Katie, a relationship

Katie, a relationship
Regret, ah yes.  My troubled Muse.  How fondly I now think of you, so long have you stayed in my house.  Regret.  Of those things done and those left undone.  Mistakes made, paths not taken.  But this was the big one.  At least, so far.  I don’t know how important she will seem down the line.  But I dwell on the past, not the future.  And so I will continue as I began.  Once it ended I did everything I could to forget her. It didn’t really work.  She may have been my Juliet, but I’ll never be her Romeo.

Katie seemed so perfect when I first met her.  Of course, I was really drunk at the time.

I never loved her.  I can see that now.  I think.  I’m only sure when she isn’t around.  Then everything gets confusing.  Jacob loved her.  Well he might have.  He at least was capable of loving someone other than himself.  Not like Dave…  Or me.  Maybe if Jacob had met her first.  Though she did have those certain “appetites” that would have just fucked Jacob instead.  And he wouldn’t have handled it as well.  But I never loved her.  I hope.  I am pretty certain; almost.  For a while I thought I might.  But that was only because I thought I loved every bitch willing to show me even the slightest attention.  Because clearly that meant they loved me.  Right?  Right.  Even the whores.  Sometimes especially the whores.  And that was Katie.  She loved us all.  She only loved herself.  Goddamn Katie.  She fucked me up.  Real solid like.

I would have to say that the courtship was the best part of our relationship.  It just went so well.  Every sly look, every come hither stare was noticed and reciprocated.  Every joke was a winner.  Every innuendo was understood and surprisingly appreciated.  And for a man who has no touch for subtlety, I was able to convey how I felt for her, how beautiful I found her without telling her.  I still told her.  She was beautiful.  Of course I told her.  But the thing was we just connected.  We fit together.  Our flaws canceled each other out.  As things progressed, I was sure it was “meant to be” or at least that this was going to be a meaningful relationship.  I guess I’m a bad judge.

Looking back on it, it was the perfect place to have my heart broken.  It was so cinematic.  It was so ridiculously out of proportion with respect to the rest of our boring relationship.  It was an epic ending to 3 weeks of passion and 6 months of nothing that special.  It did start off with a bang.  You know the whole cheating on her big man about town boyfriend deal.  I always liked that.  That she felt that I was better than that sellout candyass.  It made me feel for once that I had chosen the right path in rejecting all that common conformist bullshit.  She did break my heart.  But I don’t think I loved her.  I’m not really sure anymore.  I’ve tried to forget.  And I’ve tried to make the break up scene even more cinematic.  That’s what you do if you’re a writer.  Well, not exactly.  That’s what I do, though, as a writer.  I have to make my life interesting or nobody will want to read about it.  How very Tayama Katai of me.  It did seem like a good scene to put into a love story.  I mean there we are sitting there in Murasaki, after having just finished dinner.  The lighting is just right, the mood perfect.  I am about to tell her that I love her (and the way she looks tonight).  I smile.  She smiles back and says so matter-of-factly as to break glass and shatter the last decent elements of my soul and (DOUBT) make me question the purpose of Hope all over again,  “I’ve found someone else.  I’m sorry.”  And then she gets up and walks out of my life for the rest of ever.  I was stunned to say the least.  I mean I know guys always say not to break up with all that bullshit like ‘let’s just be friends’ or ‘it’s not me it’s you’ or some other line, but it really just stuns you when they are so blunt.  That’s when the waiter brought the check.  I tossed it back at him and order a bottle of tequila and a glass of scotch.  

Looking back on it, I should have punched her in the face.  Or raped her right then and there.  But I am a man of words and I have never been a man of action.  I didn’t even think twice about her leaving me with the bill.  Nowhere to go but up.

She was, I don’t know, 5’8” or so with long blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes.  She kept her body fit and trim (likely with the manic trips to the gym that I only became aware of later on) and liked to show it off.  Her pants were always skin tight and she loved drawing attention to her perfect ass.  Her shirt was just long enough to show off her belly button ring that was perfectly accented by her tiny nose stud.  To say that she was vain would be an understatement.  She was drowning in herself.  But it was her smile that seemed to draw it all together.  She had a smile that could stop a man in his tracks and make him think that they were the only two people in the world (she still has that effect on me).  Her smile was so genuine, so sincere, so misleading.  

