Category: Dialogue

~ a story ~

I knew it. I knew as soon as she opened the boxed that I had fucked up. Maybe it wasn’t the right color. Or the right size. Or maybe it was just something she found utterly atrocious.

Either way, I knew I fucked up.

“You hate it,” I stated plainly.

“No. No, I love it.”

“You’re lying. I can tell when you’re lying. You do this thing with your eyebrow.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You did it again.”

I am always horrible at gifts. I never get it right.

At least this year I got the date right. I’m horrible at birthdays and holidays. And don’t even get me started on anniversaries.

I really don’t know why she puts up with me.

“Why do you put up with me?”

“I told you, I love it.”

“Seriously. I never get this right. It’s always the wrong color or wrong size or…just something is always wrong. I’m surprised I at least got the date right this year.”

“Yeah…”

“I got the date wrong, too.”

“You were only off by one.”

“Well, I guess one day isn’t bad.”

“Week.”

“Week!?!”

“Love…”

“I was off by a week!?!”

“Love…”

“Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Love, you’re bad with dates; I know this.”

“Shit, nervous people are bad with dates. Pre-historic writings are bad with dates. I suck at this. I’m like the shitiest partner ever.”

“Love, stop. You are not the shitiest partner ever.”

“Have I ever gotten your birthday right?”

“No, but…”

“Have I ever gotten the present right?”

“Well…”

“I suck at this.”

“No, you don’t. You suck at dates. You suck at gift gving. You’re generally a slob. You spend too much time in front of the TV. You never order enough food when we go out and you always end up stealing half my meal. But you’re kind. You always tip the waiter at least twenty percent. You never buy me anything cheap for my birthday; I have the gift receipts to prove it. You always make sure to DVR my shows so I can watch them later. And you always are home at night to rub my back til I fall asleep. You are not the suckiest partner ever.”

“Really?”

“Really. Just… can you please try to at least get your clothes in the hamper. I’ll take care of the washing, but just get them into the hamper and not all over our bedroom floor. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes. And… can you secretly write your birthday on my calendar next year. One week?”

“I knew it was coming. It felt like a surprise, when you’d finally remember.”

“God, I suck.”

“Meh, I’ve had worse.”

The cold rain pounded her body; she didn’t care. The frigid wind blew; she didn’t mind. The rain masked her tears. The wind screamed louder than her cries. She was grateful for the torrent around her, grateful something rivaled the tornado of emotions inside her.

He arrived around 9, tired from work, not expecting to see her on his front porch. She was soaked through, shivering, somehow seeming both strong and weak.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I wanna fuck.”

“Huh?”

“I wanna fuck you. You wanna fuck me, right?”

“Come inside.”

He fumbled with his keys for a moment before opening his front door and ushering in his half crazed friend. Retrieving a large towel from his linen closet, he handed it to her. She took it, but just held it at her side as if he’d handed her a drink she had no interest in sipping.

“What’s wrong, love?”

“Come on, let’s go upstairs.” She grasped his arm as if to pull him to his bedroom.

“I don’t know if…”

“No, you’re right. Let’s just do it right here.” She began taking off her clothes, an act he wanted her to do but for a very different reason.

“Why aren’t you taking your clothes off,” she snapped at him. He just stood, looking on her with pity. She was naked, shivering by his front door. This was not how he imagined their first fuck would be.

“Where is she?” His friend’s gaze turned red hot.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Love, where is she?”

“She didn’t show,” she screamed. Her voice did not quiet; she began pacing. “We made plans. The restaurant where we had our first date, that little Italian Bistro tucked away in our old neighborhood. And I waited. And waited. And nothing. I called her phone; straight to voicemail. Straight to fucking voicemail. Didn’t even have the balls to tell me why. Why?”

“Love, stop. Stop!”

“I don’t want to stop. I wanna fuck you.”

“You want to hurt her.”

“I want to not feel her. I want to not see her or think about her or…or…”

He caught his friend as she collapsed on his floor. She balled, wailed as she had before he arrived. He took the towel from her hands and wrapped it around her. He held her tight. He waited for her cries to end.

She gripped his shirt, buried her face into his shoulder, and let it out. The pain was like a dagger piercing her heart with each breath. Softly she whimpered “why…why” over and over again.

Eventually, she stopped.

“Oh god. Oh god, I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have come over here like this. And your shirt. Your nice dress shirt…”

“I have dozens of them, don’t worry.”

“Jesus. Well I feel real attractive right now.”

“This is definitely not how I planned to get you naked in my house.”

“I am so…so sorry.”

“Stop. Everyone falls down, one time or another. Ready to get up?”

She took a breath and held it for a moment, before softly whispering, “Yes.”

* You want me to be honest?

– Yes. And no bullshit. The word ‘rejection’ better not cross your lips.

* Hmm… Well, beyond rejection. Beyond failure. Beyond loneliness and heartache, the usuals.

– Yes.

* The thing I fear the most is… the dark.

– The dark?

* The dark.

– Really?

* Yes. In case the power goes out, I keep a flashlight right beside my bed. It’s one of those crank ones, so it never runs out of battery. And before you ask, yes, I do sleep with a night light.

– A night light?

* I strung up some Christmas lights in my bedroom. They’re plugged into the outlet controlled by the wall switch. It’s diffuse, soft; I’m lulled in the dim glow each night. I used to have them strung up all over my apartment, but slowly they burnt out. So now just in my bedroom, the place I need them the most.

– Why the dark?

* Because. Because I don’t know what’s in it. Because I don’t want to know what’s in it. Because I don’t know what waits for me there. Because I can’t see, can’t defend myself. Because I can’t even run away; what if I’m running right to it, the monster in the dark?  Is it right behind me? Right beside me? It’s the most basic, most base, most gut churning “this must stop” fear I have.

– [short pause] Wasn’t expecting that. Different.

* I’m special. So what’s yours?

– Excuse me?

* What’s your greatest fear?

– No no, we’re talking about you tonight.

* And why is that?

– This is the getting to know you phase, so I’m getting to know you. What’s the happiest day of your life?

* [pause] I don’t know.

– Pick a day, above all days, that means the most to you.

* I can’t. I just can’t.

– Pick one.

* I can’t. [pause] Everyday, everyday I can think of, everyday I’m suppose to love is marred by a moment of hurt. I can’t pick a day; I haven’t had my happiest day yet.

– Okay, then pick a moment. A single moment of happiness.

* [grins, shakes head] No, I don’t want to pick that one.

– What one?

* It’s too…no.

– Just say it.

* No.

– Say it.

* Fine. [sighs] It was a night with my Ex. We sat on the back patio of our apartment. It was a cool summer evening. Cool, but not cold. Almost perfect. He sat sipping his bourbon. I sipped on a beer. My legs were draped over his lap. He lazily rubbed my thighs. I slumped back and closed my eyes while he looked out on the parking lot watching the last bits of sunlight fade away. We had just had some really great sex, I mean really great sex, after arguing half the day, I don’t remember about what. It was that moment that I thought, Yeah, this is it. This is what I want.  Of course that turned out to be bullshit. I was high off the two hours of wild fucking and had no idea we would break up in about a month. But right there, right then, I, we were good. So what’s the happiest day of your life?

– [huffs a laugh] Nice try.