It’s eight o’ clock and he should have called by now. I call him back and before he even says “Ms. Fields” I grunt, “What the fuck?” He shrugs off my hostility and tells me he’ll be home in ten minutes and I should come over then. When I arrive he’s just pulled into the driveway and exits his car. It’s dark and all I really see is the orange torch capping the end of his cigarette. We go inside. He goes down to the basement to free his roomate’s dog from the captivity of a small metal mesh cage where he’s confined to when no one’s home. There’s some small talk as he points out the thirty dollar North Face gloves he’s just purchased with a gift certificate from Urban Outfitters…A place he’d never shop in if it wasn’t for a gift certificate – overpriced T-shirts he says. We then, all three of us head up to his room. It all seems fairly routine at this point. He frees himself of his corduroy pants, yet he still remains clad in black boxers and an awful 80’s inspired Eddie Bauer flannel. He jumps on his bed. The dog follows and I have a seat there too. He then gets up and starts pacing a bit. Starts folding his cords all “nice nice” on a hangar and hangs them in a closet while I scratch the back of the dog’s ears as he starts making a cat like purr. He then jumps right back on and in an effort to steel away the attention of the dog starts riling him up. Usually the dog’s all for it. But tonight he’d rather not be bothered. We’re supposed to be watching a movie. Usually the new fancy blu-ray player would already be on and ready…but he hasn’t yet gotten around to turning it on yet…He’s still messing around with the dog, who’s having none of what he’s offering. I say “here Boy” and the dog obediently sits on my lap and begins his satisfactory pants. In somewhat of a jealous tone he says “She gives a mean blow job too.” I roll my eyes and continue scratching the dog. He makes a second flamboyant attempt to steel the dog’s attention, tryiing to roll him over onto his back to scratch his stomach, but this time he’s had enough and leaves the room. For awhile, what seems like an eternity, we just stare at each other. It’s now that I know something’s wrong. He’s just looking square in the eyes…Still a smirk lingers on his face and I can’t tell if it’s in jest or if it’s something more. Both of us just sit and stare…no words. He then gets under the covers lights still on, TV still off. Something’s very wrong. I go ahead and get under them too. But he stops me.
“Wait, don’t yet.” I look at him puzzled. My eyebrows curl in an uncomfortable manner and he points that fact out. I tell him just to say what he’s thinking. He tells me he’s been having one of those days. He spent sometime riding around listening to Linkin Park, mustic he fancies when he’s feeling off. He’s often feeling off. He starts by saying that he’s been feeling like we’re back in that place. A place we were not too long ago. He asks if I agree. I say I do…I don’t really but I guess I have to if he’s starting this conversation again. He asks if i’m Ok with how things are. I don’t have an immediate response. He starts off with an analogy…Something about Ice Cream. I tell him not to patronize me that I understand real words and he should use those instead. He looks me in the eye and says – I don’t want… and this isn’t going to change, for you to be my girlfriend. Do you understand? he says. I say I do, but no, really I don’t. He starts explaining all the things that need to change. This has all been said before. I tell him that we both know these things won’t change – it is what it is…a saying I abhor that he uses constantly…a little adage he picked up in AA…the place he spends all his time when he’s not working or with me. But I say it anyway because I know he’ll understand. I pause. I try to gather the thoughts. Thoughts I have every minute of every day into a cohesive sounding explanation. But for now I just stare at the plaid duvet cover of his comforter – glazing over the waffle shaped pattern. I tell him I don’t know what to say. I keep thinking. I don’t understand…It is what it is I say again…and you know what, If it looks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck, then odds are it’s a duck is the best I can conjur up. He states again that I don’t understand and I have no other choice but to agree again. I don’t understand because we are for all intense and purpose a couple…a really good one at that even if he is in denial. So it just goes on being what “it is” because I don’t want to pressure him and he’s scared of losing this relationship thing he denies exists. The vail of awkwardness remains, although it keeps getting thinner and the purgatory status continues to prevail…better than nothing I guess we both feel. I tell him that. I know he cares for me, I know there’s something there. He agrees. He tells me he thinks about me all the time, that he trusts me and he really does care. It’s then that he states again that I still don’t understand. So i tell him to explain it… He dives back into that ice cream example. Something about chocolate and wanting vanilla. I ask him what more he wants from me. That the foundation’s there…everything’s there… He yoinks out another brililant analogy. He says – say you might want, for example, someone who’s six foot tall and has a ten inch black cock, but then there’s me five foot three, struggling for six and a half inches. I tell him to stop right where he is. So, all this time and you finally admit it, I say. That’s what’s causing all this…For all this time. It only took him six months to get to the chase. My 190lb body starts to feel like twice that. The tears start to form a little. Well I’m glad you finally just came out and said it. I don’t know how to feel. I’m almost in disbelief. Like he’s lying…because he’s right, i really can’t comprehend it…not after this long. We’ve been sleeping together for months now. If he finds it so horrible then why? Maybe I’m naive in looking for something perfect he says…with the implication of just how far from perfection I am heavily lingering. He’s serious. Now I start to cry. Really? I demand. Really? The tears are coming full force now and I just say. I guess I had you all wrong then you’re not who I thought you were. I look at him and tell him that when we first met it wasn’t his five foot three physique that made me want to be around him. It was him, who he was and that if this is who he was then I didn’t want to be a part of it. He starts defending himself about how he still doesn’t feel like a shallow person cause of it. There’s nothing more left to say. I get up and tell him I’m going to go now. He keeps on going and asking if we could still be friends but before he even gets the words out I say no. I look at him tears in his eyes now too. I’m halfway to the door and just say, my perfect ice cream flavor definitely did not have alcoholic, college drop out, shorter then me in it – but those aren’t even what I think of when I look at you. All I see is my best friend. And when you look at me, all you and your ego see is the Fat girl. And I can’t live like that. And the saddest thing here is it’s not even a physical thing…that would be one thing. It’s your giant ego. I leave and it’s still not easy. As I’m walking down the stairs I want to turn around and make a final plea. I want to look at him and tell him that he’s wrong, we are perfect…Even in our imperfections. I don’t go back. It’s infinitely sad though, knowing that I’ll feel this way long after the night’s over…
I walk out. I’m not turning back this time. I’m not going to call him when I get home…I start thinking about who I could call to not be alone. But tonight it’s just me and a Tylenol PM.
nice story