Writer-At-Large: Valley Boy Looks for Love – A Chance Encounter in Atlanta

We visit the BeltLine and Krog Street Market whenever we want to escape our life in the suburbia. The BeltLine of Atlanta is a whimsical and charming place for people who miss living in the hot and happening spots of the city.

As you walk along the graffiti lined walkway, you bump into walkers, bikers and rollerbladers. The gentrified neighborhood we pass through showcases apartments with personality displays on their porches.

One seems to be a hardcore Swiftie (Taylor Swift fan), while another seems to love Obama. And one is so truly patriotic that their bird feeders, their planters and their entire outdoor patio decor are one giant American flag.

I might as well come here and celebrate the spirit of July 4th.

My husband and I brought Yogi, our dog, here one evening and walked into Lady Bug to catch a beer and burger. Lady Bug is a cute restaurant with a large outdoor seating area. There’s a tent outside that sells drinks, and if you want anything to eat, you go to the bar inside and order food.

As we walked on the gravel to get to one of the empty benches, my husband offered to get me and himself a drink. I tried to feed Yogi some water from our plastic bowl that we carry around for him. He wasn’t worried about it just yet because there were so many people and so many smells to keep him distracted.

The best part about having Yogi is that I make a ton of friends easily.

I spotted a couple sitting right next to me on another adjacent bench. After I caught one of the gentlemen’s eyes a few times, he said, “Well hello, I’m Oscar. He’s cute.” He pointed at Yogi, asking him to come to him.

“Looks like he likes you, Yogi,” I said, as if I was talking to Yogi, and nudged him with the leash to move toward Oscar. He smiled. “So cool,” and started patting him.

“Thanks. He thinks he can get away with his looks,” I smiled. “I’m Rachana. You can call me Rach.”

“Nice to meet you, Rach!” Oscar said.

“You too. It’s such a beautiful evening, isn’t it?” I said.

“Yogi, is that Indian?”

“Yeah, he’s our Yogi. And where are you from? I hear an accent,” I smiled.

“Yeah, Guatemala.”

“OMG, Guatemala is on my bucket list!” I screamed and immediately cupped my mouth with my palms and bent down while looking around.

“Ha ha, yeah, we have that volcano, Acatenango. You should go visit. My brother drives a bus. He will take you.”

I asked, “Yeah, I know. That’s so cool. Does your brother have a travel company?”

“No, no. If anyone comes to the airport, he takes them to visit.” He paused before continuing, “My family also helps with trips.”

He moved surprisingly close to me as he chatted with me.

“My mom will make banana bread for you.” He raised his eyebrows, tilted his head and smiled.

“Sounds amazing!” I said, as I looked back to see where my husband was.

“By the way, this is Jimmy,” he said, referring to the guy next to him, who had been smiling but was on his phone throughout our conversation.

“Ah, you must be James?” I asked, incredibly proud of myself for decoding what must have been his original name.

Jimmy started putting away his phone before answering. “Well, it’s funny, but my dad is Jim. I’m Jimmy, and my brother — they named him James.”

“Wow,” I said, to which we all laughed.

“Yup, we share names and nicknames,” Jimmy laughed.

Jimmy and Oscar then got busy discussing what they should drink and eat. I spotted my husband juggling two drinks and napkins and walking toward me. I tied Yogi’s leash to the bench and went up to help him.

As we sat, we toasted and chatted. As the crowd around us got bigger, absolute strangers started squeezing together on benches to make space for others.

After a while, Oscar looked at us and said, “Do you mind?” before attempting to move across from us at our table.

Even before he could finish asking, I said, “Absolutely not. Yogi already thinks you’re family.”

We all laughed.

“You guys are going to be friends,” my husband said, spotting the French fries in front of Oscar. He looked at me and said, “Let me get you some.”

To which Oscar said, “I will also get something else to drink. Beer’s on me,” he said, looking at us.

“Aww, don’t worry, he got it,” I said to him as he and my husband left the table.

Jimmy and I sat in silence for a moment before he said, “You cool, right? Oscar and I are together.”

“Of course, yeah. Come on, all good,” I said.

“I’m not sure how it is in India, but his mom had a problem with us, until we met last Christmas.”

“Hey, I understand. And I’m so glad you guys met. Good for you,” I said, and softly ended it with, “And I appreciate this conversation.”

We fell silent again, nudging Yogi and smiling at passersby as they smiled at him.

Oscar and my husband came back after a few minutes and told us that the food would be a long wait this time and that they would bring it out when it was ready.

“So, I will need your help to plan our trip to Guatemala,” I said to Oscar.

“Oh yeah! The bus will be $27 for the whole day, and you can eat for under $2 a day. Last year I took him and two of our friends, and we had so much fun. Our cousin and her four kids also came with us. I love, love, love the valley!

Basically, you spend a day climbing the giant Acatenango Volcano, sleep on the mountain while watching nearby Fuego Volcano erupt, and then, the next morning, climb to the top to see a gorgeous sunrise.

Fuego has been very active for like 500 years. You will see it bursting with fire, like a glowing lava cake. It’s like watching a volcano show from your tent.”

He sounded proud of his mother country. Oscar then took out his phone and started showing me pictures.

He pointed at one of the little girls in a photo and said, “This one, I think she’s gay, but I don’t think my cousin knows about her own daughter.”

Seeing the expression of surprise on my face, he continued, “Trust me, I know.”

He laughed, to which I gently hit him on the elbow and laughed.

“So, in Guatemala, are you guys okay with him now?” I asked, pointing to Jimmy.

“Oh yeah, he’s a white boy and he’s a doctor,” he said, smiling coyly.

“Nurse!” Jimmy retorted.

And we laughed.

“Hey, come on. After COVID, all nurses are doctors. It’s official!” I said.

“See?!” Oscar laughed, and we all joined in.

As we continued to chat, I began digging into my French fries.

“To your earlier question Jimmy, what choice do we have if one of our children brings home someone they love and declares they’re gay? As Andrew Solomon said in his TED Talk, ‘Love no matter what.’ So that’s what it is.”

My husband and Oscar listened in and didn’t say anything, until Oscar looked at me and asked, “Can you send that link to me?”

He entered his number into my phone. I looked up the link on YouTube and shared it with him right away.

“Can I ask you guys how you met, if that’s okay with you?” I asked.

“Yeah, totally. I was here visiting America, and I had to go back. I was at the airport here in Atlanta. It was night and I was alone. I went on Tinder and swiped right on him. In four minutes, he messaged me. I came out of the airport and decided to meet him the next day.”

He paused.

“We got married, and I have my green card interview next month.”

“Oh wow. Best wishes for that.”

“Yeah, thanks. I am trying to get a job in construction. And for my green card application, my psychologist even gave me a letter saying that I cannot live my life without Jimmy and that I will have to stay in America for that reason. So, yeah…”

Jimmy, who had been mostly silent until then, looked at Oscar and said,

“Oscar loves the valley, but he had to step out of it to find true love.”

–

This week I messaged him to ask him how his green card interview went. I tried looking him up on Whatsapp and I couldn’t find his Georgia phone number as being active.

Oscar hasn’t replied to my message yet.

Whenever I write semi-fiction or semi-nonfiction, I file it under the Writer-at-Large series.

Make of the story what you will.

When Life Happens, You Write

When you’re a writer-at-large, you let life happen to you. That way, you let your eyes steal everything that you see, put a spin on it and spill onto paper / machine some “stream of consciousness” kinda cool stuff. And if I am a true writer-at-large, it’s only fair that I must observe, muse and write about it.