Mind Games: The Showdown

It was Patch’s birthday, and I don’t like overlooking my friends’ birthdays. Most of us don’t exchange gifts, but we always celebrate. I hadn’t heard from anyone yet, so I called Patch to ask if there were any plans for the evening. He seemed awkward on the phone, ambiguously stating there had been some talk of going out – maybe to Picklefish later that night. It was nearly 7 o’clock, and he was just leaving work. Although I wondered, I didn’t ask whether the SoHB and his girlfriend were going. I knew the SoHB would. He probably generated the talk of going out. If it were only him, I could handle it, no problem. I had proven that at the Chili Cook-off. I wasn’t so sure about seeing him and her together – watching them touch or gaze lovingly at each other. Could I handle that?

I told Patch to call when there were definite plans. Then, I sat around the house … waiting. Pathetic, isn’t it? When it turned 9 o’clock, I felt certain I had been snubbed. I didn’t want to appear desperate by calling again, but decided I would, claiming that I needed to know the plans, if there were any, because I hadn’t eaten yet. Another hour passed. I was talking with my sister, telling her how disappointed I was, when my cell phone rang. It was Patch; They were going to Faubacher’s. I groaned – not my favorite place. He said that everyone had met up and couldn’t decide whether to eat, so when that place closed and kicked them out, they decided to really start the night at Faubacher’s. (I didn’t point out that closing down one place meant the night had already started.) I don’t recall whether I asked or if he simply volunteered the names of who was there.

“Big Red, The Flirt, Wide-Eyed, the SoHB and his girlfriend, Michelle.”

“Oh? Is that the SoHB’s little whore’s name? Michelle?” I asked for spite.

“Uh … That’s something you’ll have to answer within yourself,” he hesitatingly replied.

I told him I wasn’t sure about coming out since I still hadn’t eaten anything and probably should before drinking. I said that I would call if I wouldn't be joining them.

After talking with him, I had to make a decision. I felt genuinely torn for several minutes. Did I want to remain safely guarded from their relationship, or did I want to expose myself and, hopefully, my strength to them?

I remembered my dad’s voice saying, “The SoHB isn’t grinding you into the ground. This is Kwirki grinding you into the ground.”

I heard The Flirt’s voice saying, “I just remember that the point things got better for me (after a breakup with his fiancée years earlier) was when I got mad – when I said, ‘F---- it. You don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine.’”

I still clearly felt the sting of being disregarded for a phone call when all of them met. That was how I started getting mad. But it wasn’t the kind of anger I had pictured from that conversation with The Flirt, for I had spent months being angry at the SoHB – enraged even to the point of cutting off contact. No, this anger was a kind of indignance that he should affect my life – indignance that friends would consider leaving me out because of him. Once that crossed my mind, there was no backing out of it.

I freshened my make-up, wanting to look fantastic, but not as though I tried too hard. No eyeshadow or heavy eyeliner. I wore my hair loose, as usual. My attire was a favorite pair of hip-hugger “skinny” jeans and a lightweight, beige sweater which wasn’t too snug, low-cut, or revealed my belly. My black boots with the chunky high heels and a striped cardigan finished off the ensemble. I was satisfied that my mirrored image revealed a casual, confident and sexy woman. I was ready for battle.

I left around 10:40pm with some reservations yet. What was I setting myself up for? It could go horribly wrong. Was it worth the risk for a friend’s birthday, especially one who nearly left me out? Erring on the side of caution would mean staying home. My foot trembled on the gas peddle, but I didn’t stop. I had to know what would happen, and I had to assert myself back into my rightful place with my friends.

A large group was leaving Faubacher’s as I drove into the parking lot. Seeing The Flirt’s baseball cap over the top of their heads confirmed that it was my group. The girl who walked briskly in front was unfamiliar to me, but with a slightly closer look, I knew it was her. I always felt that if we accidentally met somewhere she would recognize me first, for on that single, previous occasion, there was nothing memorable about her. I was pleased to have my first impression verified. She was as plain as I remembered. Our eyes locked briefly as I lowered my window to ask someone what was happening. If looks could kill, I would not be telling this story.

Patch informed me that the group was driven out by karaoke night. They were relocating to the considerably more sedate Bubble Lounge down the street. I arrived first since I never left my car. I warily watched for The SoHB and girlfriend as I waited outside, hoping the others would arrive first so I wouldn’t have to socialize with the happy couple. Fortunately, Big Red and Wide-Eyed came next; then The Flirt and Patch.

After the rest of us went inside, staked out a corner, and a couple went to the bar for drinks, I began wondering if they had forfeited the night. I could just imagine the conversation they must be having. I wondered if she was upset. I could imagine him gently urging her to continue the night, reasoning that I would naturally want to be there for Patch’s birthday. Surely she could put up with me for Patch’s birthday. They entered several minutes later. I was then able to get a better look at her. She was a busty girl in a low-cut, v-neck sweater and blue jeans, with shoulder length hair dyed overly dark. Just as I noted how much shorter I thought she would be, The Flirt teased her about her height (an obvious running gag), to which she cried, “And I’m wearing three-inch heels!”

