An Exercise in Euphoria

"Illusion is the first of all pleasures."

Every day, save the day directly after, since the break up has been an exercise in euphoria. I spent a good deal of time alone the first week, packing the apartment, coping, working as much as possible, smoking a lot of weed and drinking alone. Then something broke. A wall came down and suddenly I am in a different Los Angeles. This is now a city that belongs to me. I own it and I control it. I get to say what I want to do with my time and who I want to be with. I want to see my friends. I want to be around people that I can call family. Freedom and complete abandonment has washed over me. I see flowers everywhere I walk and the trees seem greener, stronger and more beautiful than ever before. No more repression; no more oppression; no more jealousy; no more hiding; no more lying. This feeling is what I’ve been searching for my whole life. I feel complete. If my heart broke, it broke open and is now available for the world to see. I’m more creative than I have ever been before.

This is my apartment now. I know I have only a short time left here, but this empty space is the only thing I can call my own for now. I haven’t found a new apartment yet, and to be honest, it doesn’t seem all that important. Everything, in time, will present itself when necessary. For now, I’m living the life I’ve been wanting to live for so long—the life I traded my boyfriend and my security for. Nothing has ever felt so right. I’ve cleared everything out. My trunk, my dining table and 6 chairs—purchased to have dinner parties I was never allowed to have, my dishes, glassware, all the extra sheets for the bed that left with Mike, the entertainment center, everything we had together has been sold or donated. Gone to eager Craigslisters starting their lives in LA. I even found someone to rent this place, a charming girl that not only took my apartment, but she’s also keeping my couches and offered me a job at her restaurant. Everything in its right place.

Travis came over the other night. I had some cleaning to do so I had to stay in. He came by to keep me company. We were listening to Sam Cooke and Bobby Womack and other greats—dancing around my empty living room. I giggled with joy as I twisted my little heart out. We danced so much I broke into a sweat. “You Send Me” came on the shuffle. Travis grabbed my hands and suddenly I was in the arms of the boy that changed my world so completely that I gave up everything.  He rested his head on my shoulder and I put mine on his. I realized I’d never danced with anyone so close to my height. I’ve always been with tall men; all of my boyfriends have been 6 feet and taller. Shorter men have always been unappealing to me. But in that moment, I felt his breath on my neck, and I’d never felt anything like it before. So comfortable. So sexy. I melted. I finally was enjoying myself, tapping into something I wasn’t allowed to feel for so long. I gave in. His massive eyes looked right at me and he kissed me. This moment was bound to come, building up since last fall. As he kissed me, the words, “this has nothing to do with Travis” blazed through my memory, like a falling star that you only see for a moment and then it’s gone. Maybe you weren’t sure you saw it at all. I could’ve succumbed to sadness; but it wouldn’t have been true. I didn’t really feel sad. I felt great. We stood in what used to be my dining room, the room where Mike and I broke up, holding each other and kissing.

We spent the night on my living room floor. We made a makeshift bed out of pillows, comforters and sheets. And in the morning, Travis was like a child waking up to Christmas morning. I felt happy. I felt warm. I felt loved. I felt guilty. I felt like getting stoned.  I lazily stood up and stretched. I packed my pipe. With the ease of someone that hasn’t a care in the world, I looked at Travis and said, “Let’s go to the beach.”

World Turning

“The basis of optimism is sheer terror.”

