Wow. I was not expecting this. A dozen and a half grade school kids running around, playing games, and finger painting. The buzz is loud and it definitely smells like children. I like kids, I just don't always know what to say to them.
Clay on the other hand is a natural. He has brought me to St. Vincent's off 66th, the church where he volunteers for an after-school program. In the first thirty minutes, I find out he can do it all: arts, crafts, songs, homework help. A kiddo even asks him when they are going to have another puppet show.
Seeing Clay like this surprises me. In a good way. The kids love all 6 foot 4 of him. And he really is a gentle giant. When he fist bumps one or ruffles the hair of another, I kinda wish he'd do those things to me.
As I watch him interact with the kids, I can't help but compare him to Abe. Obviously, they are both good-looking and fit, but in starkly different ways. Abe's fair skin and crystal blue model eyes contrast Clay's sun-baked terracotta complexion and hypnotizing honey hazel gaze. My old friend is firm and chiseled, yet my new friend is a mountain of beef and muscle.
I chuckle to myself. Quite frankly, it drives home the idea that I don't have a type. They are both gorgeous to me.
But it is this snapshot of Clay that makes my heart flutter. Though Abe is thoughtful and kind, this is different. Clay is so open and free with these tiny humans, yet completely unaware of how pridelessly he tattoos his heart on his sleeve for all to see.
"Come on. It's outside time," a little kid named Alec says to me and grabs me by my hand.
I look up and catch eyes with Clay. He closes the distance between us and puts his hand on Alec's shoulder.
"You are right, Alec. And I must say, your dinosaur painting is the best I have seen today," Clay tells the little guy.
Alec's appreciation explodes. His eyes and mouth grow three times larger than I thought a person could manage. It is almost as if his head has become a real-life emoji.
"Thanks, Mr. Clay!" And Alec hugs him.
I know Clay can see it on my face: Awww. I am sure he can tell my heart is visually warmed. Then the sexy sword through my warmed thumper.
Clay: half-smile + winks. Me: 💀
He turns his attention back to his young artist in training. "You know the rule, Alec. The painter of the day gets to choose the first game we play at outside time."
Without thought, Alec grabs our hands, pulls us toward the door, and shouts, "Hang contest!"
We rush out to the playground, and Alec sprints to the monkey bars. Clay moves in close. I feel electricity flood my nerves as his shoulder lightly presses against me.
"What is a hang contest?" I say before I melt.
Clay laughs.
"Alec is seven, so it is exactly what it sounds like. He wants to see who can hang from the monkey bars upside down the longest."
Clay gestures towards the bars. "You said you wanted to hang."
"Ahh." I push him. "That was so bad."
"I'm so punny."
Our eyes meet. I challenge Clay by not looking away. He holds my stare for a few moments too long then looks back to the kiddos. His cheeks go pink.
"Mr. Noah! Come on!" Alec calls.
Clay nudges me with his shoulder, and I detach from our moment.
Not gonna lie. Alec kinda sucks at his own game. He only makes it about a minute hanging upside down. Not sure what it says about me that I didn't go easy on him.
I am about to dismount when Clay swings himself up into the bars with ease.
"Where do you think you are going, hang king? A new challenger has entered the ring."
I think he full-smiled this time, but it is hard to tell with all of the blood rushing to my head.
"How often do you do this?" I ask.
"Hang contests?" Clay asks. He knows I don't mean hang contests.
I give his shoulder a playful shove. "No. Volunteer."
"As much as I can when I can. I work a lot for my uncle. He owns a restaurant. I am a server. Make some good money, but sometimes I start right after school and don't get off until midnight."
Hehe. Get off. I'm a child.
"Damn," I say, surprised by Clays devotion to his family and busy after-school life.
"Potty word!" Alec alerts from the slide.
We laugh.
"Oops. I mean, dang, you are a busy dude," I tell him.
"Yeah, I am."
Clay hops down. I make sure his feet hit the ground before I follow suit. I let my undefeated reign as hang king supreme go uncelebrated. Out loud at least.
He reaches out to me and takes my necklace out of my mouth. I didn't even notice that I had started munching on it. I am a little apprehensive, but he examines it quietly.
"A hammer," I say, hoping it isn't too slimy.
"Hephaestus," he responds. Less question/more statement.
"Yes. Actually. Most people ask if it is Thor's."
Clay shakes his head. "Nah. Doesn't look Norse at all. Plus this has flames etched into it. Definitely a sign of the fire god."
"Thaaat's what I always say!"
"Great minds." He lets go of the pendant. Am I supposed to ignore the fact that his hand brushed my chest in doing so?
