Standard warnings apply. Actually, the site already has warnings. Just to make sure, here're more. ^_^ Most of this is actually fiction but some situations have been taken from real life. The names of the characters are made up/fictional - if there are people with the same names somewhere out there, that is purely coincidental.
As with most stories, the author retains all rights to this story. Without the permission of the author, no reproductions or links to other sites are allowed.
This deals with male homosexual love. If you are not of legal age (18 or 21, it depends actually where), or if you live/are in a place where material such as this is illegal, or if you are simply offended by homosexuality and/or homosexual themes, please leave.
This story has no sex scenes in it. ^_^
Chapter 2: Notes
"What?! Ossie! That's not fair! You promised!"
"Sorry Ciara, something came up."
"Something more important than me?" Pout, pout. If she did anymore pouting, she could win an ugly duck contest. Pouting made her look like she had a flat beak.
"Sorry! My partner and I couldn't find any other time to do this."
"But you promised." She frowned. When we were young, mom always said that if we frowned, our faces would fall. I was just wishing that would happen right then and there: that her face would slide off and land on the ground in a cloud of blue, green and violet dust. Her make-up.
Technically I didn't. She forced me. And I didn't really say that I was going, she just assumed it. But of course I couldn't tell her that, now could I? "Sorry!"
"You know what, Ossie? You used to be a whole lot more helpful."
It's not like I had a choice. Kyle told me that he wasn't available at any other time other than Saturday night. Well, Saturday evening. We were supposed to meet at his house at around 5 to 6 and start from there. Actually, I was a bit surprised that he didn't have a party then.
I knew that Orchard Gardens was one of the plushest villages around. I've heard about houses that look like large cakes, with not one but two swimming pools and even tennis courts. It's true. They were really swanky, to say the least.
The moment I surrendered my license to the security guard at the gate, I felt like I didn't really belong there.
What made it worse was that the main road - Firetree Lane - was lined with firetrees. All in bloom. Their oranges burning in the golden sun. They were breathtakingly beautiful.
I knew that after that project, I probably wouldn't be able to enjoy that sight any longer. So I drove slowly, lingering in their presence yet somehow prolonging the agony of knowing I'd have to part with them.
Once in a while, a sudden gust would blow the orange flowers off the branches - they'd come floating down, like little orange pixies. Most of the fire flowers - if that's what they're called - collected at the roadsides, forming a little barrier between the sidewalk and the pavement. Two little rivers of fire. When a car would come zooming past, they'd all roll along like a real river. Sometimes a few would even take off and fall gently back down, like a gentle little wave.
Pretty.
Still no matter how lovely the river of fire flowers were, their red-orange tint didn't really blend well with the dull gray of the pavement or the sidewalk. No, not even the yellow splotches the sun made on the ground through the branches of the trees.
They were beautiful on their own. But I still felt as if they belonged with the green leaves of the trees.
Relunctantly, I took a turn at Weeping Willow Drive. I felt sorry to leave them - and that feeling was magnified by the sight of all the willows, their branches drooping as if the trees were carrying heavy burdens on their backs.
They looked desolate.
And they looked as if they could push you down, drown you in sorrow.
I couldn't help but think that trees like these should just be planted in cemeteries.
When the wind would pass his hand through their leaves, they'd come cascading down, almost touching the ground. It's as if the trees were whispering - calling out. Asking you to join them. I tried my best to ignore them by just looking forward. I felt as if their branches were actually reaching out to my car, like a hundred arms trying to grab me and yank me into their trunks.
Soon I drove by an empty lot with seesaws, slides, monkey bars, swings. The village planners must have made the largest mistake by surrounding a playground with trees like this.
I couldn't believe my luck. I kept looking for 78 Weeping Willow Drive. It turned out that Kyle lived in a cul de sac at the end of the road.
When I parked at the roadside, I honestly didn't want to get out of the car. For fifteen minutes I just sat, looking out at the willows. Their long, drooping stalks moved in the wind. They reminded me of underwater seaweed at the beach, flowing around.
It was only when I saw my psych book and notebook that I was conked back into reality. It was almost 6 pm. Looking out the window again, I realized that the sky was more-than-half dark and less-than-half light.
Twilight. When the day yeilds to night.