           Last week, I came home to what looked like the disaster debris a tornado left behind after ripping through my apartment. Mike has left, all of his things have been liberated from our apartment. He also left me a note, which I did not find until the next day. It read, “I love you. I don’t ever want to see you again.” It crushed me for a moment, when I finally did come across it, and I think I even started to cry. I cut that off very quickly and drown my sorrows in a nice huge bong rip and bought a Hulu subscription. Mike took the TV and I’m not really in the mood to escape into some reading right now. Thank god my couches are still here.
          Early this morning, I wake up and go for a walk around the neighborhood. The weather is perfect. It’s in the high seventies and sunnier than it has been in months. I end up at Whole Foods thinking I should get a snack but I buy a bottle of whisky instead. Same difference. I also bought a bouquet of yellow snap dragons. They made me smile. On my way back, I run across a stack of broken down boxes sitting outside of the vet clinic on my block. I figure I’ll be needing those soon, so I bring the car back and put the pile of cardboard in my trunk. I lug everything into the apartment and drop the cardboard in the middle of the living room where our coffee table used to be. The apartment looks like shit. There is an empty pizza box, greasy and open, sitting on the floor. Trash and a roll of garbage bags have been abandoned and left for dead on the dining room table. Chairs are askew. There are blankets, strewn and messy, on the couch. I sleep there now since the bed is gone. I could pull out the queen size bed hiding underneath the cushions, but honestly that’s too much work. Besides, sleeping against the back of the couch makes me feel like I’m sleeping against another warm body. Also, it’s easier to put a small bucket or trashcan on the side of the couch if it’s folded in.
           I managed to go to work the last couple of days. I barely remember it though. Since no one is around to judge me and I have the car to myself, I’ve been rolling joints to smoke on the way to the restaurant each morning. It’s been actually lovely to get to work, stoned as fuck, and then make myself a sweet and frothy cappuccino. When I’m there, I watch The Office on Netflix and sit on Twitter, not tweeting but just watching other people ramble about Rihanna and other banalities. I don’t have much to say. I guess I should be thankful that I have a really mellow day job answering phones at a restaurant that’s not even open during the day. Perfect job for a pothead. There’s also a bar with which I am now closely acquainted. Did you know that you can mix any alcohol with any other alcohol and it will still get you drunk? Little known cocktail fact.
          Today I have the day off. I look around, taking in the bullshit that is now my life and my apartment. Actually, this room looks a lot better without that hideous computer desk junking up the back corner. I always wanted to bookcase to be there. I move the large rustic bookcase over to its rightful place. It’s a lot easier to move now that it’s missing 75% of its books. It almost looks nice in its new home. The only problem is, the couches are weird now. They’re still in an L-shape facing the now empty entertainment center. This room would really open up more if they faced each other instead. The next thing I know, I’m smoking my third joint of the day--at noon--Fleetwood Mac is blasting and I’m rearranging all the furniture. It feels good to sweat. It feels good to reclaim this space. I start to think that I’m not actually sad at all. I made the right decision and I don’t even miss him. I am euphoric.
         I heave and waddle the trunk from the bedroom and put it between the couches, now sitting on opposite sides of the room facing each other. See, I don’t even need your stupid coffee table. Dick. I place the flowers on the brightly tiled trunk and while it’s still “our apartment,” it is starting to feel a lot better. There is nothing in the bedroom now except all of my clothing and my coats and my shoes that I have also moved in there. A giant walk in closet – every girl’s dream! I walk around in heels just to hear the sound they make on the hardwood floors. I’m stoned and I’m smoking cigarettes in the apartment. Mike and I both smoke but I was very strict about us only smoking outside. Every cigarette I have inside now feels like one exhale closer to freedom. Fleetwood Mac makes me feel like singing. Being in my own space makes me feel like dancing. I swing around with an air tambourine doing my best Stevie impression. Later tonight, I’ll start putting the furniture on craigslist. Maybe I’ll even start packing up the kitchen. No reason to sit around and wallow. This is the best thing I’ve ever done for myself!

I'm Not Half What I Wish I Was

"The heart was made to be broken."

           

It’s a little after 2pm and I’ve just gotten off work. I pull the black exterior with black leather interior Mazda 3—the car Mike and I bought together just a few months ago in January—into the single parking space of our apartment. We live in a building with only 7 other apartments; our apartment is in the back on the bottom. Our parking space is right between our front door and the dumpster. As soon as I put the car in park, I can see that something is different. There’s a bag of trash carelessly strewn next to the dumpster which is unusual. I grab my purse and my work things and start walking to our front door. The screen door is ripped in the center and the door is partially unhinged. How long has this rip been here? This damn thing—it never did close right. Behind the screen door, the apartment door isn’t quite closed all the way. I push it open. Did I forget to close it this morning before I left?

