knitting.
“I’m sorry…I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“I don’t either. I believe your session is over.”
“Yeah…” I said with a long pause. “I just…I just want to know. Why do you put up with it?”
“Why do you?” she asked, sending me the dagger eyes.
“Why do I…?”
“What’s the difference between you and I, anyway? You lust after him. I love him. You get a thrill from all this. I get some semblance of security. Some vague feeling of romance, at least when he’s here.”
I grabbed my head in confusion and partly embarrassment. “So why don’t you know…kick my ass or try to shoot me?”
“Do you want me to?” she asked, looking up.
“No…no, I guess I don’t,” I said in resignation, feeling lower than dirt, as usual.
“I could ask you to stop coming by,” she said, wondering aloud, probably just as confused as I was. “But he would probably carry on with someone else. I could cheat on him, I suppose, but I don’t know what enjoyment that would really bring me. I could leave him…” She looked at me in judgment one last time. “But then I guess I’d be alone then, wouldn’t I?”
I shook my head and walked out the door, never to come back. Whatever that guilt trip was, it worked perfectly. I saw firsthand, not only the pain I caused this woman, but also a mirror of my own confused, insane life. None of it made any sense to any of us. And yet we all kept on…because we were too weak to stop turning the wheels, to start changing direction.
I wasn’t ready to give up my life of Yes, and go back to repression and inhibition. But I knew I was done with all of this. All of this mindless, taboo-breaking just for the sake of men’s pleasure. I had pleased them enough. I had pleased myself enough. It was time for me to find some level of honesty, some foundation of what I believed about myself, so that I could start building a life that made sense.
**
September
“To be honest,” I said, while smoking a cigarette and not giving a damn, “I can’t think of any reason why you’d want to be with me.” I wasn’t trying to look like I didn’t give a damn, I had actually reached that point.
I soaked up the wetness of beer in the air, the stench of ashtrays and god knows what in the bathroom. A cheap tavern where only the lowlifes came. Nobody really came here to get laid. They just came here because they didn’t know where else to go. I found another guy here that looked interesting, probably because he was close to where I was, at least in mind.
Eddie was a hard drinker and had a nice tan. But his skin was rough. His eyes were fascinating and his badass motorcycle gang look was definitely attention-grabbing. But I think what I liked most about Eddie was his voice. Despite his hard appearance, his voice seemed almost melodious, and it figures, since he was a musician and part-time singer – drummer.
“I’m not really a good person,” I said, staring past his eyes and into the shadows of the darkened place. “I sort of screw up every good relationship I have. I have no idea what the hell I want.”
“Yeah, I hear ya,” Eddie said drinking his fifth beer. Alcoholic probably, like I was in any position to judge. “Damn near screwed up my life several times. Least you haven’t ended up in a ditch somewhere, homeless, and being beaten in the nads by gang members.”
“Yikes,” I said in horror. “I guess you win.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I’ve just about done it all. I prefer some memories to others, that’s for sure.”
“I kind of think people like us are just not meant to get along. Maybe we shouldn’t be in relationships, the way everyone else is. We’re just too out of touch. We’re the jaded ones. We’re only happy when we’re miserable.”
“Sort of,” Eddie said, finally putting his drink down and finding a worthy rant.
Doug Beason Kevin J Anderson