The Wall of Winnipeg and Me

by Mariana Zapata

Because that was the way surprises worked—they didn’t tend to pencil themselves into your schedule and let you know they were visiting ahead of time.

Just as I opened the door, and before I could talk myself out of it, I mouthed, “I deserve better, asshole,” making sure he read my lips as I did it. Then I raised my middle finger up at him and waved goodbye with it. I hoped they both got syphilis.

When I was a kid, I learned the hard way how expensive the truth was. Sometimes it cost you people in your life. Sometimes it cost you things in your life. And in this life, most people were too cheap to pay the price for something as valuable as honesty.

“You can’t live your life bottling everything up. You need people, even if it’s only one or two, to believe in you,

“You’ve been with me for two years, but I figure I’m barely beginning to understand,” the big guy claimed, his expression solemn. “Understand what?” “I should probably be scared of you.”

“The only people in the world who can hurt you are those you let have that ability,

The Wall of Winnipeg stared down at the much smaller man, and in a voice that was as close to a cool, unattached statement as possible, he said, “Touch my wife again and I’ll break every bone in your goddamn body.”

It was right then, in that instant, that I realized I might be a little in love with Aiden. Not in a way that was anything like the easy crush I had on him in the past, but different. So, so different.

“I’m starting to understand that you can always make time for the things that matter.”

“You don’t ever have to worry about me not wanting you somewhere. Got it?”

“That’s my girl. That’s my fucking girl.”

“How do you not know that you mean the world to me? I haven’t made it clear enough?” “I don’t know,” I stuttered. “Do you love me?” His gaze was so intent the entire world seemed to stop. “You tell me. I never stop thinking about you. I worry about you all the time. Every beautiful thing I see reminds me of you. I can’t finish my practices in Colorado without wishing you were around,” he said in a steady tone. “You tell me what I feel.”

“Home is where you are. I would go anywhere for you if you wanted me to be there.”

“I don’t know anything about relationships, Van, but I know I love you. I know I’ve waited my entire life to love you, and I’ll do whatever I have to, to make this work.”

Like football and art, like anything that anyone in the world has ever wanted, love was a dream. And just like a dream, there were no assurances behind it. It didn’t grow on its own. It didn’t blossom without food to feed it. It was the greatest in its subtleties. It was the strongest in its selflessness. And it could be forever with someone who wasn’t afraid to never give up on the possibilities it presented.