            And then I see. All at once, what has happened here becomes very apparent and tremendously devastating. My eyes well up with tears and my stomach flops over. The television is gone. The speakers are gone. The amp is gone. Mike’s computer desk and all of its contents plus his laptop are missing. There is debris on the floor. Our refrigerator is gone. A garbage bag full of the former contents of our freezer is sitting on my dining room table, creating a puddle and ruining the paint on the table. The food was bagged and left for dead what looks like several hours ago. I’m weeping. I sit on my couch for a moment, and take in what’s left. There’s a flokati rug still here, the now empty entertainment center left behind, my dining room table and chairs, my couch and my loveseat. The coat closet door is wide open and half its inhabitants are gone. There are coat hangers askew on the floor. I put my head between my knees and bellow. Suddenly, I remember there’s another room and I feel like I can’t breathe.  Our bedroom.  I don’t remember standing up and now it feels like I’m floating towards the back of our apartment. The bathroom looks largely untouched; just like in most relationships, most of the shit in the bathroom belongs to the girl. I turn to the right and see that the bedroom door has been reverently closed. You bastard. It feels like he did it on purpose, to make me have to open it myself. I stand in front of the door for what feels like 30 minutes but was probably only one before I turn the knob. I don’t enter the room, I just open and swing the door wide.  I’m sobbing so loudly at this point that I lose control of whatever the fuck my vocal cords are doing and let out something that must’ve sounded like a scream. My neighbor will mention this sound to me later and I will say that I stubbed my toe while I was packing. Our bed is gone. His bed. He left behind the sheets I bought last month, in one giant disheveled pile in the middle of the floor, and the frame, dismantled and standing in pieces in the corner. He also took the nightstand that I bought for him when we first moved into this place. For a brief moment, anger relieves me from my hysteria. I wanted that nightstand. Of course, his half of the closet is empty and he took his dresser too. We had painted the bedroom a dark royal blue when we moved in. We left the trim and crown molding white and I had wrapped dried flowers around the top of the big window. They’re still hanging there, the only thing left on the walls. I’m struck by how beautiful this color is and I also realize that I’m going to have to paint it back to white. Other than the now lonely flowers and my clothes, this room is empty except for the smell of us and a trunk I bought when I first moved to Los Angeles.

            Last night when I got home from work, I went to the kitchen to start heating up some leftover enchiladas. I wasn’t especially sad or angry; I don’t remember feeling anything in particular. I had no idea what was going to happen next. Mike came home and I heated a plate up for him too. We sat across from each other at the dining room table, not cattycorner like we usually do so that we can be closer. We were directly across from each other, like opponents. Like we were about to play Battleship. The silence between us made me start to cry. His fork dropped heavy to his plate and made a loud PUNG that rang out over my whimpering. I looked up at him and he was looking at me, sternly and sadly.

            “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked me earnestly. 

            “I just.. I feel like.. I just.. “

            “What? C’mon. COME ON. WHAT?” It was a mild threat, but it did the trick. Time to spit it out. It’s time to say something, anything.

            “Things have been great between us in the last few months and I’m still not happy. I think that means something.” I blurt out at last.

            He looked at me expectantly. That was all I had really wanted to say. Nothing else was planned. I did not know that last night was going to be the night I was going to finally say, “I can’t be with you anymore.”

            “It’s over?” He confirms with a stoic stare and a very reserved tone of voice, considering.

            “This has nothing to do with Travis. I swear. I don’t know why I’m not happy. I’d like to take some time and be with myself and figure it out.”

            He patiently and quietly looked right at me with soft eyes and said, “I know. I know you better than you think.” His gentleness in that moment was heartbreaking. Where was this man when we were fighting a few months ago?

            “I’ve never been alone. I really need that right now. I’m sorry. I love you. This has nothing to do with anything, I just.. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

            “There is really nothing left to explain. I had a feeling this was coming, I just didn’t realize it was going to be so soon. I’m going to my parents’ house right now. I don’t know when I’m coming back to get my things. We’ve already paid rent for April so you might as well take the next month and figure out what you’re going to do with yourself.”

            And with that, he walked out the front door. He left the car behind. I can’t imagine what that hour-long bus ride to Culver City where his family lives was like. As for me, I wept on the couch and called Anna over to hold me while I sobbed. It all happened so fast. I was instantly upset but not convinced that it was real. We will talk about this more tomorrow, I thought. I didn’t really mean to break up with him, I thought. I slept on the couch because I didn’t want to smell his side of the bed.  Anna slept on the loveseat. She was still there when I got up to go to work this morning, but I know she left shortly after me. If she had stayed a little longer, she would’ve seen Mike pulling up in a U-Haul with 4 or 5 of his closest friends, ransacking the house to move all of his belongings out as fast as possible. Like pulling a band-aid, Mike ripped everything out of our home and just like that, he became my ex-boyfriend.

