humans are one and how we need to give and receive freely in order to keep love alive.

~~~ In Part III: Marching Inward and Onward, find out how we need to think small and change OUR world in order to change THE world.

These articles will be cross-posted to http://oncewelive.com, a collection of letters on peace, love, and happiness.

If you enjoyed this series, please share it! Thank you! =)

Love Always <3,
Nathan

The only thing worse than not being loved is not being allowed to love.

- Nathan

“fallen”

by nathan s. chow

——–
the scene:

a new apartment bedroom, late at night.

other than a made mattress temporarily pushed to the side on the floor and a few big boxes lining the walls, not much else is in the bedroom yet, although the soft orange glow from a floor lamp’s paper shade single-handedly makes the room cozy.

seated in the middle of the bedroom floor, along with a few tools and a packet of screws and dowels: him and her, facing each other. a 90% finished wooden bed frame is the only thing that separates them.

it’s quiet and the room could really use some music—or at least a ticking clock—but they’re oddly—and beautifully—comfortable without it.

——–

after secretly watching the time on his cell phone for the last 30 minutes, he finally says it:

- him: i think you missed the last T.
~ her: what time is it?
- after 12:30.
~ no, usually i can still catch one before 1.

he glances up from the board he’s screwing.

~ her: but it’s okay. i’ll stay to help you finish this.
- you sure? it’s almost done.
~ yeah, it’s fine. i wanna help you finish.

he looks back down to pretend he’s working so he could say this casually:

- okay. well, if you don’t wanna walk back, you can stay over again.
~ i’ll see how tired i get.

it’s quiet again.

~ her: this really does look like a bookcase.
- yeah.

he glances at the assembly instruction book. he flips the page, then scans it and flips one more to confirm the last page is blank.

- him: alright. last step before we put the big boards on.. and then we’re done.

he reaches over the bed frame to hand her some metal dowel pieces.

- him: just put these into all those holes along the sides and the middle.
~ her: ‘kay.
(she points toward the head and foot of the frame.)
these too?
- yeah.

they insert dowels in their sides of the frame. halfway done with his side, he struggles with one of them.

~ her (with a smirk): can’t get it in?

their eyes meet as he shakes his head, holding back a smile.

she proceeds to insert dowels into the middle, head, and foot of the frame while he still struggles with the last one on his side.

as she finishes the whole frame, he gives up and puts the dowel down.

- him: remind me never to buy furniture from this company.
~ can’t you hammer it in again?
- now?? do i need to remind you what time it is?
~ time for your neighbors to think you’re finally having wild sex with that girl who always visits…?
- time for wishful thinking?

it’s her turn to hold back a smile.

- him: no, i really can’t. or i shouldn’t. that old russian couple below is gonna start givin’ me dirty looks again.

she thinks, where’s that adventurous side of him?

~ her:
one: you wanted your bed done tonight.
two: they hate you already.
and three: you already did some screwing on the floor. a little hammering won’t do any harm.
c’monnn. hammer away!
- wow…

because nothing ever does, she loves it in the rare case that she shocks him.

he stares at the bed frame for a moment and decides:

- him: okay, come here. you’re gonna help me do it in the air.

she coughs up a sudden laugh.

~ her: what!?
- him: shhhh!! (he puts his finger to his lips)
i said..
(in between laughter—not much quieter than hers)
..you’re gonna help me do it matrix style.
(he continues laughing at his own joke)
you’re gonna help me hammer this in the air.
~ are you serious? (she can never tell.)
- yes! (still with a mischievous smile.) come here. (even his eyes say it.)

she stands up and walks around the bed frame to him, not sure what she’s in for but always ready for another one of their silly adventures. their budding relationship had always reminded her of a quote by rose franken in her only married friend’s facebook profile: “anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly.”

was that the secret to good relationships? was that the spark missing in all the other dates she’s ever gotten since her last boyfriend? all of them were desirable, but all of them tried too hard to impress her, all of them always felt the need to have some sorta plan. none of them could let loose like this one…

why did he like her anyway? he’s had as many chances as her. out of all those girls he knew, why her? she glows during her short walk as if she’s one of the lucky ones called to the stage for some game show.

