The Universally Attractive Man (mf)
By AnonymousNin
1
The final patrons of the cafe left.
I grabbed their cups and placed them in the sink.
I flipped the door sign from open to closed and locked the door.
I washed the register counter off one more time, grabbed my jacket, and exited the cafe.
I went out the back door like Sofia showed me.
It was a warm summer New York City night so I kept my Jacket off.
I walked home through the dark straight streets back to my sister's apartment.
It was a long walk, an hour each way. I enjoyed the built in solitude of the walk as opposed to the subway.
Breathing and meditating in the city. This is the whole point of being in New York.
I never take the same route home twice. I follow the grid and walk at random, just heading in the right general direction.
I walked home silently, past bars and clubs; past closed convenience stores and closed independent delis; past overpriced clothing boutiques.
There are always people out in New York City, everyone in their tiny bubble of solitude.
I walked and kept my headphones in my pocket-- and just the thought of my life; how my relationship with my sister is strained; how Sofia, my manager at the cafe, seems to not like me; how I had "no direction or home, a complete unknown," as Bob Dylan would say.
I walked past a group of stray cats, when, out of the corner of my eye, I walked past a dark alley and saw a large, queer cat.
It was a lion, or rather not quite a lion, like a juvenile lion cub.
It was a large young, golden white cat, which quickly disappeared.
A lion in New York City! How could that be?
I turned down the alley, just to check and see if my eyes were correct.
I walked down the alley, I turned the corner-- and nothing. The next street was completely empty.
I took a couple of steps down this dark backstreet, with the back doors of the street businesses,
I walked past a dumpster when the large golden cat pounced on me.
The large feline cat knocked me down.
Instinctively, from the deepest recesses of human reaction, I covered my face with my arms.
Or, rather, my arms protected me on their own instinctive volition.
The cat bit into my arm.
I felt a searing pain go through my left arm.
I shoved my arms forward and the cat released the grip of its jaw, and prowled away.
I laid down on my back on the asphalt, breathing heavily.
Attacked by a lion! In New York City! What the fuck!
I sat up.
Pain shot through my right side.
The impact against the asphalt banged me up pretty good.
The cat was gone: disappeared into the darkness of the back city streets.
I looked down to my bitten mauled left arm.
There was blood bleeding from a bite mark.
The bite was not very deep.
The bite was a perfect outline of the dental records of the cat gently pressed into my arm.
It was not that bad-- all things considered-- I could have died.
I threw up between my legs on the asphalt.
The grossness of the wound plus the adrenaline of the attack left my nerves in shambles.
I wrapped my arm up in my jacket to hide the blood.
I walked home.
I stopped at the first convenience store I passed. A CVS.
My bloody arm still wrapped in my jacket, I stumbled through the store and purchased a small generic brand bottle of medical alcohol.
I went behind a quiet dumpster down the street and poured the entire small bottle of alcohol onto the wound.
The alcohol hurt more than the original bite itself.
The pain gave way to a numb sensation of the alcohol, and I could barely feel my arm.
I meandered the rest of the way home back to my sister Caitlyn's apartment, my bitten arm wrapped in my bloody hoodie.
I arrived back at our apartment.
Caitlyn was already asleep.
I tip-toed to my room, shut the door, and fell on my bed. I passed out at once, my work cafe clothes and shoes still on.
2
I had a nightmare-- tossing, sweating, turning.
Constrained by my shoes and uncomfortable clothes.
I sweated through my clothes.
I dreamt I was in an endless darkness.
I was being chased by a pack of large cats.
It took all the strength I had to stay in front of the pack of cats nipping at my heels.
There was no light.
I ran forward through the darkness at full speed.
Pain shot like a gun up and through my quads and hamstrings.
My calves tensed themselves into a ball of muscle.
I wanted to collapse, just give up, give up this life, and just be eaten by the pack of predators.
3
I woke up to the sun shining through my blindness window.
The sun was full up in the sky.
It was mid-day.
It took me a while to find my bearings. I had sweated through my work clothes completely.
My bed was a gross mess of blood and nightmarish sleep.
I looked down to my left arm: my bloody jacket was still wrapped around it.
I removed my jacket from around my arm. There was a sticky layer of blood between my jacket and arm.
I dry heaved. I would have vomited if I hadn't already emptied my stomach last night.
My jacket fully removed, I inspected the bite mark on my arm.
I couldn't find it.
There was no bite mark-- just blood.
Was I hallucinating? Am I going crazy?
Borderline panic attack, I stumbled into my bathroom.
I drew the faucet and entered my shower-- still completely dressed, shoes and all.
I let the water run down my dressed body. The blood spilled down the drain and washed itself away.
I removed my clothes and let them sit on the floor of the shower as I just stood there, and let the heat wash me away.
I didn't bother with soap or shampoo or anything.
I just stood there and felt the warmth.
Eventually the hot water ran out and I turned off the faucet before things got cold.
I dried myself off and went back out to my room.
I picked up my phone. It was already 1 in the afternoon.
Under the clock, I had the notifications for five missed calls: all from Sofia-- my manager at the cafe-- asking me "where the fuck I was," and to "not come back," and I was "fired."
I quickly dressed and left my apartment.
I left my bloody jacket on my bedroom floor and my wet clothes on the floor of my shower.
I hailed a cab.
Traffic wasn't bad. I arrived at the cafe in less than fifteen minutes.
4
I arrived at the cafe and Mrs. Velasquez was behind the cafe counter.
Sofia Velasquez: a hot-tempered Columbian woman who both owns and manages the cafe. Sofia is married to a columbian well off financier that works in a fancy office space somewhere in the city. She is a very pretty Latina woman. One looks at her and immediately can see what a dime-piece she was when she was younger. Sofia was an older South American swimwear model of a woman. With a work ethic. No wonder some rich financier married her.
"There you are!" Mrs. Velasquez shouted as I entered the cafe.
"Look Mrs. Velasquez, I'm so sorry--"
"What the fuck happened to you Jacob," the look on Sofia's face shifted from anger to pity.
"I'm so so sorry, please, I need this job."
