But you know what? I don’t know how to talk about this. He was my first love… I don’t want to be angry at him anymore. I don’t want to be angry at myself anymore… I don’t want to be angry at the Empire State building anymore…
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New Yorkers are like that. We are not intrinsically cheery people. We are all angry, and jaded, and suspicious. Even when we are smiling, we’re secretly waiting for something to go wrong. We revel in our schadenfreude, even when we are the butt of our own jokes. We delight even in our own misfortune, and do not tolerate kindly the fortune of others, unless it’s twisted or short lived. Nobody wants to be around two people who are in love. I would be more popular if I were defiantly trash-talking an ex lover while proclaiming that I didn’t need anybody. Two people in love will quickly be directed to “get a room!”
...read more hereI suppose that was the “mark.” Nobody else hit on me in the hotel after he spoke those words. Ha… that’s a lie… they hit on me all right, but not while he was present. Men seemed to tiptoe around him. They respectfully waited until he had left the room.
...read more hereAnyhow, I’ll be gone tomorrow. Don’t try to contact me. I hope I never see you again. And if you don’t like how I talk back, you can kiss my nappy-haired, East-coast, hairy-legged feminist ass.
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…He invoked a Classic who sought out swing sets at ridiculous hours of the morning even if they were in project-housing playgrounds (I was every bit of naive back then) and swung back and forth giddily like a schoolgirl as though nothing could ever go wrong with the world. Needless to say, I don’t do this anymore, and it’s been literally years since I found myself on a swing set in the projects or anywhere else.
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I had a million reasons why this encounter was not a bad idea. He had a body like an Adonis and a member like a rock. I was drunk nearly out of my mind and I had no husband to cheat on. He was an Out-of-Towner whom I will likely never see again. Technically it had been months since the last time I got any pleasure… and yet my pervasive thought became “why am I doing this?”
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I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore. It doesn’t make sense, what I’m saying. I don’t even want him to leave her. I just want him to pretend that I’m her and call me by her name…
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I don’t know what made me call him back, but I did, just about five minutes after I hung up the phone. I took the cordless and went upstairs to my room, pulled my robe a bit tighter around my body and hit the redial button. He answered with a raspy voice and on the first ring. There was a metronome beeping rhythmically in the background. I had disturbed his practicing. I told him I had a question for him, and that he was free not to answer if he so chose, but I requested that if he chose to answer the question, that he would answer honestly…
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I stretched myself out with my feet by the headboard feeling like my body was leaden and my head was helium-filled. I wondered if this was the other side of suicide. I wondered if I was already dead. I did not think about bleeding. I knew somehow that if I thought about it, it would happen..
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You make my roses open…
you make my fragrance deeper…