meanwhile, as he sits there with that last, lonely dowel at his knee, he watches her every step as she comes closer and closer. he watches her smile at him, he watches her tuck her hair behind her ear, but mostly, he watches her face—her face bathed in the soft orange glow of his floor lamp. he was mesmerized. it was just like that day they saw each other again for the first time since the summer: she had worn a sun dress whose top came undone for a moment. she asked him if he saw anything. he smirked and said no, but it wasn’t a lie. he was too distracted by her beautiful face, like now.

as she nears and smells his cologne, she doesn’t want to sit yet when she realizes just how close they’ll be. no more bed frame separating them. no more distance, no more safety, no more caution.

they were exposed.

she swallowed and decided:

~ i’m gonna use the bathroom first.
- alright. but you don’t need to flush.
~ why?
- i don’t wanna wake my roommate up.
~ you’re allowed to hammer but i can’t flush?
- you told me to!
~ i was joking!
- you were? (he knows she was.) too late.
~ i’ll flush softly.
- you’ll flush softly? how do you flush softly?
~ don’t worry about it.

she giggles as she roughs his hair on her way out the door.

while she’s away, he thinks of how close they’ve started to become this past week, how they reached that stage when neither of them was afraid of inviting each other to the most trivial of activities—grocery shopping, studying outside, cooking, assembling furniture—but he also thinks of how they could still be closer. he loved not just the adorable way she laughs, but especially how often. he admired it, desired it. he already considered themselves partners—not boyfriend, girlfriend—no, they never even kissed yet—but partners. there was something about that word that rang so true in describing them. partners…

he picks up the dowel and rolls it between his fingers before trying to squeeze it into the hole one more time.

meanwhile, in the bathroom’s dim light, she checks herself out in the mirror. she rinses her face, scrubbing off a little patch of dry skin. did he notice that? or the whitehead? she knows he’ll think she’s attractive regardless of anything, but she still wanted to look her best, still wanted to be called beautiful by him again.

she fixes her hair and flushes the toilet she never used. she’s ready.. but for some reason, she’s still completely drawn to her image in the mirror. she continues staring at it, remembering the party she and her roommates hosted two nights ago:

—
she had disappeared to her bedroom mirror to pretend to put on new earrings, but really, she just wanted some time to herself—and to see if he would follow. after what seemed like eternity, a quiet knock came at her slightly open door. in the mirror, she was able to see his face peer in, framed by the door and wall. their eyes met in the mirror. she liked to imagine his concerned but cute look meant he was thinking, “where were you?”

it was exactly what he was thinking. as much as he enjoyed meeting new people at her party—and as much as he had enjoyed meeting new girls in the whole year since his last relationship ended, he liked her too much not to notice she was missing. out of all the girls he’s had chances with, she was the only one who just seemed.. right—and he oddly loved that feeling of starting to surrender to someone again.

“you look beautiful already,” he had said to her. he closed her bedroom door and made his way to her as she followed his eyes in the mirror. he hugged her from behind: his body pressed against hers, his arms wrapped around her neck, his chin resting on her shoulder. “but this looks even better,” he whispered to the two of them in the mirror together. there was no reaction from him or her. no smiles, no words. just thoughts.

that was the moment she fell for him—how could she not?—and it was inevitable that ever since, every time she looked in a mirror and saw the empty space next to her, she thought of that moment, of him—of them—and of the quiet conversation they had afterwards lying on her bed for hours amidst the loud music and craziness beyond the walls of her bedroom. they felt so special and exclusive there—like partners, knowing they were both abandoning everyone else, knowing they had absolutely everything they wanted right there in that bedroom already.

but at the time, they were still too afraid to touch, too afraid to kiss.
—

she flips off his bathroom light and makes her way back to his bedroom. tonight might be different, she thought.

- him: that was totally not a soft flush.
~ her (with a smile): you try.
- i wasn’t the one who said i could flush softly.