The Psychic

"Work is the curse of the drinking classes."

It’s Monday so obviously it’s a good day to be drunk all day. I went to brunch with Anna and other friends and made sure to get my money’s worth of bottomless mimosas. The best thing about mimosas is that you have no idea how drunk you are until you find yourself trying to exit out of the window. Why don’t people do that more often? Everyone is so conventional these days, using front doors and what not.  The restaurant staff didn’t think our stunts were too funny. One friend made the jump from the window with ease, quickness and precision. He wasn’t drinking, he’s just really into parkour right now. My drunk ass wasn’t so smooth. I almost fell out of the window and Anna had to climb up on the banquette to drag me back inside. When the waiter came over to find out what in God’s name was going on at our table, the only thing I could think to do was order another drink. “Oh Jesus Christ,” Anna exclaimed and grabbed my arm to pull me out of the restaurant. Everyone was waiting for us outside already. I said my goodbyes to some friends (maybe, honestly it’s a little fuzzy) and then there were only three: Anna, myself, and our hyper-spiritual friend, Rich. Rich works with us at the restaurant and is Travis’ roommate and close friend. I am not allowed to spend time with Travis anymore, so I hang out with everyone he knows to try to fill that void. Spending time with Rich is like spending time with a Bartlett’s Quote Book of Spirituality. He’s our guru; he’s always ready to lend and ear and tell you that you need to refocus your energy. Sometimes it’s just what you need to feel inspired and rejuvenated. Also, he has a vaporizer.

Rich has imbibed a bit himself, making us a trio of hot messes – and of course we were all also stoned. He suggested we go get a psychic reading done at a place nearby that he likes. I have always wanted to get a reading. As soon as he suggested it, I leapt in the air and shouted “Yeah!” like a 7 year old who was just told that recess was coming early today. I have no idea why I hadn’t had one done before – maybe I just haven’t been drunk on a Monday afternoon with nothing to do before.

Rich went in first while Anna and I smoked cigarettes outside of the attached bookstore.  She started asking me about Mike and what was going on with us. I confess that while things are going well, something just hasn’t healed properly. Everything in our relationship is perfect, but I’m still thinking about getting out. And then I tell her, for the first time openly admitting, that I have been wondering what it would be like to kiss Travis. “Ew,” she says. “I’ve been there. It’s not great.” News to me. I look at her, mouth agape, and somehow manage to get out, “What? You’ve never told me that! When? Why? How? What?!” I found this really funny and begged for the dirt. My favorite thing in the world is making fun of Travis. She told me he put the moves on her too when she first started hanging out.  She said it’s hard to tell if he genuinely has feelings for girls or if he just goes after whatever comes his way. 

I’m drunk and emotional from talking about the boys and the ever-constant turmoil in my life; and now it’s my turn to go in. Rich strolls out looking refreshed and calm. “Next,” he says smiling at me.  He and Anna take a walk down to a coffee shop close by. I watched them walk down the sidewalk for a moment, took a deep breath, and opened the gated door to the psychic’s room. It was a man; I wasn’t expecting that. And he doesn’t look like a lunatic.  I pick my seven cards with carelessness and hopefulness.

            He turns the first card over and the first thing he said to me was, “Happiness is something that you struggle with. You’re never sure if you’re feeling it or what the word Happy even means.” And then there I was. Suddenly very aware of where I was sitting and extremely present with this stranger that told me something I didn’t think anyone knew about me. I went from happy-go-lucky-drunken-bruncher to a somber and struggling, confused girl with tears welling up in her eyes. One sentence destroyed me and I wept for the rest of my session.  He told me that there was a big decision that I had to make soon, and I should choose the path that will lead me to Happiness. He told me it was time to embrace my full potential and there was something in my life that was holding me back. He told me he felt like I was on a precipice and this big upcoming decision was going to change my life forever – but for the better.  He told me that I was an artist, a true artist, and that I’ve been fighting it and stifling it. “It’s time to let go,” he said, and then my session was over. Devestated, I wobbled out of the gated door, still drunk and weeping. Anna and Rich were sitting on a small brick wall that lined the garden outside.  Anna gave me a warm hug and didn’t even need to ask me what happened. She went in for her turn. Rich and I took a long walk around the neighborhood, grabbed some frozen yogurt and laid in the grass. I told him everything that was said and my interpretation of it. The reader knew that I’ve been feeling trapped, suppressed and oppressed in this relationship that feels like it is going nowhere. This decision that is coming up has to be made, and I have to choose myself and my personal pursuit of happiness.