I sure didn't want to be left in the car with only the sickly, pale moonlight and all those trees. In an instant, I collected my book, my notebook, my keys, ran to Kyle's gate, rang the bell and was let in by a lady in black and white. "Maria," according to her nametag.
As soon as I stepped in the gate, my jaw dropped. The gloom outside couldn't possibly match the grandeur inside. Maria led me up a cobblestone path that seemed to serve as a little road towards the house. Or rather, mansion. From what I could see, it had three levels and the lot took up most of the end of Weeping Willow Drive.
To the right of the path, there was a rock garden with assorted flowers: mums, orchids, others I'm not familiar with. Behind them there were hardwood trees - no willows, but no firetrees either. To the right was a lawn of bermuda grass - well-maintained. There wasn't a brown spot in its sprawling vastness. Well, from what I could see at least. Somewhere at the other end a row of hedges stood - with a man dressed all in white, no doubt with a nametag too. In the middle of the lawn was a pond with water lilies - soft white and pink flowers that gently opened to welcome the last rays of the setting sun. Round broad green leaves - the type frogs sit on in cartoons - were scattered all over the pond. (I do doubt though that there were frogs in there.) I thought I saw a flash of orange in the pond. Must have been Japanese carp. In the middle of the pond was a fountain - two geese and a little gosling. It figures. Kyle was an only child.
Since the path sloped somewhat, I eventually reached its top where split in two, forming a little fork in the little road. One lead to the main house, the other to a garage that could house at least 6 cars and a smaller separate house - the "servants quarters" according to Maria.
As soon as we reached the wooden door, Maria brought out a key and with a click-click revealed a spiraling staircase - made of hardwood, and one of the largest chandeliers I've seen in my life. I thought only hotels had things like that. Maria giggled when I made an audible whooo as I let air out of my lungs.
It was that stunning.
The floor was made of shiny dark blue granite tiles, and the wallpaper was soft blue-beige.
"He's in his room. Second floor, fifth door on the left."
"Hello." Annoucing myself as I poked my head into his room.
"Hi." He replied, looking up from reading something, "Come in." He looked adorably comfy in a plain shirt and shorts, seated indian-style on his huge bed that probably already seemed small since his room was about the size of my room, my sister's room and my parents' room combined.
Still, it had the young adolescent male quality about it: a pile of clothes right beside his bed, some magazines spilling out of a cabinet, a string of more clothes forming a little street of yellow, blue, red, white, black - possibly every color except pink - straight to his walk in closet, which I later found out to lead to his bathroom.
His windows bothered me a bit though. They were tall and imposing, their curtains too thin and sheer. They gave a view of the street below. For a split second, I thought that maybe Kyle was the King of Weeping Willows and that after a while his cronies would climb through the windows, tearing at the feeble curtains and turning them to fine silky thread, just to get me.
I was busy looking around; he was busy smiling at me. (I was pretty sure he was smiling at me this time - no one else was in the room.) His smiling at me just made me a bit more nervous than I should've been - whenever I'd glance his way, he'd have this (charming) little grin on his face and I'd find myself quickly facing some other corner of his room.
After realizing that I was holding my Psych book and my notes, I finally came to. "So, where'll we work?"
He looked a bit disappointed at that. "Is it okay if we work here?" With that, he pushed the pile of clothes near his bed to almost magically reveal a black velvet bean bag. Even his bean bags were... posh.
"Okay." I felt a bit more relieved when I sat. The large black pillow seemed to embrace me from the back. It felt warm.
But I started feeling the nerves again when he lay on his belly, folded his arms under his chin and looked directly at me. "So, what do you want to do?"
Errr...
"I figured since we're here... uhm... maybe I could interview you?"
Since we'd be at his place, I figured that we'd do his part first - me interview him and just in case he wouldn't remember stuff, we could ask people. After all, I doubt that he'd remember how he was treated by his nannies or his mom as a baby.
Oops. His mom. Better not touch on that so much.
"Okay. Fire away." His smile really didn't leave. I started getting suspicious. Well he hadn't really smiled at me ever - except during that horrible grocery store incident.
Oh wait. He wasn't smiling at me then.
I don't know what it was. Normally I'd be okay with impromptu interviews - but I was a mess then.
"What's wrong?" And he saw it immediately.
"Uh... nothing." I laughed a hollow laugh. "It's just that I know your name and so it would look ridiculous if I started with 'What's your name?'"
