Mar 31, 2005

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

Mar 30, 2005

Mind Games: The Battle Within

On Monday following the Chili Cook-off – following those lingering glances and the wistful farewell – I still had not received any messages from the SoHB. It was disheartening; I was exasperated. I wrote a final message stating that I had approached him many times with a desire to make amends, but he was clearly disinterested in healing our rift. I asserted that I believed he would regret this decision, but trying to make him want what I want was futile. I said that I surrendered and wished him the best. Of course, there was no response. The next day I completely undermined myself by forwarding an article to him about the death of Hunter S. Thompson, since a favorite movie of his is Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

While enduring the agony of awaiting an unlikely response, I was forced into new soul searching ... beginning with his soul. My mind churned in circles trying to make sense of his inconsistent behavior … trying to reason how he could look at me so longingly at Haley’s while doing nothing to reconcile. It made me dizzy. I put an end to it by making a list. Other than the obvious but unsatisfactory “he won’t reconcile because he doesn’t care” reason, what could make him keep his distance? I decided to list all the things I know about him – things I know from experience and not fear – that are irrespective of our circumstances.

  • The SoHB avoids all risk.
  • The SoHB avoids any and all conflict.
  • The SoHB is immeasurably insecure.
  • The SoHB has an immature attitude towards relationships.


I added these qualities together like a formula and concluded that he is a man who has conditioned himself to take risks in only a few compulsory circumstances in order to function, but who can otherwise be depended upon to always choose the path of least resistance. (And this particular man has to liquor up for most of those risks.)

So, what does this mean to me? Well, it could mean things like:

  • If he had feelings for me, he wouldn’t act on them out of fear of looking foolish when I rejected him a second time. (You can use this looking back a year, six months, or two weeks.)
  • If he longed to reconcile, he still wouldn’t risk being verbally “beaten up”’ in an argument. He wouldn’t risk being proven wrong or getting himself hurt.
  • If he still has feelings for me, he would fear revealing too much presuming rejection.
  • If he felt bad about anything that he did, he wouldn’t admit fault to avoid succumbing to more feelings of worthlessness.
  • If he still has feelings for me, he won’t put them on the line for fear that things are beyond repair.
  • If he still has feelings for me, he won’t pursue me because he believes relationships should fall in your lap and never be a struggle. And he won’t sacrifice the sure thing, no matter how rewarding something else might be.


Next came the “If/Then” statements:

  • If these statements are true, then I wasn’t just thrown away.
  • If these statements are true, then I have tried everything within reason to reach him.
  • If these statements are true, then he is a child – incapable of sustaining and nurturing a relationship.
  • If these statements are true, then the value I placed on tender moments wasn’t one-sided; He’s simply too afraid of admitting their value.
  • If these statements are true, then I am capable of hurting him.
  • If these statements are true, then I am not forgotten.
  • If these statements are true, then he’s probably afraid of me – more afraid of me than I am of him.
  • If these statements are true, then I don’t have a monopoly on being weak and vulnerable.


I felt more powerful after this exercise. I didn’t consider every conclusion to reveal absolute truth, but it humanized him and his behavior in my mind, forcing me to acknowledge that his personal weakness – his tragic flaw – caused the inconsistencies. He’s a master of self-destruction, so why wouldn’t he shoot himself in the foot where I‘m concerned? It was tempting to imagine how I might use this knowledge to gain a new foothold in his life and win back his affection, but I knew this wasn’t something I ultimately wanted.

A day after making my list I received a casual reply to my e-mail about Hunter S. Thompson. The tone of his message was conversational, implying a desire to correspond, contingent upon never mentioning the trauma of our broken relationship, of course. It appeared my conclusions were correct. I was encouraged by his e-mail, but didn’t respond. I decided to keep my distance as I had originally resolved.

It helped that during this time I had a lunch with Ally* where I regaled her with the story of our estrangement. She expressed shock and disgust in all the appropriate places, and agreed with my assertion that by his choices one can see the SoHB doesn’t want a real relationship. Despite saying he wants a soul mate, his actions contradict that desire. My storytelling probably overstepped the bounds of politeness. I later realized that it was the only full disclosure conversation I’d had with anyone familiar with both the SoHB and me except for Rachel*. I had desperately needed that release, and walked away feeling much better. Not only did I get things off my chest (playing a little PR, too, as I hoped she would share my tale with Jeri*), but it was a nice start to a new friendship.