When I met her I was drunk and I didn’t care.  I wasn’t so drunk that I wasn’t aware of things (a few beers and some tequila shots) and when she came down into Cliché, my life came to a screeching halt.  That was my watershed moment.  Now I classify my life in terms of before and after Katie.  Katie came in with Dave’s boyfriend (they were old friends from “back home” or something) but when they got there, Bryan went to find Dave.  Leaving her alone.  I wanted to go talk to her, but wasn’t planning on it since I often make awkward first impressions – I have a tendency to fuck things up.  Also, I was drunk.  I figured I would let another guy go in – I didn’t want a pretty thing like that to be wasted (The Universe could never be so cruel as to waste a beauty like that.  Mankind could never recover from such a blow) – and that way I wouldn’t have to make an ass of myself.  
I went for another beer and all the guys in the bar went for Katie.  But for some reason, one after another, she coolly dismissed them.  Seeing that she didn’t have a drink and not wanting to be the only guy who wouldn’t be able to talk around the damn water cooler tomorrow about how this bitch turned him down (I do love my conformity).  So I walked over.  “The lady will have another … ?”  I looked her way “Extra dry martini.”  “And bring me another shot.”  What the hell, let’s do this shit – and I struck up a meaningless conversation.  I don’t really remember what we talked about – it didn’t really seem important at the time – but unlike all the other guys, I seemed to hit it off with Katie.  I didn’t get any of the normal ‘I really don’t want to talk with you just because you bought me a delicious beverage” signals that normally occurred when I talked to girls (and it wasn’t just because I was drunk either – ok, that I can’t verify, being as I was quite drunk, I might have fabricated much or all of the incident.).  I’m sure it was the normal things – what we do: jobs and otherwise, interests: what movies we like, what actors we hate, random filler – but I can’t say for sure.  Whatever I said, it must have been right because as the night faded into morning we shared a cab.

I was, of course, more than willing.  She was beautiful and any excuse to spend time with her, even something as pointless as taking a cab in the opposite direction of where I should have been headed was to be taken up without hesitation.  I don’t know what provoked her to share a cross-town cab with a guy she had just met.  It could have been the booze.  Or she saw something I don’t.  But when we got to her place, I had no expectation that I would be invited in.  The thought never even crossed my mind.  While I’m sure I was thinking how beautiful she was and how I would like to get with a girl like her, I can’t imagine that I actually considered it seriously.  She was way way out of my league.  I was likely thinking about how expensive this night was turning out to be and did I have enough money for the cab.  I did.  But not for the return trip.  So then I was wondering about where the nearest subway station was.  But when we got to her door and I was anticipating awkward silence, she casually invited me in.  I was too stunned to even consider refusing.  

Her sheets are much softer than mine.

(gratuitous sex scene)

I awoke the next morning early and slightly disoriented (waking up in strange places isn’t that unusual, waking up in strange beds slightly less usual).  Slowly looking around, I saw Katie by her mirror applying her makeup.  She turned and smiled.  I still couldn’t tell you if there is anything more beautiful in the world than Katie when she smiles.  It lights up the room.  Even now she can get my heart fluttering.  

“Hey there sweetheart, I was wondering when you would wake up.”  I smiled.  

“Sorry to have kept you waiting.  I hope you enjoyed watching me sleep.”  She laughed.  It was a beautiful lilting laugh.  Not a care in the world.

I got up and started looking for my clothes.  They were all over the place.  And I was missing a sock.

“Oh, I don’t really want my boyfriend to find out we fucked – he’s kinda possessive.  So you’ll probably want to keep this quiet”  

“Boyfriend?”  She had to be joking.  Obviously she wouldn’t bring me back to her place if she had a boyfriend.  That kind of thing just doesn’t happen.  I mean, I’m a sweet dude and all.  But that shit only happens to James Bond or in the fucking movies or shit.

“Yeah, I don’t know if you know him – Jesse Danbury?”  

“No, but I’ve heard of him.  Something of an important man about town or something.”  How does a girl like her end up dating a douche like that?  I couldn’t believe it.  That Jesse fucker was such a goddamn tool.  And I fucked his old lady.  Bastard had it fucking coming.  It was starting to look like I wasn’t going to be asked over again.

“So you’ll probably want to keep this quiet”  

“Not a problem.  I’m down with O.P.P.”  Silence.  Maybe I am not as cool as I pretend.  “Don’t worry, we don’t really run in the same circles.”  

“Right.”  She walked over to the bed, leaned over and kissed me, “So, when can I see you again?”  I guess you could say I was confused.  

“What about the boyfriend?”  

“What about him?”  Good point.  Why should I care about a fucktard like him?  Except that if he ever found out I might be in some trouble.

“Whenever you want.  I’m not really that busy most days.”  

“How about Tuesday?”  So long?  That was three days away.  How could I go three days without Katie?  It wasn’t humanly possible.  I declined to think on the fact that I had gone my entire life up until now without her.  It lessened the drama of the situation.