"Relax," he smiled. "Pretend you don't."
"Oh... Okay. What's your name?" It sounded lame, even to me.
"Kyle Lopez."
"Where do you live?"
He was surprisingly patient. He just answered all the questions, no matter how mundane they were: What school do you go to, Who are your parents, When's your birthday, What's your favorite color.
"Okay. Uh, what happened to you during your trust vs. mistrust stage?"
At this he laughed, "Nice question."
He didn't sound cruel, but I felt so ashamed to ask that question. It was such a retarded one. I felt even worse when I opened my mouth again. "Uh, okay. When you were a baby, did your mom hold you a lot?"
That did it. His smile faded.
I didn't mean any malice by what I said at all - According to Erikson, if you're basic needs are met during infancy - these include food and changing and cuddling - you'd grow up to be a trusting individual. (Or something like that.)
"You can't expect me to remember what happened to me as a baby." He started going back to his indian sit.
I was about to say sorry but then I remembered that he didn't know that I knew. I proceeded with caution. "Uh, albums?"
His face hardened even more. "I don't know where they are."
"How about your maids? Would they know?"
"I doubt it. They're changed every so often."
Oh no. Great. How will this continue now? "So they won't remember your infancy either..."
"Right."
"How about your parents?"
He looked even more annoyed - his voice had an edge. "My dad's not home. He won't be home probably for the next few weeks. My mom died a few weeks ago."
Yes, he was mad. "I'm sorry." I said quietly.
For a few minutes we settled into awkward silence.
He broke it by whispering, "Sorry. Because I'm your partner, you won't be able to do your paper."
Was that all I was to everyone? Someone who did papers and reports? "Kyle, it's okay." Another pause. What could I say to make things better?
"Uh, what do you remember?" That wasn't the best thing to say, but that's what came out.
"Well," he started, "I don't really remember much from before I went to school. But I remember a bit when I was in school. Industry versus Inferiority, I think?"
"Okay, let's start from there." I took out my notebook and pen and got ready to start scribbling.
"Back in elementary, I remember, I did fairly well. But," then his smile returned, "I was a talkative kid." I looked up at him from my notes and he had a wistful grin plastered on his face. I felt relieved somehow to see him smiling again. "I remember," he started adjusting himself on his bed to lie on his front, his arms folded with his chin propped up by them, "I remember that my teachers always got mad and kept telling me to stand at the back of the room."
"Stand at back of room," I mouthed while scribbling down somewhere in my notebook. I did usually keep notes during interviews - and I needed to do so specially here, to keep my attention away from him, looking directly at me with his lips lightly curved upwards like that.
"Anyway," he continued, "I don't know. I thought it over and tried to explain it. I guess it's just because I found reading boring."
When I heard that, I had to look up. When we made eye contact, his smile widened even more. "What? What's with the look?" He raised an eyebrow knowingly.
"Uh... what look?"
"It's the what-you-don't-like-reading look." He said, amused.
"Err... sorry."
"It's okay," he laughed, "I bet you don't like to party much." I nodded, embarrassed. "Anyway, I just found books boring, I guess. Just text and nothing more. Sometimes there'd be pictures, but they didn't really move, you know?"
I couldn't get myself to explain to him how much words actually appeal to me. How they can move. How they can confuse, bewilder, mystify... I just ended up writing and writing notes, my penmanship getting uglier and uglier by the word.
"So I'd end up talking with my seatmate - whoever it'd be. At least they'd move."
I didn't understand this last part. "Uhm, what about your teachers?"
"Teachers? Yeah, they'd move. But many times they were boring. It's different - they're older. Right?" He asked, his brow scrunched up a bit. I liked that look - as if he were a bit unsure of himself.
I just nodded. So he has a rebellious streak.
"Besides, I didn't really blend well with adults. As a kid, dad never was there," sounds familiar, "mom would be there sometimes, and the nannies - they'd be changed so frequently that I don't get to know them much."
I nodded again, mouthing "... don't get to know nannies much," while scrawling the same words in ink patterns I probably wouldn't be able to decipher later.
It was only after a moment that I realized that he wasn't talking anymore. When I looked up, again he was looking down from his bed, straight at me, his eyes a bit misty. "I'm a bit hungry. Pizza okay?"
