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I shook my head. "No," I replied just as softly. I looked at him for a moment, trying to see if he would give his own answer without having to be prompted. "My only regret is having to leave," Jack said. The side of his mouth tweaked to the side as if trying to make a wry smile, one that wasn't coming naturally. I understood from his tone of voice that he meant leaving as in we both had to go home later today. This wasn't sneaking out of a shameful one night stand. "You were right," I told him. "About what?" he asked in a curious tone after another small pause. I swallowed. "That the bigger regret would have been to walk away from this, what we’ve experienced... with each other." Jack smiled, as if he’d forgotten that he was one who'd given me the courage to do something for which so many people would frown on us. But people didn't know what either of us felt for one another. I couldn’t help but walk to him, I touched his face where only the merest hint of stubble had appeared. Two weeks later, I was on a flight over the Pacific. My arrival presented new traumas as I attempted to adjust to the triple threat of heat, language and food. The latter two were fairly easily overcome. The former, however, was unrelenting, oppressive and inescapable. After millennia of exposure, the locals had evolved to the point that the sweltering humidity was of no concern. I would duck into frigid shops ever five to ten minutes as I worked my way down the street, hoping for relief, but realizing that as soon as I emerged, it would attack again. The nightlife was vibrant and I found myself immersed the self delusional world of the expat. All failures in their own countries, each had arrived hoping for a new start. British, French, American, Italian, they were all the same and I couldn’t remember how many different beds I woke up in, unable to remember the events of the night before. The work was easy, if unfulfilling. I showed up at 10:30 in the morning, head throbbing from the.
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