“Tuesday works.”  

“Excellent.”  She kissed me deeply and then turned to leave the room.  “Bye sexy, I’ll see you on Tuesday.”  I was stunned.  Sexy?  Yeah, I guess she was right.  I am a pretty fucking hot motherfucker.  She probably just forgot my name.

I would have said something, but she had already left the room.  I found the nearest station and caught the train home.  I needed a nap.

She broke up with Jesse not too long after that.  Or he broke up with her.  I never really asked for the details.  She caught him cheating on her or something.  Sleeping with his boss or his secretary or both.  I would expect anything from a jackoff like him.  Regardless, he went off with some other little thing and she came home to me.  Everything was right with The Universe.  Or so I thought.

First impressions mean a lot.  But they aren’t always right.  When I first saw Katie I thought that she was flawless.  She was the most beautiful woman in the world.  She was perfection in a box.  I ammended that view a bit over the length of our relationship.  I mean, she is beautiful.  I still think so.  But she isn’t the “most beautiful woman in the world.”  There is no such thing as the “most beautiful woman in the world.”  She has flaws.  We all do.  But I never really minded them.  I thought the relationship was going fine.  Why would I mind a few minor things?  I didn’t think it would make a big difference in the end.  I’ve been wrong before.

• Isaac, you are so emotionally guarded, I can’t get through to you.


• What?  What are you talking about?


• You never let me close.  You never let me in.


• I let you close all the time.


• Emotionally.  You never let me close emotionally.


• Oh great.  Not this speech again.


• It’s important, Isaac, it’s important if we are going to have a future.  It’s important if you don’t want me to leave.


• Katie, I’m trying to write.  Can’t this wait?


• No.  It can’t wait.  I can’t wait.  I’ve been waiting for you for too long now…

(intermission)

• You’re breaking up with me?


• It’s nothing personal.


• The fuck it isn’t.  You’re breaking up with me.  How much more personal does it get?


• Well, you had to know this was coming.  I mean, we don’t have anything in common.


• We have tons of things in common.


• You know what I mean. (getting flustered)


• Yeah, I know what you mean.  (pause)  So are you fucking someone else or just being a bitch?

I felt comfortable with her.  And that is unusual for me.  That was why I always thought that it was right; meant to be.  I never had to impress her.  In the beginning that was about all I was doing and it nearly fucked it all up.  But once I settled down (after she got rid of that other guy and we “decided” to be “exclusive”) things got better.  And I got comfortable.  I guess that made it worse in the end.  Made it hurt more when she cut me loose.  I don’t know what happened.  Maybe being comfortable made me complacent.  Maybe when I stopped trying to impress her I started taking her for granted.  Who knows?  I just never saw it coming.

Bethany; visions

Bethany; visions
I have been drinking myself to sleep for a bitch of a while now.  The days drift by in the same desperate haze.  The nights are so drowned in beer and tequila that I can barely find my way to the surface.  Not that I’ve been trying.  I gave up treading water in this dream pool long long fuck long ago.  Life goes on, as it must, but no one was saved.  No one ever is.

Bethany came into my store the other day.  God, but she was a vision of beauty in this dark and decaying world.  She smiled at me and all the nightmares went far far away.  Her icy blue eyes saw right through my shallow façade and into my empty sad sorry soul.  And then I forgot about the killer fucking hangover I had (it didn’t take long for me to remember).

I didn’t talk to her.  I couldn’t.  I didn’t know how.  I mean, she was hot.  And that is so fucking intimidating.

That was 3 weeks ago.  I have since said ‘hello.’  She might have smiled at me.  Or she might have just been being nice.  Or it might have been a trick of the lighting that I just imagined and turned into this big deal.  Doubt was never my friend.

So I have been writing more.  And that has been good for me.  And I have been drinking more.  And that has been much the same for me.  

When the highlight of your life is saying ‘hello’ to a beautiful customer who comes in 3-4 times a week, there is really no reason to stop drinking the rest of your life away.  What else is there?  It’s not like I had anything else to look forward to.  Maybe that is bad advice.  So maybe don’t follow it.  But when all that’s left is a trip to Desolation Row or thirteen continuous hours of reality television, I know which way I am going every mother fucking time.  Sometimes forgetting isn’t the worst thing that could happen.  Some lives just aren’t worth remembering.

Some people find truth in the bottle.  Or inspiration.  Or god knows what the fuck else.  I never really found anything but booze.  So maybe I wasn’t looking hard enough.  Or maybe I wasn’t drinking hard enough.  The fuck do I know?  But there was nothing else to take away the boredom.  And sweet fucking Christ but there was no way I was going back to that unarmed.