Why should he be crying? Did he really abhor working so much? Or, or maybe he was just so happy to see me that he's crying tears of joy.
Hmm. Nice thought.
"Uh, yeah."
As soon as he put the phone down from ordering the pizza, he said, "It's a bit funny how you interview people."
All the while I was still glued to my seat. "Uh, what do you mean?"
"The way you look more at your notes and not at them." He smiled.
"Oh... that. Sorry."
"Os," even if he shortened my name, it sounded sweeter coming from him, "relax. It's just me."
After thirty minutes of him showing me around his room and watching TV, (thirty minutes that could've been used for more interviews, but he was right - I needed to unwind a bit) the pizza arrived - announced by a buzz from the intercom.
"Dinner," he happily said, trudging around his bed looking for his slippers.
"Great. How much do I owe you?"
"Forget it. It's on me tonight." He grinned.
I expected to go down the stairs so I was a bit surprised when Kyle started going up to the third floor. They had their dining room in the third floor?
Judging from what I saw, they didn't. The third floor was composed of a foyer, a washroom and a sliding door that lead to a helipad. A helipad with a table (complete with white table cloth), two chairs, plates, forks and knives and a pizza. There even was a spotlight right on the whole ensemble. Whoa.
"Do you always eat here?" I asked as we were seated, our chairs held in place and gently pushed forward by a butler, "Ed" from his nametag.
After a pause, he sheepishly replied, "Not really."
"What's the occassion?"
Again he waited a while before answering. When he finally did, he wasn't looking straight at me. "I'm not very good at apologizing."
I didn't know if all this fanfare was his way of saying sorry - it seemed as if that was it since he didn't expound. "Don't worry, Kyle. It's okay. I'm sort of used to it."
"That's not an excuse. I treated you like crap."
He said it in such an innocent, heartfelt way that I just nodded. I've never seen him like this. Then again, I don't really see him much. I guess I never expected something like that from him.
"Let's eat." His tone suddenly changing back to its regular upbeat, assured quality.
Munching on pizza on a helipad at 7:30 in the evening. It was surprisingly cool for a midsummer night. From where we sat, I had a great view of the city skyline, the lights in the window buildings like large dots of yellow. Some of them would switch on, some would go off - like a dance of fireflies. The moonlight wasn't the sickly pale white tinged with green I had expected earlier - it was dazzlingly white. As bright as it was, Kyle suggested that the spotlight be switched off, which made the skyline come out in even clearer relief.
The sky was starry.
I thought of saying 'I bet you take all your girls up here' but then I didn't have a right to.
"How're your mom and sister?"
"They're doing fine."
"That's good. Although you should tell your sister to be careful."
"Why?"
"Sometimes she gets carried away at parties." I must've given him a questioning look - it did solicit a response. "Don't worry. Lara's a responsible girl. She knows what she's doing." I doubt that. Don't get me wrong, Lara's smart. But...
"Is there someone after her?"
"You make it sound so mafia-ish," he chuckled, "No. Don't worry. She can take care of herself." He didn't sound convinced though. "You know what, it's great to see you looking out for your sister. I always thought you only looked after your grades and your orgs."
I guess I was a bit insulted by that. "I'm not that selfish."
"Yeah. You aren't. It's great." He smiled. His teeth could've rivalled the moon.
My face felt warm.
At close range I could make out the dark rings under his eyes. Funny, I didn't notice them earlier - probably because I couldn't look at him looking right at me. I didn't even see them when I saw that his eyes were misty. Still haven't figured that one out though.
When we were done I was just too full to do work. He suggested that we wait a while, strolling around the third floor.
Leaning on the rail, looking out at the city which seemed to glow - a faint orange aura surrounding all the buildings - he took out a cigarette and offered one to me.
"Sorry, don't smoke."
"You're as pure as they say." He chuckled.
Curious, I asked. "As who say?"
He blushed a bit, taking a long puff or drag or whatever you call it. "People."
He yawned. His eyes got misty.
So that's why. He wasn't unbearably happy to see me after all.
"People?" I asked. He didn't answer. He just nodded, looking straight ahead, his profile acquiring the same aura as the city in the moonlight.
He was asking around about me, huh? Probably to check if I'm the aggressive type - hey, maybe I'd start raping him in his own house. Or maybe he just wanted to confirm if I was gay or not. Hah! No one knew for sure so that would've been futile.
