Who knows

I

"So. How's your girlfriend?"
'I don't have a girlfriend.'
"Fine, the girl you're dating."
'I'm not dating anyone.'
"You're not?"
'No.'


II

'It's not official but I'm still hanging out with "that girl," just so you know.'



III

"Let me see the picture you have of her on your phone."
Silence. Staring. Eyes locked.
"Let me see it."
'Well, there are some on her Facebook--'
"No. I mean the picture you have on your phone."
Silence. Deeper staring. Not blinking.
"I know you have a picture of her on your phone."
'Here's one from Forest Park.'
"Oh you took her to Forest Park. How sweet. I told you about Forest Park. We were supposed to go there."
'I've gone there a bunch of times by myself.'
"She's not pretty. I can't believe you'd rather sleep with her than me."
'What makes you say that?'
"Well you are, aren't you?"


IV


"Lying to me about it makes it a much bigger deal."
'I didn't lie.'
"You said you weren't dating anyone."
'I'm not. Look....it's not on Facebook.'
"Are you kidding me??!"
'What? That was a big deal to you!'
"Oh my god."
'Well, it's hard to explain....it's complicated.'
"What's complicated? That you have a new fuck buddy?"


V

"Do you know how I knew you'd have a picture of her on your phone?"
'How?'
"You always have pictures of the girls you're getting naked with when you first like them."


VI

'Look. I still don't know about things. I still don't know what's gonna happen.'
"Yes you do. You're sleeping with someone else."
'It's not serious. She lives in Vancouver. I see her like once a week.'
"You're just another guy. I thought you were my soul mate."
'I still could be your soul mate.'
"No."


VII

'Maybe when things are....maybe when I get my condo.....'
"You won't have enough money saved up to buy your condo for three years."
'Yeah, depending on how much I want to put down.'
"You expect me to just sit around waiting for you for three years?"
'......no......'
"And what's gonna happen when you finally own your condo? I'm still gonna get my feelings hurt sometimes by what you say. You're still gonna get mad at me for leaving my clothes on the floor. Things will still be the same."
'......i know.....'



VIII

'Hey look. I took you there.'
"I remember."
'And remember when we went there?'
"Hmm."
'Who knows what will happen.'
"Stop."
'Who knows.'

Numb Nights

I was "That Girl."

Which is totally acceptable and even understandable when you're in your early twenties.
It's a right of passage, a stair well to true womanhood.

But after all the relationships I've had I should have known better.

Love makes you a painfully devastating fool.

Everyone knew.
Even the people who didn't know me knew.

...He is stringing you along until something better comes along....

But I wouldn't believe it.
I knew he loved me still.
He had to.
It was written in his eyes, somewhere inside, buried behind the lies, was the truth he longed to sing out.
I love you. I want you back. Take my hand and walk with me.

He's fucking some new girl instead.

'It's not serious,' he tried to reassure me.
'You know me. I don't know what I'm doing.'

Awe.
I see.
So I should feel better that I have been replaced by a fuck buddy?
You are shattering my heart for sex that doesn't mean anything?

Perfect.
Brilliant, really.

Because if he really liked her, if he was excited about the connection and wanted to pursue it then I could be happy for him.
But he was indifferent.
Numb.
As lost and discontent as ever.
So his actions left the bitter aftertaste of indifference in his mouth and blood in mine.

I am so pathetic.

Love believes the best, so they say.
Which is why I called him back when I found out his friend committed suicide.
And then we ended up back in each others arms.

And she took my place while my side of the bed was still warm.

What a silly little girl I am.

No lover. No friend. No soul mate.
No truth and nothing but the truth.
Just hollow words.
And one long hug.
And lips soft against my cheek.

A blur.
The merry go round keeps spinning even as I fall off it.
All I see is gray.
And the gnawing numbness.

How did it so quickly die?

One page from a lover's discourse

The weather the other day was so warm it reached a point of discomfort driving in my car.
For no reason, except perhaps a stubborn refusal to accept the changing seasons, I held back from turning on my AC.
Driving down the road, clutching my iced coffee, I remembered his mutual disdain for hot weather.
I knew somewhere, as he scuffled past the sea of strangers in the city, he had sought the solace of the shade as I had.

