[European Style] Praying Mantis

I almost ran out of Dominique's house like fleeing a brutal Nazi concentration camp.The mood at that moment cannot be replicated. It is a mixture of surprise, fear, excitement and happiness, which is more complex than the chemical formula of organic matter.Dominique...does he really like boys like Whitney said?Or, he just wanted to play a joke to test my reaction?

If he really had an uncharacteristically close relationship with Grande, what kind of connection was there between him and the mysterious death?Is he the real poisoner?Why would he hurt his lover?

I wanted to ask him, "What the hell did you do to them?" But the truth was, I couldn't.In the next few days, I even uninstalled WhatsApp for fear of receiving messages from him.

This inferior means of evasion will soon be terminated by various force majeure.After just three days, I was ordered by my colleagues to use the chat app again.

Now I had to face him.

Clearly, my people skills aren't too bad.During at least these 72 hours, I received many messages from my parents, my sister, my friends.

And, of course, the boy's.

I clicked on his dialog box like a timid little girl who couldn't hold back her curiosity, who opened a horror movie but only dared to peek through her fingers.

"Robbie, I must apologize for my previous abrupt behavior. I know this prank was not funny at all. Please forgive me. For this reason, I would like to invite you to a ball game to offset this mistake. If you will continue with me If you contact me, please reply me."

I took a deep breath like emphysema patients do into their carry-on oxygen tanks.Fortunately, what he said was easy to accept.

Most certainly, I knew perfectly well that it was impossible for me to refuse his request.

"It's okay." I typed this sentence.

Ten seconds later I had a reply from him with a photo of a ticket to a baseball game between the Piranhas and the Rockies next weekend at [-] p.m.

"See you then," he added.

For the next week at work, I was absent-minded almost every day.After numerous ludicrous blunders, such as pouring salt and pepper instead of sugar into hot, freshly brewed coffee at lunchtime, my anomalous state attracted the attention of those around me.

"What's going on lately, Robbie?" Mrs. Maisel, the understanding deputy editor, asked me tentatively.

"No, no." I replied, "I've had insomnia these days."

Mrs. Maisel looked at me with her loving dark brown eyes, patted my shoulder lightly, and told me earnestly as an elderly person: "Take a good rest. If necessary, you can see a psychiatrist. Don't be like Jimmy."

Before I could reply, another colleague answered, "Mrs. Maisel, you must not have received Wilson's latest manuscript—Jimmy was murdered. Someone abetted him to commit suicide online."

"What?" Mrs. Maisel stared at her protruding eyeballs hidden behind reading glasses with an expression of disbelief, "Who murdered him?"

"I don't know. The police are still investigating."

"Poor boy. Why would he believe a stranger?"

"Maybe the other party is a good demagogue. Like Hitler, Goebbels(①) or something like that."

"Then he must be a devil!" Mrs. Maisel's words resounded loudly, resounding over the entire office, and even scared me out of a stack of thick manuscripts, and the scattered paper manuscripts were like snowflakes It fell to the ground in a disorderly manner, exposing harsh reflections under the bright slender lamp tubes.

At almost the same moment, my memory flashed back to the small bag of poison I saw at Dominic's house that night.

"Robbie, are you okay? God, your spirits look bad." The colleagues around me looked at me worriedly.

"I'm fine." I tried to squeeze out a stiff smile to hide my panic.Closing my eyes, that gleaming bag of contraband squeezed into my mind like a nightmare.

Dominic is like a glass of poisonous wine with a sweet aftertaste, gorgeous and delicious but mysterious and dangerous.

But however frightened I am, I have sworn in the name of the Styx, which means I must keep my appointment.The fact that I wasn't interested in sports was probably one of the things I wasn't welcome at school.If I had been more withdrawn, I might have been another Christian Grande.

It’s been at least five years since the last time I’ve been to a game live — I think it was a football game between the University of San Francisco and Berkeley, California, when I was in college.Dominique and I met in front of the stadium that sunny afternoon.He was wearing very casual clothes, and even the smile on his face became brighter, which made him look like an ordinary sunny American youth.

"Good afternoon, Robbie." He handed me a ticket.Maybe it was my illusion, I actually felt that he was rubbing my fingers on purpose.

We cut through the crowd like surfers amidst an unbearable din.I feel like it took us at least 10 minutes to find our seats.The funny thing is, there are two groups of fans of the participating teams sitting on either side of us, and we can easily hear the high-pitched shouts: "Piranha!" "Rocky Mountain!".

"Do you like baseball?" Dominique asked me.

I honestly shook my head: "I don't know much about the sport."

"Me too, actually." Dominique laughed. "But Doug loved it. He'd take the five-hour plane ride to New York every year to watch Subway Wars."

"My friend also likes the Yankees." I seized on this slight commonality and immediately continued.

"Oh, he likes the Mets," he said.Now it was my turn to shut my mouth shut in embarrassment.

Amused by my antics, he moved on to another topic: "Do you know that player?"

I followed his fingers to see a player in the "Rocky Mountain" uniform on the court doing pre-match warm-up activities on the wide court.He looked tall and strong, and his strong muscles stretched the loose uniform, as if he was in danger of bursting at any time.

"do not know."

"His name is Jack McAdams, and he's been the best player on the Rockies this season," Dominique told me. "But that doesn't hide that he's gay."

What is he trying to express?

"Homosexuality is a crime." He almost gritted his teeth, saying the words word for word. "He's a criminal."

I stared at him dumbfounded.I still have the taste of that sudden kiss from last Friday night on my lips.I heard Justin Woods questioning me in disbelief: "You're not a homophobe, are you?"

Indeed, I am not.But Dominic is.

This is something I never expected.

Since I didn't watch the whole game with the mentality of a spectator from the beginning, this time was as difficult for me as going to the mall with my girlfriend.Fragments of information are constantly circling in my mind: Dominique, Grande, Professor Curley, heroin, baseball game... If this game keeps going on, my head can probably carry out a cosmic big Bang.

This pins and needles date finally drew the curtain at sunset.At the gate of the stadium, Dominique told me: "Unfortunately, Spike is sick and I have to take him to the doctor. Dinner will have to be postponed until next time."

"Spike" is a bushy tarantula he keeps.

"Okay. Thank you for inviting me to watch the game. Goodbye." I said goodbye to him politely.At that moment, I suddenly felt that we were a bit like teenagers on a first date, trying to get close to each other, but shrinking.Although this may just be my one-sided idea.

Whenever I think back to Dominique's remarks about McAdams afterwards, I think of the gay man in American Beauty who hides deep under a homophobic exterior.For some reason, I couldn't help but associate him with Dominique.

The author has something to say:

① Goebbels (1897-1945): Minister of Propaganda in Nazi Germany.

②The Styx River: the River Styx in Greek mythology, in the name of which the oath cannot be cancelled.

③ Subway Wars: New York Yankees vs. New York Mets.The Subway War got its name from the fact that the home venues of the two teams happen to be located next to the subway station, and fans can take the subway directly to and from the stadium.