Mike came home from work tonight to find me stoned out of my mind, still drunk, curled up in a ball on the couch. Something stupid was on television. I don’t even remember what it was because I wasn’t watching it.  He asked me if I was okay and I told him that I didn’t really want to talk about it.  When he finally pried it out of me, I confessed that I saw a psychic this afternoon. I admitted that I was feeling really uneasy about the conversation I had with him and I didn’t want to talk about it. Mike is not a fan of secrets and after more prodding I released enough information to get him off my back. I told him that the psychic had some things to say about my acting career and my art and being stifled. Mike must’ve caught the subtext in those thoughts and finally heard in my voice that my visit to the psychic brought up relationship issues. Sometimes, he’s incredibly perceptive. He didn’t ask me anything else about it. He had been working all day and was tired. He kissed me on the forehead and told me to let him know if I needed anything. He went to our bedroom to take a nap.

I don’t know what’s happened. Everything feels different now. I think the hangover is setting in a little early. I’m just going to take some Advil and pass out myself now. Today was a long day.

The Midnight Special

  "What we have to do, what at any rate it is our duty to do, is to revive the old art of Lying."

Late Saturday night, I was spending some time with Anna. It must've been past midnight and we’re already super stoned and going to In-N-Out. At some point while hot boxing her car in the drive-thru, we decide we want to go see the boys. It’s Saturday night, we all just got off work. We know that Travis and Mikey are just sitting in Travis’ apartment. We know they miss us and must be just waiting for us to show up. I haven’t been there in weeks, of course. I made it very clear to Travis that I chose my boyfriend and that our friendship is over. I made it clear that we are not allowed to see each other anymore. But this Saturday night… THIS Saturday felt different. I want to sneak over there. I want to spend an hour with my friends. I have been on good behavior, I want to reward myself with being bad. Isn’t that just like a woman? It’s as if I have been eating salad for three weeks, so I want to treat myself by eating a 20 oz steak followed by a 3 tiered chocolate cake. Whatever, Anna and I are fucked up. We park behind Travis’ apartment building, swing the car doors open, giggling and stuffing fries into our faces.  Anna and I wait at the back gate; it’s freezing and she’s trying to call Travis. After he doesn’t pick up for a while, I give up and call from my phone. He answers right away. “Oh Hello,” he says and I can hear him smiling through the phone. “I’m out back with Anna! Come let us in!” I’m giddy and getting that rush, that blush of boldness that tells me I’m doing something I’m not supposed to be but I’m thrilled.  He hangs up the phone without saying anything. I look back at Anna and she’s making walrus tusks with two French fries hanging out of her mouth. I give her two thumbs up, and drop my phone in the process. I can’t believe that I’m about to break my promise to Mike; but as I see it, there’s not another option. I apparently accidentally left my sanity at work and I’ve just gone too far to turn around and go get it. I’m here, he’s coming down to let us in and I cannot wait to see him. What’s taking him so long?  Anna has to pee and I’m making her jump around, instructing her on the proper peepee dance.  We may be laughing a little loudly—a neighbor peeks through his curtains to see what in the world is going on beneath his window. Great, now I have to pee too. I light a cigarette.  We finally hear sounds of sneakers on metal steps bouncing down the staircase.  Travis appears, handlebar mustache, flannel shirt, hunter’s cap and all. I grin from ear to ear.  His hands are in his pockets and he kind of shuffles to the gate. He’s in no hurry apparently. “Hi! Hurry the fuck up! We have to pee!” Anna, behind me, shouts, “Yeah, what the fuck, man?” He stops at the gate. He looks at me. He looks at Anna and then back to me. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He is not smiling and he’s harsh with me for the first time ever. “You know you aren’t supposed to be here. What the fuck are you doing here?” I have no idea what to say back to him. He’s right and I’m hurt. I was expecting him to fling open the gate and let us in, overjoyed that we are here to liven up the evening.  “I’m allowed to be wherever I want to be. I’m a big girl and I’ll make decisions about where I’m supposed to be. Mike and I talked it over - I won't be here all the time, but tonight he said I could.” I smile and try to hide the weight of the lie. He doesn’t respond; he shakes his head at me. He looks disappointedly at Anna as if this is somehow her fault. “C’mon! This is a rare opportunity for me. I wanna see you. Let us in! I want to see Mikey too. C’mon!” From the other side of the locked gate, he looks at Anna directly and says, “I can’t believe you brought her here.” He has two hands on the gate, and he’s leaning forward. His huge blue owl eyes take up half his face, and they’re looking at me with a heaviness that I have yet to see in him. “And you, you’ve got to stop doing this to me. Get out of here. “ And with that he turns away and walks back up the stairs.

