Second Judas
by R.E. Volver
Copyright (c) 2012
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Believe what you read in the Book of Revelations.
I was in Seattle working on my B.A. in Philosophy when I met Paul in the student lounge at the library. He was looking up some book on Islam while I was searching for something more along the lines of existential philosophy. Not that I cared much for existentialism; it was just a class I was taking to fill a requirement. So there we were, both in the philosophy/religion wing. I didn’t pay any attention to him really, and didn’t think he had paid much mind to me. But when I returned to the student lounge and sat down by myself at a table, he was right behind me.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked.
I looked at this with his long hippie hair, faded denim jacket and bell bottoms, then said, “Yeah, go ahead. You won’t bother me.”
He sat down, opened the book in his hand and began to flip pages fairly quickly. As I delved into my own reading, I think it was something by Sartre, I thought he was turning the pages just a bit too fast to actually be reading all or even most of the material.
I had read about two or three pages when he suddenly pud down his book and said, “Would you mind if I asked you a question?” in that soothing tone of his I came to know.
I hesitated for a moment, wondering if I had some sort of psycho on my hands, then closed my book. “Well, you already have, really.”
He gave a short laugh, an odd laugh, one that made it seem as if he’d really found my little joke somewhat amusing and he wasn’t laughing just for showmanship which is what most people would do in the situation. His was a laugh which showed he cared.
“I was just noticing what you were reading,” he said, “and I was wondering if you really buy into the existentialists?”
I thought this a somewhat different question, not something you would use to approach someone whom you had just met. But I answered anyway. “I don’t think so,” I said, “but then I’m not really all that familiar with most of the existentialists. I’m not sure I understand what this branch of philosophy is all about, and besides, this isn’t my normal reading. I’m just taking the class to fill a requirement.”
“Oh,” he said as if he were disappointed, “then you’re not familiar with the works of Nietzche, Kierkegaard and Gardner?”
“No, though I’ve heard of them.”
“Good,” he said, smiling. “I was hoping you weren’t fooled by all that garbage.”
And it was easy as that. We kept talking. I because I wanted to know exactly what he meant by “that garbage,” and he because he had searched me out and wanted me to join him. Though, of course, I did not know that at the time.
Our conversation continued for an hour or so, then I had to get back to my apartment to get some sleep. I had an exam in the morning. But before I left, Paul gave me his phone number and told me to give him a call sometime because he had enjoyed our talk. I gave him my address and number, too.
Just before I left, he said, “You know, I still don’t know your name.”
“It’s Timothy,” I said, back away from the table.
“How perfect.”
Walking home that night, it crossed my mind Paul could have been gay and I had just been asked out. On second thought, I said, “Naah,” to myself. You didn’t see too many gay hippies. But then, I was in Seattle. Either way, it didn’t really matter. I had enjoyed Paul’s company, and if he was gay, then I would just have to be truthful with him and say, “Look, sorry, but I’m straight.” I would still be his friend. It didn’t bother me if he was gay as long as it didn’t bother him that I wasn’t. What weird times these are when a man is walking down the street thinking such thoughts. Anyway, it turned out Paul wasn’t gay. He even told me so the next time I saw him, which was at a little coffee shop not too far from campus.
“By the way, I’m not gay.”
I looked up from my copy of that day’s newspaper and was so surprised to see him standing there, I nearly spilt my drink.
“Paul,” I said, standing up, “come on and sit. Have a coffee with me.”
He sat but ordered only water. “I’ve got to watch the caffeine,” he said, and I almost laughed.
“What’ve you been up to since the last time I saw you?” I asked, smiling, really glad to see this new friend of mine.
“Oh, I’ve been doing some fishing, mainly,” he said. “I haven’t had much luck lately, though. That’s why I’ve been looking for you.”
“Me?”
“Yes. You’re my first big fish.”
I didn’t understand what he was saying. It seemed strange and very out of place. Then I thought how odd Paul is. He’d found me here, maybe accidentally, but he’d still found me. The first thing he’d said to me was that I shouldn’t worry because he wasn’t gay. That also was strange. Had he known what I’d been thinking? No, that’s quite impossible. Maybe it was just because he seems to have an almost feminine air about him. Maybe lots of people think he’s gay. Also, it was the middle of winter, and Seattle could have bad winter. Yet here Paul was with no coat or gloves. He was dressed the same as he had the last time I’d met him except now he wore a gray baja instead of the white T-shirt he’d had on beneath a jean jacket.