Later in the week, I had another encouraging conversation with my parents, especially Dad. He made a spontaneous, comforting remark, saying, “The SoHB has a problem, and he will make any girl miserable that ends up with him.” This was something I knew except when self-doubt and self-pity interfered. I always hid the excessive drinking from my conservative Baptist parents, so his opinion was based on the SoHB’s inability to handle his fears. He agreed that the SoHB was afraid of me – afraid of being “beaten up” in an argument – afraid that he couldn’t measure up to my accomplishments. I left their house feeling much lighter. It was early evening on Friday – Patch’s birthday. I had wrestled all day with the choice of joining him in birthday plans, knowing they were bound to include the SoHB and probably his girlfriend. I feared how I might handle the situation, but also felt an urge to test myself. How strong was I? and regarding my new theories about him – my old theories about him and her – how close was I to the bull’s eye?

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

Mar 3, 2005

Chili Cook-Off: The Anticlimax

I awoke early on the morning of Chili Cook-Off looking forward to the day. I even beat Rachel’s* wake up call, calling her instead. While getting ready, I listened to my self-made Over It CD, containing songs like “You’re No Good,” “Respect,” and “No More Drama.” I was rocking out to “You Better Be Good to Me” when Rachel arrived. I opened the door to find her rocking out on my stoop. Big Red soon showed up and we headed out to the cook-off.

We arrived as it opened, so I wasn’t worried about running into the SoHB immediately. There was no way he would be there that early. We visited Michael’s* booth first, then trolled around. There were surprisingly few impressive chilies. Most were too exotic to even taste like chili. As the day wore on, I became watchful for the SoHB. Jeri* arrived with her baby girl, but the SoHB wasn’t with her. In our phone conversation the previous night, The Flirt revealed that he planned on coming with the SoHB, but he arrived alone. When our group milled around a drinks stand near the gate, I couldn’t help scouring the incoming crowd for his face.

While we stood in that spot, my guitar friend and his new girlfriend found us. My pride being a bit wounded that he had a new girl, silly as that is, I hadn’t looked forward to seeing him, either. At least with the SoHB coming solo, and The Flirt’s girl getting stuck in Kentucky, it should be the only ego deflator of the day. We laughed as they recounted the steps he’d gone through to find us. My cell phone wasn’t working, so he had to call all over to get Rachel’s cell number, and he did all this from home because he refuses to get a cell phone himself. While telling their story, the new girl referred to my guitar friend as “honey.” I believe I literally cocked my head. “Honey” is an endearment seldom heard among unmarried couples or those who haven’t been together a while, at least. My guitar friend and I dated for as long as they’ve been together. I never thought to use any endearment with him, much less that one. It just seemed odd. Then, as we talked about the chilies we’d tried, including one containing alligator meat, we mentioned how that booth slapped us with stickers saying, “Tastes like chicken!” The guitar friend’s girl pipes up with, “Before chicken, what did they compare food to?” The entire group paused.

“Did she really just use that lame joke as her introduction?” I thought.

I looked over to my guitar friend wondering what he saw in this person. They seemed like such a mismatched pair. I looked back at her and took in her appearance. She was buxom; He must like that. In a group conversation wedged between our breakup and his meeting this girl, he confessed to liking large breasts. But her figure was a little heavy while my guitar friend is a slender man. I couldn’t see her eyes behind sunglasses, but she didn’t seem pretty. I looked back to my guitar friend wondering what he saw in her. She was friendly, but I couldn’t see any special appeal. Later, when Rachel and I walked by, she had her glasses off. Seeing her eyes didn’t change my impression. Rachel shortly said, “You know, she’s a cute girl, but she’s nowhere near as pretty as you.”

My thoughts were saying, “Cute?! She isn’t even cute. That’s being kind!” But, instead I said, “Thanks.” I was trying to keep the ‘humble yourself” attitude – on the outside, at least.

We saw a few acquaintances, also. Cheapskate and Brian*, friends of Michael, were there. They were ignorant of my dismissal at my company, so I had to explain that. We also saw Ally*, who had recently moved back to Mobile from Birmingham. The first thing Ally said to me after ‘Hello’ was, “Where’s the SoHB?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea,” I said as casually as possible. After a moment, I added, “We’re not speaking anymore, you know.”

“No!” she exclaimed. “What happened?”

“Long story,” I replied.

“Y’all were dating, weren’t you?”

“Well, no; Not really.”

“I heard he was dating a new girl.”

“Yeah. That has to do with it, but it’s a long story.”

I told her about pouring a drink on him, although I didn’t tell her details. She thought that was great. She said she’d always wanted to have the nerve to do that.

Our group was split as the Chili Cook-Off wound down. Rachel and I were on our own with Ally. We asked her to join us afterward, but she had other obligations. Someone called Rachel letting her know everyone had moved down to Haley’s. As soon as I heard ‘Haley’s,’ I knew that ‘everyone’ included the SoHB.

Rachel walked ahead of me into the bar, so she saw him before me. “The SoHB’s here,” she said in effort to forewarn me, but I knew.