Travis turns 22 in a few days. His birthday is coming up and I clearly will not be able to celebrate it with him. Maybe I should be saying, “I shouldn’t celebrate it,” or “I don’t want to celebrate it.” I guess I don’t see it that way. I think I should be able to do that, or anything that I want to. And I absolutely do want to celebrate with him. I miss our friendship and it hurts me that I don’t get to spend his birthday with him. When I think of it, it makes me think of all the fun things I’m going to miss, and all the memories I’m not going to have with him. So, after work on Sunday morning, I walk down to my favorite little record store and start hunting for a gift—something for his birthday to remind him that I wish things could be different.  When he turned me away the night before I was heart broken. I had Anna take me home right after and I stayed up all night, watching a Top Model marathon and trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. And now, I’m spending two hours in a record store, sifting through things, trying to imagine him listening to various records, smoking joints and lounging on his plaid couches. I buy CCR’s Willy and the Poor Boys, which has a song called Midnight Special on it. The song is on our playlist at work. When it comes on during Sunday brunch, we always look at each other and have a rock out session imperceptible to anyone but he and I. I want to give him this record. But I also want to keep it. If I have it, I can listen to it and think of him. I can use this as my indulgence instead of barging into his apartment in the middle of the night to satisfy the urge. Then I think of all the times I’ve asked him to come here with me. I don’t know anyone else that has a record player and it was one of the first things we bonded over. We never could find time to get here together. I imagine him being in this store, breathing in the dust and sifting through the weathered sleeves and thinking of me. I decide to get him a gift card instead—with a pretty sizeable amount of cash on it considering we aren’t even speaking to each other right now. I suppose I’ll pass it off to Anna later and have her give it to him at his birthday party.

Happy Birthday, Travis. I hope you love the store. I hope when you miss me, you can just go there and think of me. I’m going to spin Midnight Special while I’m at home with my boyfriend instead of being at your party.

Sometimes Love Just Ain't Enough

"How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being?"

“I’ve always liked Mike. But you know, if you don’t think he’s right for you, then maybe he’s not.” My girlfriend, Jack, takes a long drag off her hand rolled cigarette and blows the smoke out of the side of her mouth. She takes a sip of tea.

            We’re sitting outside at a café in Silverlake. I’m ruminating over my relationship and having a walnut and pear salad. 

            “I just don’t know what’s going on with me. Everything has been great between us since the last big fight. Our anniversary is coming up—three years. When we celebrate our anniversary, it will officially be the longest time I’ve ever been with anyone. Most days I think I am head over heels in love with him. And sometimes all I can think about is getting out.”

            “Does this have anything to do with Travis?” She asks me directly and laughs a little. A cute waiter walks by and checks her out. She doesn’t notice.

            “No. That’s ridiculous,” I say, shoving baby mixed greens that tastes like pine needles and goat cheese into my mouth. “I mean, I don’t know. I feel like everything that is happening between me and Travis is a symptom of a much bigger problem.”

            “What problem do you think that is?”

            “I have no fucking idea, Jack. Maybe that I’m not happy. Maybe that I have commitment issues. Maybe that I’m coming to the realization that maybe Patty Smyth is right and sometimes love just ain’t enough.”

            Okay, in truth I didn’t use her name. I did however break out into song for a moment while Jack sat and stared at me. Apparently, she wasn’t familiar with the song. This is one of the many times I have looked like a fool while spending time with her.

            “What is going on with you and Travis right now?”