Hating the heat (especially when that "heat" is a sunny, breezy day in the low 70's) is an oddity I don't share with many people.
So the first time I heard him complain about the sun I remember thinking, I Love You Even More.

His strangeness complimented mine.
Like all young, inexperienced loves, we parted.
The hopeless romantic dwelling inside me, who refused to stay locked up in the basement of my heart, kept resurfacing at inopportune moments to whisper, He Can't Live Without You. He'll Figure It Out. He Will Declare His Love When He Is Ready.

.....................................


Shoveling the butter in my face I disguised as bread "with" butter, my dinner guest looked at me with earnest.
"I just don't understand how someone with your fabulous personality would put up with that."
Since he was obviously trying to be a gentleman I knew "fabulous personality" was his way of saying "cup size."

I knew I was beautiful.
The way a little girl is aware of her captivating prowess when a room full of grownups watches her twirl in her pink tulle skirt in the middle of the room.
Being seen by so many smiling faces sends pulses of energy across my porcelain skin.
It's like having the spotlight on a stage lit upon me all the time.
It's intoxicating.

The men I work with adore me.
I'm the only woman there who understands the importance of a good pushup bra and a well drawn red lip.
Even customers lingered around after their purchase just to smile alongside my cheery bubbliness.

I am captivating.

Yet possessing this knowledge, even honing it to my advantage didn't diminish my desire for the man who didn't know what he wanted.

.......................................

The problem was trying to explain love.
It was like trying to reason with a manic depressive.
There was no logic to my behavior.
And yet to me I was the sanest of them all.

But how could I begin to describe my own unfathomable reasoning for having faith in a man that could possibly choose me after he had thrown me away?

Could I attempt to divulge in detail the way he remained calm when my face became red and tear stained from unprompted hysterics?
How after intense intertwining thrusts instilling satisfaction to every nerve between my lips and toes he would soften and kiss my forehead?
How he would nurture the little girl living timid inside me by making her rose tea and handing her the tiny stuffed penguin wrapped in my favorite fluffy blanket knowing how deeply it comforted me?
How instead of keeping it tucked away in the back of his closet where it had lived the sixteen months prior he began keeping it on the shelf near the left side of his bed, the side I always slept on?

How could I convey the appreciation I felt for the way he'd always stopped whatever he was doing, on the computer, in the kitchen, to check in with me?
The way he'd walk over and pat me on the head or speak softly a Hello with such simplicity that sighed My Beloved?
The times he'd bring me home some delectable delight so I could know by the indulgence of the dark chocolate that I was special and a part of all he did?

How could any of these scattered memories justify my inability to dismiss him entirely?

........................................

Then I had a startling thought.

What if I didn't ever hear from him again?
What if he never called and instead just learned to live without me?

I had reconciled myself with out fate: We either would be reunited as friends or lovers.
But I hadn't considered the alternative.
He could be lost at sea with the other scores of forgotten boyfriends.

The reality socked me in the gut.

But my pride dismissed the idea.
He called me sweetie less than a week ago.
There must be a glimmer of that guy I fell in love with existing somewhere deep inside his closed off heart.

My pride.
My illusion.
My faith.
My resolve.

Whatever truth might shatter my heart, I held on tightly in the dark hours between sleep.

My fabulous personality wouldn't allow me to accept the fate that my love was mine alone.
Unrequited.
And at a stand still.

........................................

Life before the Miraculous Bra

It's amusing the things we remember about people.

This woman came into the store the other day to have her ring cleaned and I recognized her face.
I had worked with her six years ago when I was a receptionist for a steel fabricating company.
My boss used to reprimand me for using the bathroom too often.
I think he was pissed because he was at that age where trips to the urologist outnumbered the times he got laid.

It's the only job I ever walked out on.

Thankfully I found a job several days later.
As a receptionist at a roofing company.
A mere street away from the steel fabricating company.
Thankfully that boss didn't mind when I had to pee so I was much happier.