"It's cool," he says with his now-trademarked half-smile.
"Thanks." I tuck it back under my shirt. "Abe got it for me a couple years ago."
The year he joined The Fleet. I think, but don't say.
He narrows his eye on me almost as if he heard my thought.
"What?" I ask.
"You guys are close?"
A snort escapes me. "Ah, yeah, we are best friends."
One of his eyebrows raises.
"What?" I inquire.
"Just best friends?"
"Yeah." My answer is true. Oh, how I wish I was lying.
His eyebrow goes unfazed.
"Yes, Clay. Abe and I are just friends."
He pauses. His judgemental forehead returns to normal.
"Okay. It's just I see how you guys interact. You have history. I can tell that you guys look out for each other; you get each other. With a bond like that, it just seems like maybe there is more." This is a kind and endearing comment from a near stranger about the love of my life.
Suddenly I am keenly aware of how much blood has rushed to my face. I can't tell if I am caught off guard by Clay's touching analysis of my friendship with Abe or moved by the hint of vulnerability he had in his voice when explaining it.
I want to ask him why it matters, but instead, I sigh. "Nope, just friends."
"Noted."
Before I can make further conversation about his cryptic comment, Clay looks at his watch with surprise.
"Okay, you rascals! It's time to go in and get ready for parent pick-up!"
As the kids file past us inside, Clay does not take his eyes off of me. When Alec, first one out/last one in, finally scoots in the door, Clay squeezes my shoulder.
"Thanks for coming today," he tells me.
Before I can tell him it was my pleasure, his phone buzzes. He ignores it and returns his attention to me. Then it buzzes again.
"You can check it," I say.
A bit embarrassed, he nods and takes out his phone.
His eyes get big. "Oh shit–"
"Potty word!" I hear Alec from somewhere inside.
"My uncle needs me, like now, to fill in for one of his servers during the dinner rush."
Clay looks at me almost as if he is waiting for permission to go. Though I am having an awesome time hanging out and am not ready for it to be over, it is not my place to tell him to say no.
"Go. Do your thing," I say. My goal is to land it with casualness.
Sad half-smile. "Okay. I'm sorry. I am gonna jet. Kelly, one of the other volunteers, works parent pick-up, so the kids will be fine."
Before I know it, I am in a warm and powerful hug. My legs go wobbly.
"I had fun," Clay says into my hair.
In the time it takes me to examine the possible motives of the hug, Clay has left me standing alone. He's gone off to save his uncle's restaurant. Smiling to myself, I shake off the questions popping up in my mind and decide not to read too much into it.
Lies! So. Many. Speculations.
I walk some of the way home before catching the bus, but I avoid the bottom corner of Central Park. Even after all this time, that place belongs to Dad and kid me. It was our refuge. I still haven't gotten the nerve to go by myself.
***
After hours of AP Bio homework, I finally lie down in bed with every hope of dreaming about Clay. I start picturing some steamy stuff, but the moment I zoom off into real sleep world, my mind has other plans for me.
I am walking away from the Central Park Zoo. Looking to my right, I find my dad holding my hand. Avoiding the zoo's side of the park earlier today has subconsciously charged the haven't-thought-about-these-memories-in-forever part of my brain. Though I am only six in the dream, I know exactly where we are going. Dad and I are on our way to pet our dog, Balto.
Yes, it may sound silly. But we loved the dog statue. Mom never let us get a dog. She said they are messy and stinky. Not completely wrong, but they are also loving, loyal, and fun. I even told my mom, during a small research presentation Dad helped me make when I was five, that people with dogs are more active and often live healthier lives. She didn't budge. So my dad said that Balto was ours from now on. Every few days, we would take trips down to the statue. I would pet it and my father would tell me make-believe stories of the games Balto and I would play together, puppy pets and cuddles on the couch, and how the dog would play tricks on my mom. These tales of mischief were my favorite.
Dream me walks up to the metal canine and starts petting him. Like dust in the wind, the bronze of his coat floats off. With a big doggo shake, before me, stands a real husky waiting to go adventuring with Dad and me.
I look at my dad. There is joy on his face, but I can't concentrate on it. A chirping from far off somewhere has caught my attention. The sound gets louder and louder as the trees and walkways of the park start to fade away. Balto and Dad dim out into the darkness.
I open my eyes and locate the origin of my sleep interrupter. The screen of my phone is illuminated and notifies me that the homing beacon I put on Slammer has been reactivated. It tells me that there is activity going on at its location.
Floating Island, Hudson Park. 2:14 am. It is 100% stupid, but I know I have to go.