And work just dragged.  There was no life there.  We were all desperate for something; something different; something better.  We knew everything was fucked but not all of us had given up hope yet.  It is just a matter of wanting to do something about it.  It’s not as easy as you smug bastards seem to think.  Or maybe you never had dreams no one believed in.  That you barely trusted.

“Hey, Bethany… the usual?”  My week has now hit a peak.  I am coming into work hammered tomorrow and I don’t give a shit.  Life is a meaningless wreck.  Bring on the mother fucking booze.  

Tonight it is whiskey.  Cocktails and dreams.  Lost wandering ramblings three cigarettes and delusion set me straight on my way.  And the Muse hits me in the face with a baseball bat called Jack Daniels.  So I write another story about misery or boredom or life looking up or whatever it is I do when I am drunk.

“Hi, Bethany.  How are you today?”  You look beautiful today.  Just like every other day.  Day.  What day is it, anyway?  Am I getting paid soon?  I am out of booze.  And rent is coming due soon, I think.  Or was that last month; week; Tuesday; whatever.  Huh?  She said something and I missed it.  Smile.  Pretending to be pretty is all I fucking got.

Have you ever had difficulty recalling what parts of your life really happened and what parts you dreamt or made up?  

Then it was the weekend.  The one I have been working for all week long.  The guys were busy.  Doing something or other.  And I had nothing else to do, so I drank until I passed out.  On a chair.  I awoke several hours later in a daze.  I couldn’t decide if I wanted to keep drinking, get some water, or take a piss.  While I was pissing, I decided I was drunk.  But too drunk to do anything about it.  I went to sleep.  In my bed.  I think my phone was ringing.  I don’t think I answered it.

Sleeping in a chair doesn’t hurt so much when you are blown out of your fucking mind.  But does it ever fuck up the neck and spine for the rest of the week.  I decided to stop drinking for a day or two.  At least until I could turn my head without trouble.

So it was in one of my rare completely sober moments that Fate slapped me in the face.  Figures.  As if I know how to react when I am sober.  As if I can relate to people, much less girls, much less beautiful women, much less Bethany my utterly perfect female counterpart when I am sober.  It wasn’t that I needed a drink.  I am not an alcoholic.  I just needed something anything a way out.  I had just gotten off work.  Damn.  The fucking timing.  Always the fucking timing.  

Bethany walked in and ordered from someone who wasn’t me.  ‘Hey there, Bethany.  You are beautiful,’ I told myself.  ‘I know you probably hear that a lot from a lot of guys.  And I am sure all of them are more successful than I am.  How could they not be?  But still…’  I had no idea what to say next.  And this was only mumbling inside my head.  If I couldn’t even convince myself why she should talk to me how in the happy hell was I going to convince her?  The world was coming to a standstill.  It was a moment of truth.  Time stopped.  The little dog laughed.  To see such sport.

She sat down two tables away from me.  Of course she wasn’t going to sit at my table.  What the fuck do you think this is, a made for TV movie where even the bad guy gets laid?  She was staring off into nowhere.  And not in the self-reflexive seeing something in the great beyond way that I stare into nowhere while I am trying to write a poem of great depth and meaning or a story that touches the soul of every man woman and child.  No, it was a desperate longing look beseeching the expansive Nothing to take it all back or fix it all or do goddamn something anything other than this please not this.  I wasn’t going to get a better invitation than this.

I went home.  Yeah, so I fucked up the show.  No one knows or cares but me.  Invitations or not, I don’t need to ruin a perfect vision of beauty by actually meeting her talking to her getting to know her and each and every one of her flaws that will destroy break shatter everything I have been dreaming about for the past few months.  Sorry.  Not the way I am going out.  I’ll live lonely still before I go out and do that to myself.  What I need is someone that I don’t have to put on a pedestal.  Someone that I don’t have to idolize before I talk to her.  Do you think there might be a little something wrong with me?  With the way I approach life?  More than just a touch of gray.

And life went on, as it tends to.  And I said hello to Bethany when she came in.  And she said hello to me.  And we smiled.  And did nothing.  Because that’s what people do.  And that’s how shit goes.  I got by.  And pretended it was enough.  And I kept writing sad miserable pieces of degenerate drunkery that I hope to pass off as gold.  

Of course, I kept drinking.  She probably did too.  Alone.  As it was meant to be.  Because if it wasn’t meant to be that way, we would have done something about it.  And we never fucking did.

On second thought, I bet she has a boyfriend.