~ why? is yours always hard?
- i.. think i corrupted you.

she temporarily puts her hand on his back as she sits next to him on the floor.

- him: okay, so i need you to hold the frame up like this..
(he lifts one side of the bed frame up just a few inches.)
..so i can hammer the dowel in without making too much noise below.
~ her (laughing at him): this isn’t gonna make much of a difference.
- you gonna whine or you gonna hold it?

she kneels.

her hands take over the bed frame as he gets up, but it’s too heavy for her.

he quickly crouches to help.

- him: let me go down.

he eyes her hands: her lonely thumbs sticking out of the sides of the frame as her fingers are grasping the bottom.

even though he wishes he could be bold enough to place his hands under hers and hold them like he wants to hold her—or at least place his hands snug close to hers—he places one just close enough so their skin can touch for a moment.

- him: i got it.

she lets her hands linger on the frame—cherishing the few seconds their skin was touching—not ready to let go. she knows what he did, and he knows what she did.

i got it, he reminds her.

she takes her hands off as he supports the frame with just one hand.

they switch positions as he kneels and she gets up. he puts both hands on the frame.

- him: grab the hammer and a nail from that packet.

after doing so, she puts the nail in the hole and before striking it, says:

~ you were serious about this, right?
- yeah.

she looks skeptical. she hesitates making the noise.

- him (imitating her from before): c’monnn! hammer away!
~ shut up.

she hits the nail softly. tap tap tap.

- him: harder…

she eyes him, trying to sense what’s too loud.

TAP TAP tap tap.

- him: okay, this isn’t gonna work. you need to hit it hard enough in various parts of the hole to make it big enough for the dowel.
~ her: that’s what she said…

they freeze and laugh together at how ridiculous they look.

suddenly, she pretends to put her serious face on.

BOOM BOOM BOOM.

~ her: this hard enuff for ya?

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.

it’s too loud.

- him: alright, stopstopstopstop.

BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM.

- him: stop!

BOOOOOOM BOOOOOOM BOOOOOOOOOOOOM.

- him: stop!!!

she bursts out laughing.

- him: ohhh my god.

he watches her cute laugh as her body wiggles uncontrollably and she covers her mouth with the knuckles of her free hand. any guy would want to hug her.

and this is exactly why i like her, he thinks.

she calms down.

~ her: there’s something hard at the bottom of that hole. the nail won’t go in.

it’s his turn to look at her skeptically.

~ her: i swear. your furniture is deformed.
- you mean it’s defective?
~ no, it’s deformed. (she giggles a little more.)

he sets the frame back down and tries hammering the nail in, not caring about the neighbors below. it won’t budge.

~ her: so much for doing it matrix style…
- okay, forget about this. it’s one dowel. i’m sure this piece of crap will hold together without it.

he puts the hammer and nail down.

- him: so just help me fit those on top. (he points to the four big slabs of wood with his chin.)

they walk over to the pile of wood and lift one up together. they fit it onto the frame by matching its holes with the frame’s dowels sticking up.

- him: or actually.. i’ll get the wood and you just push them down.
~ her: ‘kay.

they work quietly during the second and third slabs.

when he picks up the fourth and sets it onto the frame, she pushes the edges down onto the dowels.

she gets to the middle one—the “deformed” part—and says:

~ this frame is bound to break. you’re gonna die in your sleep.
- i’m gonna put the mattress on top and you’re gonna test it out for me, okay?
~ uhhh no. you wish. you just want me on your bed.
- we can die together.
~ that’s so sweet.

they go over to the wall to lift one side of the mattress. they drag it onto the top of his new platform bed frame. together they push the mattress to the center of it.

he walks to the other side to check that the mattress is centered.

the finished frame, in a random, awkward position in the middle of the room, not even parallel to the walls—separates them once more.

- him: oookay. get on.
~ no way. you go.
- it was one dowel. did you see how many others were holding the top in place?
~ yeah, and did you see how many screws you had to hammer into the base all day before we tried that last one in the air?