The woman who had worked with me I remembered for only one reason.
She came up to me one day and asked me what kind of bra I wore to make my breasts spaced so far apart.
"My husband doesn't like my cleavage," she had said. "He wants them to be more far apart. Like yours."
I could never decide what upset me more.
The fact she was pointing out my Double D's were spaced perfectly for breast feeding twins--Oh. The horror.--or the fact she was married to such a neanderthal.

Most women desperately wanted their cleavage reminiscent of Dolly Parton the way men wanted their beards to be full like Paul Bunyan.
Yet my body dared to fight against the norm.
It had been designed for the ease of feeding bastards which I wanted none of.

Humor is Life's specialty, after all.

So there she stood before me.
Miss too much cleavage, herself.

When I brought her ring up to my eye to examine her diamond with my loop I nearly wretched seeing how filthy it was.
The way women don't ever clean their jewelry is amazing to me.
It's like not bathing for six months, carrying that filth on their hand and then placing it a few inches from my nose.
Lovely.

She didn't recognize me which wasn't surprising since I'm no longer a blonde.
Hair color's a big deal, you know.
Almost as big as boobs.

The Perfect Couple Disillusion

About a month ago I sold an engagement ring to the "Perfect Couple."

Straight out of a Disney movie, chorus singing in the background, 'Whatever YOU want, Pookie,' sappy cuteness.

They were SO googily eyed, lovesick, awestruck about one another that normally I would be overwhelmed with a desire to hurl a crying baby at their heads.

I mean, no one should be that lovey dovey when they're past 22.

But there was something about this couple that was just so genuine I didn't involuntarily wretch over their demonstrative love.
I actually felt inspired by it.

I want what they have, I thought to myself.
Mr. Vagina and I were never like that.
Not even a little bit.
And I wanted someone who was head over heels crazy about me.

The Perfect Couple had been dating for over two years and just purchased a house together.
The story of how they met was that Mr. Perfect Couple, normally charming in the presence of ladies, felt tongue tied in the presence of Mrs. Perfect Couple.
It was love at first sight.
And they were inseparable ever since.

Too fucking cute.

They were both SO. EXCITED. over the idea of getting married it was N.A.U.S.E.A.T.I.N.G.

I mean, Good Lord, it was like Giselle and her prince left Andolaysia to come buy an engagement ring from me.

But I fell in love with them, in spite of myself.

Mr. and Mrs. Perfect Couple adored me so much they brought me fruit and a cupcake when they picked up their ring several days later.
(They work in a grocery store. How peachy.)

I even wrote them a Thank You card telling them how inspired I was meeting them.
And that I hoped one day to have a relationship like theirs.

I followed up with Mr. Perfect Couple and invited him back in to get a birthday gift for Mrs. Perfect couple.
He was very friendly on the phone and told me that I was so gorgeous if he wasn't in love with his girl, he would totally ask me out.
He also said the man who lost me was a fool.

Had to love him.

He said he'd see about fixing me up with one of his friends and we both agreed we should all get together soon for drinks.
Talk about having a friend in the diamond business!

I was thrilled.

How cool would it be to meet the future love of my life through a fabulous couple I sold an engagement ring to?
What a fabulously romantic story!

But then my fantasy was rudely interrupted.

Mr. Perfect Couple started texting me more.
And his texts started bordering on flirtation.
He called me a super fox.
Fair enough.
Stating the obvious.
Then he told me, I'm not going to lie when I saw you I said to myself I hope this woman helps us.
Hmm.
Ohhhkaaay.

Then he invited me over to have a drink with him.
You know.
Since his girlfriend was out of town.

Which of COURSE, was a totally innocent thing to do.
And I'm SURE that when his GIRLFRIEND found out about it she wouldn't freak the fuck out.
Because it's perfectly appropriate to drink libations with some girl you think is hot when your lady has skipped town.

Ugh.

I felt sick.

Why is it that every time I think maybe, just maybe, I can have a male friend who isn't just gonna wanna get me naked shit like this happens?

And the really fucked up part is that I was actually jealous of this poor girl!
I actually thought that there had been some missing element in my last love affair.

And you know what?
Mr. Vagina is a huge pussy.
He is a scared, withholding coward.
But I know he never would have pulled a stunt like this asshole.