            “I don’t know. Nothing. I promised Mike that I wouldn’t talk to him anymore. But we still work together, so, I mean, I see him every Friday, Saturday and Sunday. And we still sneak cigarettes together. Take little breaks, try to catch up as much as possible in the minute amount of time we have together.”

            “So, you still really want to spend time with him?”

            “Of course! The juvenile in me probably wants to spend time with him out of defiance. But I also really enjoy his company. It’s simple, you know? We just have a very simple relationship. It’s not complicated. There’s no chatter of bills and groceries and who’s doing the dishes.  We get high, we listen to music, we quote Dave Chappelle. It’s easy. And what? I’m not allowed to have certain friends? Or make new friends? Or ever have friendships with men ever again?”

            “I agree with you that Mike is a little jealous, slightly possessive even. But the other stuff.. You know that’s not reality, right? You don’t talk about bills and dishes because you’re not in a relationship with him. But you would, if you were.”

            I ignore this reasoning. It seems irrelevant. It’s irrelevant because I do not want to be in a relationship. With Travis, or maybe anyone.

            “I just think it says a lot that Mike and I are happy and doing well and I still have anxieties. This is the best our relationship has ever been. We’re communicating well, we’re treating each other with respect, we’re not fighting. We’ve been doing little things for each other. Like, giving each other little treats or doing chores out of turn just to help the other person out. And I still crave more. I keep thinking there’s more out there for me. I don’t necessarily mean this the way that it sounds, but I keep thinking that there’s someone better. Or something better for me. If I can meet someone like Travis, and have such an amazing rapport with, maybe there’s someone out there that compliments me more than Mike. What if stopping at Mike means I’ve settled?”

            Jack doesn’t respond. She stirs more sugar into her tea and just looks at me and shrugs.

            “And besides that, when I get off work, he comes to pick me up. We text and call each other before every single activity. He calls me when he’s off work, on his way to school, when he has to pick something up at his mother’s house; I call him when I am on the way to the grocery store, when I want to book a flight to go to South Carolina to see my family. Why do I need permission for that? Why do I have to report every single miniscule part of my day? Because heaven forbid he doesn’t know exactly where I am at any second. It’s not that he makes me do this, or even asks me to. But this is what happens. In a relationship. There’s no privacy anymore and no personal freedom. It’s goddamn depressing.”

            She maybe was about to respond, but I was on a roll. The anger hamster decided it was time to go for a run. The wheel was spinning at record speeds.

            “Okay, you’ve been with Joshua for almost 6 years. What keeps you two together? How are you not desperate to sleep with other men?”

            “I am desperate to sleep with other men. I think about it all the time.”
            “Maybe you’ve never done this before. I’m looking for advice here. Wanna help a friend out?”

            Her tea is empty. She looks disappointedly at her empty mug. She picks a walnut off my plate without asking and dumps salt on it. “I can’t tell you what you want. All I can tell you is that you have a good thing with Mike.  I don’t want to see you lose something to your lack of will power or commitment. Relationships are hard. They require work. And sacrifice. I know everyone says that, but it’s true. You’re not always going to be able to have all the friends you want to have. You’re not always going to have all the personal time you’d like to have. You just have to decide that your love for him and his love for you is stronger than your selfish needs.”

I Want Someone Badly

"If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life."

I met Mike when I was a floor manager at a luxury retail chain that shall remain nameless—not so much for their protection, but because I don’t want to admit that I worked in such a competitive, capitalistic, first world, bourgeois, bullshit establishment that contributes to image obsessiveness and class oppression. Actually, I liked the job when I had it—I got all kinds of great clothes for cheap!

When Mike started working at the store, I had a boyfriend. I had been dating him for about a year and just weeks before had told my mother I think that I was dating “the one.” I was 23, was still pretty new to Los Angeles, and that was my second serious relationship. In hindsight, I think I was hoping it was The One just so I could feel like there was some stability in my life. I was happy. Bird, a nickname I gave that boyfriend, was a good man. He picked up dinner and liked word games. He lifted heavy things and he installed shelving in my apartment. What more was I looking for? Mike, on the other hand, was incredibly irritating. Antagonistic and rude, constantly complaining about his job, got along with everyone better than me, he was insubordinate and took a smoke break every 20 minutes. We were bickering and at each other’s throats constantly.