Ah. That explained it.

I excused myself to go to the bar. My resolution was to drink no more than two beers. I wanted to make an appearance, get under someone’s skin a little, and get out. I needed to remain in control. On an empty stomach, I knew I couldn’t handle much alcohol.

While everyone settled into the cozy seating area (those two at the diagonal corner from me), the group talked idly about the new troubles at my old company. Everyone except his girlfriend worked or formerly worked there. In the midst of the gripe session, Patch stated, “You know that place is bad. Just look at Kwirki. She’s only been away from there a few months, and she already looks 10 years younger.”

I could have kissed him.

At that statement, the SoHB finally made introductions. He started with Wide-Eyed, whom she had apparently never met, and then moved to me.

“It’s great to put a name with the face, Michelle. Good to meet you,” I said as sweetly as I could. Everyone went silent. She politely greeted me in return, but her jaw was set firm. She wasn’t at all happy to meet me. This night could be fun.

I felt disinclined to engage either the SoHB or her in conversation, but I could tolerate her better than him. She, after all, hadn’t done anything to me. While hoping to remain civil, I gave myself full permission to dislike them both. I spoke with Patch on one side of me and Wide-Eyed on the other to avoid talking to them. I asked Big Red a little about his poker conquests, since he’d insisted on buying my first drink. All the while I observed this “girlfriend,” developing an impression – wondering what he could see in her to make him sacrifice me – knowing that she was bound to wonder about me, as well.

They didn’t sit touching, as I had expected. I remembered he always rested his foot or knee against mine when we dated, always wanting to touch – to be connected to me in some way. He involved himself in conversation with Big Red on his left while she chatted vivaciously with The Flirt on her right. I was dismayed and a little overwhelmed to notice how outgoing and bubbly she was. My only impression of her had come from the night I poured a drink on the SoHB. From a distance she had seemed very reserved. I expected her to be shy, even mousy. Here she was, effervescently filling our little corner with a lilting, teasing voice, perfectly at ease in the setting. She displayed the persona I believed to be my advantage. I expected my own vivaciousness to overwhelm her, but she trumped me. She even began to appear cute. She playfully slapped The Flirt’s knee when he teased her, enthralling him when he was supposed to be my secret weapon. She obviously wanted to be the center of attention.

During the course of conversation, she made a few insignificant remarks which were clearly intended to call attention to her and the SoHB’s status as a couple. She threw out a ‘we’ here and there; patted his knee maybe once. Eventually, I overheard part of a story she was telling The Flirt which sounded vaguely familiar. Then, I thought I heard her mention a familiar name.

“Who is this?” I suddenly interjected into the conversation.

“Oh, it’s this friend of ours named Harry*, who blah-blah-dee-blah-blah…”

“Yeah, I know Harry,” I stated, but she was too busy talking over me to hear. I laughed under my breath. She felt so threatened she had to assert their coupleness in even the mention of a friend's name. She needed to feel connected to a part of the SoHB’s life untouched by me. As I have played mental games with myself in attempt to devalue her role in his life, she has done the same with me. I remembered how he said my name often came up back when they had been together a couple of months. I remembered thinking how she must dislike that, but tolerates it in hope that it will pass. He had done the same when we dated – mentioning the ex-girlfriend more frequently than was comfortable and avoiding certain places in order to avoid her. The real tip off was avoiding certain places to avoid the memory of her. I remembered how he claimed to be over her, but I knew differently. It was a refreshing, empowering perspective.

The night wore on, and I took my turn teasing The Flirt and Patch. When those two entered a debate over the social consciousness of smoking, I distracted myself by talking sports with Wide-Eyed. But when Michelle, a smoker like The Flirt and the SoHB, entered the debate, I became interested. While she was thoroughly distracted by the discussion, I caught the SoHB’s eye and threw him the most withering “go to hell” look I could manage. He looked away. I just wanted him to know that despite my pleasantness this night, I was no more okay with their relationship than ever. My attention returned to the debate.

“Do you eat meat, Patch?” Michelle was asking for, maybe, the third time. “Do you drive a car?”

It was two against one. Patch was clearly frustrated, so I took up his defense.

“He’s saying that by smoking, you not only risk your own health, but anyone around you who wasn’t given the choice.”

“But everyone does something that puts their health at risk. You put your health at risk if you eat meat … if you drink alcohol,” she said.

I decided to get a little mean. “The SoHB is going to die of liver disease. He could die of lung cancer, actually. But if he dies of liver disease, it is because he chose to risk his own body by overindulging. Unless he drives drunk, he isn’t endangering anyone else,” I said goading for a reaction, but neither became defensive or batted an eye. I didn’t expect the SoHB would, but she didn’t dismiss me or jump to his defense. That made me think two things: 1) She’s noticed his alcohol abuse. 2) He’s told her how bluntly I’ve spoken with him about it. Maybe both aren’t true, but one must be.

“What about driving a car?” she asked. “The pollution from driving a car is harmful to everyone. That pollutes the air more than smoking does.”