He sat at the bar between The Flirt and an unknown woman. I didn’t think it was his girlfriend, but I couldn’t see her face. I had avoided alcohol all day, and was still apprehensive about drinking during such a ticklish situation, but decided I could take it easy.

Rachel and I sat at the bar staying on the fringes of the group, never moving near the middle where the SoHB was. The woman standing by him wasn’t his girlfriend, and she soon disappeared. I sensed his gaze long before allowing myself to look at him. Our eyes met and held. I offered a sad smile before looking away. This happened a few more times throughout the afternoon, his expression always sad. That was comforting.

I heard him laughing and speaking jovially with The Flirt who sat between us while I feigned indifference. I was dismayed by his laughter – by his enjoyment of the moment, but I knew he had to watch my joviality without participating as well. I hoped it made him long for me. I hoped that he was reminded of how he enjoyed my company.

Cheapskate was there and sat next to me. He yelled a smartass response to the SoHB as part of ongoing banter. I responded for Cheapskate’s ears only with something sarcastic. He looked at me, and I explained that the SoHB and I weren’t speaking anymore. He wanted to know what happened. I tried passing it off again as a long story, but he pressed for information. He asked if it had to do with his new girlfriend. I admitted that it did, saying that I’d tried talking to him about things, but he wouldn’t really talk to me about it.

“But, he’s weird,” Cheapskate stated.

I acknowledged the truth of that. I told him that we weren’t dating (There seemed to be some ambiguity in his mind as well.), but that didn’t stop him from sleeping over at my house on several occasions – and that the last occasion was even after he’d started seeing this girl.

“That is weird,” he responded.

Then, when I said something about this happening six months ago, he expressed confusion. He thought the SoHB started seeing this girl a year ago. I realized he mistakenly believed she was the same person the SoHB brought to my New Year’s Eve part a year ago. I was forced to run down the timeline of our relationship, beginning with how we dated for eight months before I broke up with him. I explained my reason for breaking up then was because I felt neglected. As an example, I told him about how the SoHB never called me his girlfriend, and after eight months as a couple, still has never referred to me as an ex-girlfriend.

“But, he’s weird,” Cheapskate repeated. I laughed. “Did you sleep with him?” he asked.

“No.”

“That’s why.”

“I don’t believe in it outside of marriage,” I clarified.

“I know – I know – You’re a good girl,” he said gently.

I found it oddly gratifying that he attributed my never being labeled a ‘girlfriend’ to our lack of a sexual relationship. I once threw that accusation at the SoHB during one of our early fights six months ago. He denied my allegation, saying we had simply never reached the point of being girlfriend/boyfriend. I want to take people at their word, especially people who have earned my trust, but I don’t think I ever fully believed him.

While I was trying to straighten out the sequence of events for Cheapskate, Big Red announced we were leaving. He was my ride, so I had to cut the story short. Cheapskate said he wanted to hear the rest, but there wasn’t time. I enjoyed having a sympathetic ear; Rachel enjoyed flirting with Brian, so we promised to return shortly since I didn’t live far away.

While walking out of Haley’s, Big Red stopped to go back for some reason. While waiting for him, I looked back and saw the SoHB standing alone and facing me from across the room, apparently watching me leave. I raised my hand as a silent goodbye. He raised his in return. Other than a few lingering glances, it was the only communication we shared all afternoon. I turned and walked out.

Rachel and I drove back to Haley’s after pit-stopping at my house. I looked forward to finishing my conversation with Cheapskate, but Haley’s was nearly deserted. We crossed the street to see if the guys went to Hero’s for food, and there they were. The SoHB stood at their table retrieving Cheapskate’s contact info. Once finished, he quickly left without looking at me.

Cheapskate asked where we left off in our story as soon as I sat. We reminded each other of the point where I stopped, but it wasn’t a conversation for the whole table. His attention span was impaired by alcohol, anyway. I thought there would be plenty of time to return to it later in the evening, but with there being only four of us, personal conversation wasn’t happening.

After Hero’s, the night ended up being a big bore. Cheapskate returned to his usual obnoxious, drunk personality. He pestered Rachel silly, and I hadn’t drunk enough to be amused. Dauphin St. didn’t provide any entertainment, so Rachel and I called it a night and were home by 10:30.

I don’t know what to think of the way the SoHB looked at me. I could easily read more into it than the remorse of a lost friend. The looks seemed to communicate longing and sorrow, or were those feeling only reflected from my own gaze? Could I have mistaken pity for longing? Or, if that was all he felt, would there be any evidence of it in his eyes? But if the longing I perceived there was real, why wasn’t it strong enough to draw him to me? I wish it had.



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

Mar 1, 2005

Prelude to a Cook-Off: Part 2

I was taken aback by The Flirt’s appearance on my doorstep. Knowing what he wanted, I slowly unlatched the door and opened it a crack.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He smirked down at me, puffing away. “I was in the neighborhood, saw your light was still on, so I decided to stop by to see what you were doing.”