Cough. Cough. Yawn.
It made me guilty thinking those things about him. He was as human as I was - and humans are rarely as one-dimensional as that. Besides, that day, he showed me a different side to his face.
And I'm not talking about the left side - the profile I was staring at.
Turning to me, looking pensive, he asked, "Want to start?"
"Okay." I smiled.
"So where were we?"
"Identity versus Identity Confusion - your adolescence, I think."
We were back in his room, the cool night air wafting in through the curtains.
After a quick bathroom break (he had to brush his teeth - he didn't want me smelling his cigarette breath he said), we settled back into our positions: me in the black bean bag - ready with my notes and pen; him on his belly, on his bed, facing me - beads of water on his bangs, some on his nose and cheeks.
"Okay. Go ahead."
"What do you think of yourself?"
He looked up for a while, gathering his thoughts. After a while, he answered my question with a question of his own. "What do you think of me?"
I couldn't possibly tell him what I thought of him, could I? He'd probably get confused. I was confused myself.
"What?"
"What do you think of me?"
"I, I," I understood where he was driving at. Identity versus Identity Confusion had something to do with finding and being sure of who you are. And part of that is being able to match how others perceive you with how you perceive yourself.
Maybe I was getting my theories all mixed up, but it did make sense. Sort of.
"Well, I think you're," I trailed off.
He sighed and grinned. "It's okay. I won't get mad."
"Oh, no. It's nothing like that."
"Really now." This time he raised both eyebrows.
"Uhm, okay. Fine. I used to think you were a rich brat kid - someone who's cool and so assured of himself."
"Used to?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Well, I don't as much now. Well, not as bratty."
At that he smiled a sad smile. "I'm not as confident as you think I am," he whispered.
"Kyle," I didn't have any clue as to how to continue, so I was rather grateful that he cut me short.
"Os, could we skip this part? It's not like we won't be meeting again, right?" He asked, looking hopeful.
"Okay. Okay. Let's move on," I realized that we were skipping a whole lot of stages, but I didn't want to jeopardize the fragile connection we were making. "Intimacy versus Isolation. The last one for us."
"Didn't ma'am want us to write about our relationship?"
'Our relationship' - that made me glow a bit. "Yeah, she did for the personal reflection part. But I think she wants us to continue with the mini-biographies until this stage."
"Oh," he sounded unsure. Like he didn't want to continue.
"If you don't mind," I added, cautiously.
"No, not at all. Go ahead."
I didn't know whether I wanted to hear the answer to the next few questions in my head, but I had to ask them.
"Have you had any significant others?" I half-expected him to say, 'Yeah. I've had seven girlfriends since high school.'
"I had a girlfriend once." Once? He looked at me funny - "Yeah, once. What did you think, I'm a playboy?"
Oops. I said it out loud?
"Yes, you did." He grinned.
I apologized, feeling embarrassed again.
"It's okay. Yeah, I had one girlfriend. Just one. Once." Although he put lots of emphasis on 'one' and 'once' - enunciating them - he didn't sound annoyed.
"What happened?"
"Well, we broke up."
"Oh, sorry. No, I meant, tell me about it?" Again my sentences got jumbled and my penmanship suffered. They started looking like chicken tracks.
"The break-up?"
"Erm, no. Everything." Realizing that I was sounding rude, I quickly added, "if it's okay."
"Oh. Well, she moved somewhere out of the country. We broke up."
Couldn't handle the long distance thing. "If," I started - again not wanting to hear the answer to the question, "if she hadn't gone, would you still be..."
I didn't finish the sentence.
He sat up, looking at me, thinking, scrunching up his brow, glancing away. "Maybe."
I was a bit disappointed at that. But I knew I had to continue.
"Oh, okay," Now to go on to the dirty details, "As a couple, what did you do?"
Looking up, he closed his eyes, as if digging deep into his memories. "The usual, I guess. Phone. Mall, sometimes. Nothing special really. We went to each others' high school dances. That's about it."
He run the details down as if they were nothing. Like a list of groceries. "Really?"
"Yeah. That's it. Nothing special. Even the dances were nothing special. We just ate, danced a bit. That's it."
"Aren't high school dances supposed to be, I don't know," I was about to say magical but that would've made me look funny, "different?"
