My biggest issue as a writer is the inability to write about anything other than events directly from my life. Seems this is not a newly developed trend, as this "piece" is from almost four years ago.
I lay silently next to Phillip thinking to myself. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him studying me, could feel his eyes looking me over from top to bottom. I felt naked even in my flannel pajama pants and my brother’s high school basketball shirt that often doubled as my nightgown.
“Why aren’t you talking tonight?” The concern in his tone was unmistakable. That was the thing that attached me to Phil; his feelings for me were genuine and unhidden. The fact that someone could care so openly about me was endearing, and to be honest, I had never had it before.
“I’m just thinking. Don’t even ask about what,” I interrupted his thought to respond as soon as I had seen his mouth open. I was in no mood to discuss “what was on my mind” tonight.
“Okay, okay,” he said, relenting. “I guess I should be thankful for a moment of peace with you. But just so you know,” he quickly added, “if you need to talk about something I’m here for you.”
“I know,” I muttered, cursing his availability. Some people have a hard time understanding the suffocation that comes with too much love. I guess coming from a family where “love” is the headline and kisses and hugs are mandatory makes you a little less needy when it comes to intimate relationships; Freud at his worst could tell you that. Whatever the case, Phil’s room was shrinking by the second, and his scratchy bedspread had begun to smother me more and more.
I reached over the side of the bed and grabbed my bag, digging for a cigarette. I could feel the vibration of my cell phone at the bottom of my purse, but I ignored it in my pursuit of my Marlboro Lights. I didn’t feel the pull of nicotine…I didn’t like a thing about the actual cigarette; I only continued to smoke because it gave me an excuse to leave practically any situation. And now, I was using my deceitful “addiction” to escape my boyfriend.
“I’m buying you the patch and duct taping it to your ass so you’ll freakin’ quit already,” Phil said as he caught notice of my unopened pack. He detested smokers, and only put up with it from me because he loved me, I guess.
“They go on your arm, douche bag.”
“I know,” he said with his goofy smirk that was used in his every response. “I just like to touch your ass.” His eastern Pennsylvania accent made “ass” sound like “ace” which made me flinch when he said it. “Class” was the same way.
Using that indecorous comment as an all access pass, Phil became all smiles the way he always does and began to suck hard on my neck and reached under my t-shirt in a most unappealing way. A sensual lover he was not. Feeling violated, I pulled away from him.
“You want to take this little love fest outside?” I asked, fully knowing that he would not.
“God no, just make sure you brush your teeth before you come back to bed.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” With every word that left my lips, I could feel my innermost thoughts making their way out of me in the form of a cold disposition.
“Why are you taking your purse, it’s two feet outside.” He leaned on his elbow, studying me again as I made my way for the door.
“My lighter. I’ve lost four this week so I’m not taking any chances.”
Seemingly satisfied with my weak explanation, he fell back into his pillows and closed his eyes.
I closed his door, breathing a small sigh of relief. I galloped down his steps and into the outside world. As soon as I hit the cool air I began to sprint, and I tell you, I have no idea why. I didn’t know what I would say to explain myself when he realized I’d taken a three hour smoke break and called my phone to check on me. I bolted across the street and out of view from his window. I ran, flip flops flapping, across campus, a destination swimming in my subconscious but hesitating to surface.
Truly, I knew where I was headed. Kent’s apartment was five minutes away, and I was running right for it. As I reached into my purse in the middle of my 5k, I could feel more vibrations coming from the phone. The vibrate ring option served dual purposes; keeping Phil in the dark about my secret conversations and of course, the added perk of a sexual reminder. Just feeling the small phone vibrate in my lap or in my hand was enough to cue my senses and jogged my memory of my last sexual encounter with Kent.
His text was simple: “Cumming over?” The sexual innuendo with this man was childish, but completely arousing.
I arrived at the door of his apartment shortly after. As I looked up at his window, I texted that I was outside, and within the next thirty seconds his face appeared, scanning the area for me. I waved coyly, seductively exhaling my freshly lit cigarette. He smiled and opened the window.
“That was quick.”
“You’re gonna have to be too, I don’t have a lot of time.”
“Well, that I can’t promise you…you know I like to enjoy you,” he said, smirking. Again, it was endearing. I don’t judge men based on their level of simplicity. “When you’re done with that cigarette, get up here. I’ve got something to show you.”
Curiosity tugged at me. I took slow drags, postponing our encounter as much as I could. I thrived on the waiting game,
I step into the bathroom and undress. I’ve felt a strong need all day long to wash away the memories of last night. I start the water, adjust the temperature and flip the switch to fill the tub. It’s broken of course, yet another reminder of my disappointing existence in this place. Nothing works. I contemplate putting my clothes back on seeing as how I was looking forward to soaking in water as opposed to allowing it to pelt me, but I change my mind. I’m already naked, anyway. I begin to sink into my brain, the shower washing me not only with water but thoughts of the night before. I flashback to that time, which was actually more of the morning than the night, and it saddens me.
Josh was a decently attractive man, or so I thought while filled to the brim with a beer-induced stupor. I hang on him like he’s the last man I’ll ever sleep with and he takes me home. The same string of events seems to happen after the first conversation I have with men, that part that comes right before I go back to their houses. I decide after a few minutes if I find them intriguing or unworthy of my attention and I move from there. I’m usually wrong. Whatever initial attraction I have to them begins to fade slowly as I spend more time with them. They reveal their flaws over a span of an hour, or a week and I realize this and move on. I can’t decide what’s worse; the fact that all men lay far below my expectations, or my inability to move past minor snags and hold on to something that could be meaningful. If I can’t see a future, I find myself constantly looking for a point. Why am I here now, what am I getting out of this? Is it worth it? The answer is always, of course, no. So, I remove myself from the situation. My friends and family fail to see the logic in my actions. “How will you ever find a husband if you reject every man who shows any signs of interest in you?” they say. As if landing a husband should be a goal that consumes my every waking moment. I have no interest in finding a husband. Every attempt I have made in the past to pursue a man has ended in severe disappointment. So I wait. And if a man who has any hope of fulfilling my needs happens to come along and love me, then fine. I will not, however, waste any more valuable time trying to make pointless relationships work for the sake of grandchildren and taxes. I am fine in my current situation. Not that I have to convince you; I think that the fact that you’re reading this greatly reinforces your faith in my opinions.
I don’t reveal this often, but I am terrified of myself. Constantly surrounded by women in love, and movies about it, and poems and greeting cards, I am forced to wonder whether or not I was skipped over when God handed out the ability to love. I have to feel incomplete when I am bombarded with it always. Sometimes I wonder if the fault doesn’t lie with the incapable men, but with me. In me, are there problems that I ignore?
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