Maybe my guy wasn't the mushiest but he was certainly loyal.
And it's nice to realize I'd actually prefer a reserved man I can trust than a charming, romantic guy ruled by his passions.

I never fully appreciated my loves differences while he was mine.
But I know that the next man I love, I won't be comparing his weaknesses to some other guys supposed strengths.
Because no man is perfect.

But some imperfections are much more desirable than others.
Hearing my man only ever call me adorable and receiving kisses on the forehead suddenly don't seem like such a bad thing.

There's No One Elf Like You

Christmas was a time of intimacy.

I brought a tiny tree and hung stockings.
We filled them with sweets and mini bottles of alcohol.
We watched Christmas cartoons and stole kisses under the imaginary mistletoe as we cooked together.
The dinner we prepared would have made any dinner guest proud.

It was a snuggly time of year.
He even took pictures with me.
And he hated taking pictures.

One night, not even influenced by a drop of wine, he opened the iron gates guarding his heart.
Kissing me, he stopped and looked into my eyes.
"I love you. You're the most beautiful woman in the world."

I thought I'd died and gone to heaven.
Three days later he said he needed some time apart.
And that was the beginning of the iron gates locking for good.

Days crept by our premature ending and he was looking for something in his desk.
And that's when I caught a glimpse of it.
Safely tucked away in a drawer only he opens was the miniature snow globe I'd put in his stocking.
A little elf dancing in the snow, with the caption reading, "There's no one elf like you."

He kept it.
The minimalist emotionless purger held onto the silly little snow globe I'd given him at Christmas.
I wanted to point it out.
I wanted to tease him and pretend he had to give it back.
But I knew that'd ruin it somehow.

I felt like I'd caught the high school quarterback reading Shakespeare sonnets in the parking lot.
No one knew how much it made him smile to remember how happy we'd been under those twinkle lights.

Or to remember I saw him that way.
Him and only he.

But my heart housed its own secret.

That little snow globe had once belonged to another lost love.

I'd bought it years ago for Mr. Volcano, the year my love shined under other twinkle lights.
But he hadn't wanted to keep anything from me.
There was nothing about me he'd wanted.

So with crumpled dreams and lying love letters, it went in a box, unseen, and forgotten.
Three moves later and a season or six, I stumbled across the tiny treasure.
I thought my new love might find it amusing.

Though knowing him, I reasoned, he'll think nothing of it and mumble his usual, snide response to everything.
"It's adorable."

And yet with all of the things I'd packed up one calm night in acceptance, and all the unwanted clutter he'd repeatedly thrown out and the handful of things he actually held onto, that little elf sits still in his desk.
A symbol of all that once was.
All he let himself feel, before he locked it away, shoved in the corner of a drawer no one sees.

She's Adorable

She isn't going to think you're the sexiest man alive.

When she sees you she isn't going to feel this urge to knock you down and tear all your clothes off.

She won't think your glasses are almost as cute as your bow ties.

Or notice that your belt matches your shoes.

Perfectly.

She won't think it's cute the way you obsessively talk about cooking.

Or appreciate how hard you worked to make the risotto perfect.

She won't find it endearing the way you watch Star Trek on Netflix.

Or the fact that most of your "friends" are guys on the computer you play video games with.

She won't love the way you pat her on the head or hum when music isn't playing.

She won't understand that when you act put out having to hold her hand walking around the city you secretly delight in it even more than she does.

She also won't know you love hearing compliments even though you close your eyes and look away as though physically rejecting them.

She won't fit perfectly in the nook when she snuggles with you in your bed.

And she won't tell you how freakishly cold your feet are.

Even though they always are.

She won't start the water for your coffee in the morning.

Or understand that you won't talk until after you've had some.

She'll talk too much and make you feel like you're inadequate.

She'll wear ugly shoes and tell you her favorite restaurant is the Olive Garden.

She'll think you're weird for liking Enigma.

And for always taking pictures of your food.

And for the amount of time you spend talking and thinking about the condo you don't yet own. 

Or the Rolex.

Or the designer suits.

But you'll convince yourself it doesn't matter.

Because she's adorable.

Even if never as adorable as I used to be.