"Yeah, in terms of what you wear. But nothing else. I think."
"Oh."
I must've looked disappointed or something, because he asked, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"C'mon. Tell me." I was quiet for a while and he added, "Well, I guess it was nothing special for us. But maybe for you it was different."
"Oh no, no. I've never been to a dance."
The moment I said 'never been' he started gaping. "Never been to a dance?"
"Well, technically, I have," how was I going to explain this? "But not really."
"Huh?"
"Well, all our high school dances - I'd usually be busy organizing them. So I'd barely have the time to eat and dance and whatever."
"Oh," he looked at me, half-pitying, half-wondering, "So you've never danced."
"Yeah, but I was hoping it would be special for the people I'd organized it for."
"Oh," suddenly realizing, he quickly added, "oh, oh. But that was only for Sara and me. I'm sure other kids had a blast."
Sara.
If her last name was Lee... "Sara? Did she bake well?" I blurted out.
He looked at me as if I were crazy. "Huh?"
"Oh, nothing."
After a few moments of silence, he asked, "So you've never danced in a school dance?"
"Nope."
He started playing with his blanket and again, after a while, he asked, "Would you like to dance?"
"Dance?"
"Yeah. Dance."
I wasn't so sure about that. I'm a horrible dancer - not that I've tried it. "I don't think so..."
"Why not?" He pouted. I stifled a laugh - he did it much better that Ciara did. "Why not? Really?" He got up, switched his stereo on, put in a CD.
"Cheesy music?"
"It wouldn't be complete without cheesy music." Reaching his hand out to me.
"I don't know," I mumbled as I took it. This isn't the most 'normal' thing school partners did for the projects was it? It was downright unreal.
He pulled me up and whispered reassuringly, "It's going to be okay. Just follow my lead." Gently, he guided both my hands onto his shoulders before putting both of his on my waist. "I hope you don't mind if I be the guy for tonight." He grinned.
The first few moments had me immobile, staring at his feet, studying the square pattern they were making on the floor. "C'mon. Just don't step on me. I'm not wearing shoes." Again he favored me with a grin. Slowly, I followed, cautiously yet easily - at first looking down, then finally looking at his face. "That's it." He said, smiling. At that point, with him smiling that way, he could've asked me to fly with him to the moon and I wouldn't have said 'no.'
Yeah, he could charm the socks off judges of the Supreme Court.
I didn't realize it really but we were drifting closer and closer. Soon his arms were at my back, and mine were awkwardly between us. He rested his chin on my shoulder - we were about the same height. I could smell the fresh bath soap he used to rinse his face earlier.
We moved like waves at the beach beneath a clear night sky. Delicately swaying, peacefully rocking.
Soon though, his feet got slower, his hands dropped. His face drooped slightly, falling partially to my chest.
He fell asleep.
Slowing my pace to match his, eventually I ended up standing still, cradling his head with one hand, supporting his body with my other arm. I couldn't help admiring his features.
Eventually I knew I had to leave. Lightly, I took his arm to support him on my shoulders, guiding him to his bed. After tucking him in, I started collecting my things - stopping when I heard him softly say, "Sorry. Couldn't stay awake. Had a party last night."
"It's okay."
"Hey," he continued, "I have an idea. Since my house is on the way to school from your house, why don't you and I go to school together? Our schedules are roughly the same, aren't they?"
"What?"
Propping his head up on one elbow, he explained, "You could leave your car here and we could go to school together," he did look sleepy. "Then on the way home, you could ride with me. How's that?"
"I don't know... I have meetings to attend, Kyle, I don't really want you to be waiting for me."
"Don't your meetings last until around, 4? I have a class until then. Don't worry."
"How did you know my schedule?"
He snickered. "People."
"People." I replied. "But,"
"No buts. I insist."
Since there seemed to be no escape from it, I conceded. "Okay. Meet you here on Monday at 8?" Besides, I'd be able to see the firetrees even more.
"Sure," he was about to stand when I stopped him.
"Kyle, you need to sleep. I can find my way out."
"But, but."
"I insist." I smiled back.
The weeping willows didn't bother me as much on my way out. Maybe it was because Maria was with me, but I think it had something to do with the strange warmth I felt that didn't leave.
Even when I got home.
I have to admit. I learned a lot. I hope he did too.