- definition of a true all-nighter.
~ i’m not getting on that.

she knows it’s probably safe, but just for the sake of playfulness, she wants to pretend to be afraid. this was unlike her real fear since her last breakup: the fear of trusting a new guy. it took a while, but that was eventually dissolved by him. when she first noticed he liked her, she thought it was just another one of their jokes. but he persisted and there was never a punchline. she was flattered by his commitment to her and his patience in waiting until she was ready for him. she was able to depend on him for anything.. and he was always able to put her at this special, magical sense of ease, this sense of letting go and living.

was she supposed to think about this stuff anyway? or was she supposed to just “go with it”—the way he was so good at?

- him: you’re getting on!

she snaps out of her thoughts and sees him jogging around the bed frame towards her, ready to push her onto the bed.

~ her: AHHHHH!

she tries to dodge him, but he grabs her in a half-hug, half-wrestling grasp. she manages to turn her body away from the bed, but he rotates her so her back is facing the bed once again.

~ her (giggling): noooo! i’m not getting on!
- (in between final struggles) yes. you. are.

he gets her near the edge of the bed and releases his hands from his grip around her waist and back so he could push her shoulders.

as she falls backwards onto the bed, it slides enough with her momentum that a third of the mattress hangs in mid-air over the frame, with her head hanging over the edge of the mattress, looking at the wall behind her.

she hadn’t even noticed, but while she was trying to break free from his grip, her own arms were tightly wrapped under his armpits and grasping his back, as if holding him close to her, as if wanting them both to fall together…

so there they were: him, on top of her, on top of a hanging mattress, on top of a 99% finished bed frame sloppily sitting smack in the middle of the room—all in the middle of the night, all immersed in orange light.

she surrenders. she lets her right arm slip off his back and fall onto the mattress, her hand close to her head but not quite drooping over the mattress. her left arm stays loosely rested on his back.

it wasn’t to pin her down—no, she was his already—but he doesn’t know why he fit his left hand into her right hand, their fingers finally intertwining and locking like puzzle pieces. it just seemed automatic, seemed right—like her.

with her head arched toward the back wall, he couldn’t see her face, but she wanted him to know that she wanted this too, that the softness and warmth of his hands said so much about his personality that she fell for and could resist no longer.

all she could do was think about it—about how their hands and legs were intertwined, about how tightly their bodies were pressed together, about how good this felt to be so close to him. all she could do was blink once at the blank, undecorated wall behind her, until…

CLACKKK—some part of the bed frame breaks and..

BOOM—the foot of the foundation splits in two and that end of the mattress falls to the floor, making the frame and mattress look like a ramp.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHahahahahahahaha!!—her shriek as if she were coming down a roller coaster transforms into laughter.

~ her: it’s deformed!

ACCCCK—the head of the frame starts to creak. it’s on the verge of breaking and dropping the whole mattress to the floor…

she shakes with hysteria as he puts his right forefinger on her lips.

she uses her energy to lift her head up so their eyes meet.

shhhhh, he says with a calm smile, knowing that anything they say would be too small for what they’re feeling.

she melts a little.

at ease. it’s magic. it’s HIM. but her heart beats faster. could he hear that?

you know we’re gonna fall, she whispers.
i know, he says.

he moves his right hand to run through some of her hair before cupping the side of her face, supporting her head so it wouldn’t have to hang.

their eyes lock. she blinks.

ACCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCK—the head of the frame creaks some more.

anytime now, the frame that once separated them would come crashing down.

his left hand holds onto her hand a little tighter, his right thumb caresses her cheek a little softer.

they’re close enough to inspect everything about each other. they think about how incredibly beautiful they would look even if they weren’t bathed in the orange light. nope, the orange light was too candle-ish for them, too romantic, too passionate. they didn’t need that. these two were partners, these two were silly. these two were meant to be real lovers.

for a moment, the creaking takes over.

they look at each other the way first kisses begin..

..and the last piece snaps.

Two one-armed men looked at each other and realized that together was the only way they could ever clap again.