He had been Downtown drinking with friends. I regarded him wryly. “I was in bed – about to go to sleep.”

“Going to sleep ...”

“Yeah.” There was no doubt as to what was on his mind. “You came by for a booty call, huh?”

“No,” he said. “Sure, I hoped, but I just came by to see how you were.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about things, and I’ve decided that … I’m a real idiot.”

He chuckled, “We’re all idiots.”

I smiled and looked down. “Yeah, well that’s okay for you, but I’m supposed to be better than all you peons.”

“Oh, really,” he laughed.

“Yeah. I’m supposed to be perfect.”

He continued smirking at me as he finished his cigarette. I continued eyeing him warily.

“I’ll pick that up later,” he said as he flicked the butt into the yard. I nodded while making a mental note of where it landed. I would be the one picking it up. “Well, are you going to make me leave or let me come in?”

I hesitated, knowing his intentions, but felt secure in my own sober resolve. I let him in. He immediately went to the restroom. I curled up on the couch to finish searching for that verse in Job. When he eventually joined me at the other end of the couch, I set it aside and explained what I was doing. I told him how foolish I felt … how proud I’d been. He nodded as though he understood. He said he didn’t know how it might have helped him if he’d had someone to talk to years ago. I reached over to lightly grasp the fingers of his resting outstretched hand. He looked as if he could fall asleep where he sat.

“Do you really not want to …,” he asked.

I laid my cheek against the couch as I looked at him and said, “No, I really don’t.”

“I’ll probably be glad that you didn’t.”

I smiled. “Do you want to sleep in the guest room?”

“Well, it’s better than the couch.”

I followed him to make certain he didn’t need anything, and then returned to my own bed. I laid there thinking about him lying so close in that other room. Fortunately, it was across the house, so we couldn’t hear each other. I felt the lure of going to him, but was resolved to stay. I would soon fall asleep and all would be okay. I relaxed, pleased with myself for resisting temptation.

Then I heard footsteps coming through my kitchen. His silhouette soon appeared at my bedroom door. I silently chastised myself for leaving it open like an invitation, while also feeling thrilled by his boldness. I didn’t move or speak. Fully clothed, he laid down beside me on top of the covers. I regarded him with amusement. He even still wore his baseball cap. I laughed at him, removing it and throwing it across the room. We didn’t speak. Gert lay between us like a shield.

“I guess I should leave,” he said. I knew that he should, but didn’t want him to. I moved closer, putting Gert on the other side of me. If a dog can be nonplussed, I think she was.

I moved to the crook of his shoulder, pulling his other arm around my waist. He used this opportunity to try groping me, but I kept his hand away, holding it securely against my side. I can’t remember any words we spoke. Eventually, he moved to kiss me, and I wanted to be kissed. The recesses of my mind imagined the appropriateness of the situation, given that I would face the SoHB the next day. My ego needed the boost.

We embraced and kissed deeper. I wondered if I would be able to maintain my boundaries. I knew, but didn’t wish to admit, that I couldn’t. I allowed him liberties, but I wished to prevent carrying it as far as before. He broke through my resistance with gentle pleas and persistence. I allowed things to progress to the same point they had last time. It was more than I wanted, but I still felt secure. But, as always, he pushed for more. My feeling of security evaporated. I told him I was uncomfortable. He tried pleading through my fears with words of, “Trust me. I wouldn’t do that to you,” but didn’t back off. Eventually he made a move I couldn’t tolerate, presuming I would go along despite my history of protests against it. I quickly pulled away, putting an end to our tryst.

“That’s it,” I said. “I’m done.”

“That’s it? Just like that?” he asked.

“Yup.” I pulled the cover over me and laid there a minute. Then, I laid my head on his stomach, looking into his half-closed eyes as I said, “You just don’t get it, Flirt.”

“No, I don’t,” he replied.

I paused as I weighed my words. “I want more … I mean, in general.”

He nodded. “Well, we all want more,” he said.

I briefly tried explaining why what he wanted wasn’t acceptable. I don’t know if he fully heard me. Within a couple of minutes his breathing changed to that of sleep. I thought to sleep myself, but was too uncomfortable lying there with him like that. I woke him to make him right himself. Next thing I knew, he was preparing to leave. I told him he didn’t have to leave; I wasn’t kicking him out. He said he knew, but was going to go. I didn’t know what to say to him. He seemed in a funk. I didn’t know if I said something to bruise his ego, if he felt guilt toward his Kentucky girl, or if he was simply disappointed with my ending things so abruptly. Several minutes after he left, I thought to call and check on what bothered him, but decided against it. I didn’t need to be in everyone’s face knowing everything they’re thinking all the time. I went back to bed with Gert and slept like the dead.