A young man in shorts and sneakers offers me his help, gets down on his knees, slides some coins into the air machine and manages to inflate the rubber in a few minutes.
I thank him profusely, give him my card, tell him I am at his service, and leave him a generous tip.
I immediately leave for my house on the island. I think: she’s not going to write to me, of course she’s not going to write to me.
Two weeks later, while in the snowy mountains, I receive an email from the young man at the gas station. He tells me bluntly that he would like to work with me. He offers to work as my secretary or my driver. Flattered, I write to him immediately, tell him I’m in the snow and suggest we have coffee upon my return to the island. He answers me without delay and we agree to have coffee on a Sunday mid-afternoon at a hotel in the city center.
Although I don’t need a secretary or a driver, the young man at the gas station is handsome, friendly, helpful, and I’m tempted to see him again. I am an old man, I am fat, I am not in good health. However, or precisely because of that, I’m excited to see it.
When I return to the island without having injured myself skiing in the snow, I write to him and tell him that for my part we are still up to see each other on Sunday mid-afternoon at the hotel.
Then the young man at the gas station disappears. He doesn’t write to me anymore. I miss. I wonder why he has disappeared.
Although I am digitally illiterate, I discover that someone has blocked my Gmail account. Surprised, bewildered, I remove the block, write to him again, but I don’t hear from him.
Suddenly distressed by the idea of never seeing him again, I write to him from my AOL email, but I don’t get a response either.
I think: something strange has happened. The young man at the gas station wanted to work with me, he wanted to see me and now he has disappeared. From my Gmail and AOL emails, I send him my cell phone number and ask him to text me.
Inexplicably, I find myself thinking about him all the time. I have no reason to think that he might like me, the very idea seems absurd and crazy to me, he is surely heterosexual and has a girlfriend, and if he is homosexual he would never be tempted to be with me. However, since he has disappeared, since someone has blocked him in my Gmail, I think about him and imagine intimate circumstances with him.
Finally he sends me a text message on my cell phone and tells me that he can see me the following Sunday at mid-afternoon. He prefers not to meet me at a hotel reception or a hotel cafeteria. He suggests that I pick him up at the gas station where we met. Once again excited, I tell him that I will be there.
However, on Saturday, on the eve of our meeting, something strange happens again. He writes to me saying that he cannot see me the next day because he has a job from three in the afternoon until midnight. I think: what a job that will be on a Sunday afternoon. I think: apparently he is not out of work, or not at all.
Disappointed, I tell him that we will see each other later, when the circumstances are favorable for him.
A few days later, he sends me another message saying that he will soon be leaving for three weeks in his home country. I reply that I would love to see him before his trip. I promise him a gift, a good gift, let’s see if the promise of a good gift convinces him to see me.
Then it disappears again. I don’t know if she is in town or if she has traveled. I don’t have social media accounts where people usually post their photos. I don’t look for it, I don’t spy on it, I don’t try to find out who she is. I leave everything in the hands of destiny.
Finally he sends me a message saying that he would like to see me before he leaves. She now says that she is returning to live in his country of origin, to study, to finish her degree. He no longer tells me that he wants to be my secretary or my driver. He doesn’t ask me for a job, or not for now. He doesn’t ask me for anything. He seems willing to see me, but only for a moment, and at the gas station where we met. He probably wants to receive the gift and wish me luck. It seems highly unlikely that he would be interested in being my friend or that he would know that I am a writer who appears on television.
Now he has scheduled me on Sunday at the gas station at four in the afternoon. My wife thinks I shouldn’t go to the gas station. That is why I have asked the young man to come to a cafe on the island where we will have more comfort and privacy. She hasn’t responded.
I have a feeling that on Sunday he will write to me saying that he cannot see me, that he has a job, that he must travel to his country of origin. I no longer have any illusions. I no longer think about intimate circumstances with him. I resign myself to thinking that the young man at the gas station sees me as a fat, boring, poorly haired, intellectual-looking old man and doesn’t want to waste his time with me.
If you don’t write to me, if you don’t agree to come to the cafe on the island, just in case I’ll stop by the gas station on Sunday at four in the afternoon. I suspect he won’t be waiting for me.