I hated him so much that it was VERY IMPORTANT to me that when I was going to be working with him, I had to look flawless. Perfect hair, perfect make-up, tight skirt, cleavage, heels. Take that! On the mornings when he and I opened the store together, very little would get done. We took our time going to the bank depository, would invariably go get coffee, smoke a cigarette together. He would distract me from doing the paperwork I needed to get done. He would regale me with stories from the night before: he and his friends drinking in a parking lot and fighting and racing and being broken up by the police. The more he talked about it the more jealous I was. And the more I felt left out. I wanted to be invited. Why did he tell me stories about his awesome nights and never invite me to be a part of them? I desperately wanted to be Mike’s friend. I remember I got really mad at him about it one day. I stopped talking to him and when he finally asked me what the hell was wrong with me, I said, “You never invite me to hang out with your friends! I mean, you treat me like I’m your friend. So, are we friends or aren’t we?” He fumbled over himself a little and told me he couldn’t spend time with me because I had a boyfriend and it just didn’t seem right. I was hurt and sad and overwhelmed with all kinds of emotions I didn’t understand. Later that day, he and I were both on the sales floor and when I asked him to do something he refused. We started bickering loudly until my store manager just looked at us both, laughed, and said, “Would you guys just fuck already?”

If you can believe it, it honestly hadn’t occurred to me until precisely that moment that all the bickering and the desire to spend time with him and the teasing and primping was because I was attracted to him. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I must have turned bright red and I’m certain that like a 12 year old I said accidentally too loudly, “Eww! What?!”

If I could put a video montage here, the clips would go something like this: cut to Mike finally inviting me to an afternoon barbeque with some of his friends and we drink and laugh and smoke all afternoon; cut to meeting him and his friends at a coffee shop, smuggling in booze and spiking drinks, staying there until 3am when I knew I had work at 8; cut to me driving home late one night getting a call from Bird and hitting the ignore button; cut to Mike and me in the parking lot of a Carl's Jr. admitting that we like each other but can't do anything about it; cut to me pretending to get too drunk at a bar with Mike and his friends and insisting he let me sleep at his place which was much closer than mine; cut to Mike tucking me into his sister’s bed in the next room and me getting up a little while later and crawling into his. Before you judge him, let me prove that he was a good man and did the right thing. While I had apparently decided that I was ready to cheat on my boyfriend, Mike wasn’t willing to allow me to do that. He got out of bed, sat at his desk and lit a cigarette. He sat there and stared at me. He watched me fall asleep and I guess he never slept at all. The next morning I got up and we went to open the store together. Cut to Mike and I and a mutual friend and coworker drunk at a bar a week later. Cut to the moment being so perfect and the most passionate kiss on the balcony of this bar. Cut to me giving the security guard the finger for trying to tell us the bar was closed while I was clearly in the middle of something. We continued making out in the alley. Cut to me not calling my boyfriend for three or four days. Cut to an awkward Valentine’s dinner with Bird. Cut to breaking up with him, leaving his apartment and heading straight to that coffee shop to embrace my new life.

One night, Mike finally let it slip that the only reason he started working there to begin with was to meet me. He had been working there for 6 months, getting to know me, getting close to me, just waiting for me to break up with Bird. I think he would have waited forever.

I had been in love once before but I was 17 then. Everything felt different and new again with Mike. Our time together was so precious to me. Besides his jokes and comforting demeanor, he had a great love for his friends and a great respect for himself. He knew who he was and he was proud of it—he was the first man I had ever dated who was comfortable with himself. And on top of all of those qualities, I was brimming with lust for him. I couldn’t keep my hands off of him. We would ditch our friends and go make out in the alley or the car. We would have to pull over on the way to dinner. We wouldn’t even make it to dinner. Being with him was like being with the embodiment of your favorite guilty pleasure. He made me feel like the most powerful woman in the world. And even though I tried to resist it, I fell for him.

Our three-year anniversary is coming up soon, March 10th, in fact. Because of everything that’s been going on, and not knowing whether or not we were going to make it to our anniversary, nothing has been planned. I want to give him something special. I want to show him how much he means to me. And I want to let him know that I know he deserves better than what he’s been getting from me lately. For now, I honor him with this song that always makes me think of him. I love you, Mike.