than hookers and the office one-night stand. I wondered, uncomfortably, if I really was flaunting my supposedly superior status, pleased at being the alpha male here. Was that the lynchpin that put me so much at ease with him? Is that what I liked about this relationship, that it was a safe refuge, no threats from this hapless dummkopf? Is that what was irking Kyle?
        Still, our interactions were refreshingly open and free, two guys with similar outlooks sharing their thoughts, guy time to kick around ideas, recent movies, articles, a pet peeve getting under our skin. It was always a time to refocus, recalibrate, and come back to earth. Admittedly, I felt a paternal concern for him, as if I were partially responsible for his well-being. He lived alone and at times struggled so mightily, stumbling through basic situations, what clothes to wear, how to deal with an unpleasant neighbor, even how to file his taxes. Did he resent my condescension when discussing these matters?
        For two weeks, I agonized over what to do. I didn’t want to lose his friendship but as I thought back, he was displaying more and more anger of late. Sometimes by the end of our session, his mood had turned dark and he became sullen and irritable as if he were angry at me. Sometimes it was almost scary. Usually he would apologize later but it was uncomfortable at the time and made me wonder if this friendship was gathering too much baggage.
        I texted him suggesting we get together this weekend. The next day I received a cryptic response: Been going through some things. Think I’ll pass on Saturday. There was no communication for two weeks. I proposed another meetup that he bailed out on, then a third, also scrubbed. By now, I wasn’t sure what we would even talk about. Then he texted me. What about coffee? Saturday? Angelo’s? I considered the offer for a day, then responded: Sounds good. See you then.

#

        Now the day was here. I was barely aware of the drive into town, oblivious to the horses, sheep, and darting rabbits in my neighborhood, then I was over the river and on the ramp leading into town. I parked, then as I crossed Q Street, could see Kyle standing in line inside. At least he’d shown up.
        The place was crowded but there was patio seating outside. When he saw me, he wiped his palm on his pants and extended his hand. We shook as usual, no signs of unease. But Kyle was like that, serene on the surface, the anger simmering quietly below and might erupt any time. We’d see where things stood in a few minutes. We found a table on the front corner of the patio near a jasmine bush and a group of Lilies of the Nile. I yielded to Kyle’s seating preference, allowed him the better vantage point, not wanting, God forbid, to usurp anything from