“There is a worthwhile benefit to driving a car,” I argued. “It transports us from place to place, helping us function in daily living. Smoking is the only vice which carries no natural benefit. Eating meat or drinking alcohol can, if practiced in moderation, be beneficial to the body. They aren’t necessarily bad things.”

“What about scotch?” she asked. “Scotch doesn’t benefit the body,” she laughed.

“Well, I don’t know about scotch. I don’t drink scotch,” I chuckled; I was done. She had resorted to being silly. There is no reward in persuing an argument once someone stoops to that level.

In a moment, she returned to debating Patch, giving more of the same tired arguments. As she leaned forward to engage him, her bosom threatened to overflow her neckline. I suppressed an urge to call her attention to it. Her formerly daunting perkiness had also become irksomely overdone. A person can only take so much of that before it wears on one. That combined with her lack of any challenging arguments left me extremely unimpressed. I often looked at the SoHB hoping to catch his eye. I wanted to signal towards her and mouth at him, “Are you kidding me?” but he wouldn’t look my way.

I returned to giving Wide-Eyed a little attention. He truly was the odd man out, being a little shy … the newest and youngest of our group. I kept my eye on Michelle and the debate between Patch and The Flirt, although I no longer listened. I noticed that she dropped back from the conversation and sat solemnly. She still leaned over her crossed legs, but her eyes were downcast. I noted her body language – left leg over right, away from the SoHB – left elbow crossed over her knee with a cigarette dangling from the hand, pulling her upper body away from him as well. He was turned in conversation toward Big Red. Upon noticing her downcast appearance, he reached out to rub her lower back. I remembered him doing that to me, but seeing it wasn’t distressing. It was a shallow offer of comfort. She tilted her head slightly at that gesture, but didn’t turn. He didn’t even pause his conversation with Big Red. Her countenance remained downcast. I realized for the first time that her perkiness had been an act – a show for my benefit. She had hoped to disguise her insecurity with him. It became irksome because she was trying too hard. I looked momentarily away and caught the eye of a guy at the bar – the same one who smiled at me when I bought my last drink – and I smiled broadly in return. Yeah … I didn’t need the SoHB’s attention.

When I turned back to the group, I noticed Michelle touching the SoHB’s arm to get his attention, and read her lips as she asked, “Are you okay?” I presumed the situation of being around me had prompted her question, for he appeared perfectly fine and to still be enjoying conversation with Big Red. It amused me. Did she not want him to be okay? For if he wasn’t, even if it was because of me, it would mean that he needed her, wouldn’t it? And there was probably nothing she needed more in that moment than for him to need her. That must have been why it satisfied me to see him nod and turn back to Big Red. Watching her insecurity with him reveal itself gave me a thrill.

The Flirt left us, and I became a little concerned about the group whittling away, leaving me in an awkward situation. I had exceeded my two beer limit by one, and considered having another. However, The SoHB is always the last man standing, and I couldn’t allow myself to be stuck alone with him and Michelle while I nursed a final beer.

Big Red complained about the music, so the SoHB handed Michelle a bill to use at the jukebox. I observed her shape while her back was turned. She was small waisted, contradictory to how her bustline made her look. She had no butt whatsoever. After a minute, the SoHB joined her at the jukebox. I knew this was their chance to talk in semi-privacy – his chance to give the attention he had denied her earlier. Their arms entwined around each other’s waists. I remember thinking that she could have his affection, for his affection was cheap.

After the SoHB bought Patch another beer, he chose to sit in The Flirt’s old seat – next to Patch and directly across from me. There was a brief conversation about various bands and the upcoming Jazzfest in New Orleans. He showed clear intoxication, making his telltale face of one squinted eye while the other glares widely at you – an exaggerated expression meant to be humorous. I knew I would soon leave. He would be no good the rest of the night, and she could have him. It was always during these moments when I was vulnerable to him – when he could be his most open and loving, only to forget it in the morning. He and Michelle sat facing each other – him lightly holding her hand. I didn’t want to appear upset by their tête-à-tête, so I waited until they no longer touched before announcing my departure. Big Red protested which caught the SoHB’s attention. His sotted senses had been too absorbed to hear the reason, so Big Red explained that I was leaving.

“What!?? … No!!” exclaimed the SoHB, but quickly piped down; Don’t know why.

I said my last goodbye to Patch, wishing him one more happy birthday. I had to walk past the supposedly happy couple on my way out, so I made a point of stopping to tell Michelle goodbye and say it was nice meeting her. She did not look at me – merely tilted her head upward with closed eyes – as she returned the courtesy in her most gracious voice. I didn’t say anything to the SoHB, and walked out without looking back. I drove home elated. It was one in the morning, but I called my sister just to tell the story.

I have not had the pleasure of their company since that day, although I do look forward to seeing them again … that is, if she puts up with his neglect long enough. There was one subsequent opportunity; I showed up, but they didn’t. I’ve wondered if she thought I was gearing up to steal him from her. Such effort would be a waste of time, but, as I said at the beginning of that evening, I refuse to let him hinder my life anymore.

* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like