We Get It

People who sit on the same side of the table

make me sick.

There’s no need to order the same entrée

or, even worse, order fajitas for two and share it.

There’s no need to kiss in between each bite

or consult each other on having another strawberry margarita.

There’s no need to get matching North Face jackets,

let alone wear them at the same time.

There’s no need for either of you to have a hand on the other’s leg,

In public anyway, what you do at home is on you.

You can’t even look at each other when you chew.

What do you have against eye contact?

Are you that socially awkward?

You probably have the same profile picture

in which you’re wearing the matching jackets.

And I wouldn’t be surprised if you both checked in here on Foursquare.

And Facebook.                                   

There’s no need to write preemptive “last letters” to one another.

We get it, you love each other.

A Fleeting Moment

I fell in love with that Barista when the first sip from a drink

I’d been getting for the past six years touched my tongue

and sent a whole new warmth down my spine.

The smooth and sweet latte slid down my throat

and settled into my stomach allowing me to relax

against the cold chair as I exhaled slowly.

I knew I’d never have her when I opened my eyes to see

her boyfriend stroll in, sit his motorcycle helmet on the counter

and kiss her ferociously with affection.

It’s just hot milk and sugar anyway.

Thanks for Letting Me Stay

It’s still dark, just street lights.

What time is it?

God, my head is killing me.

Which one is this?

Blonde.

Not short; not tall either.

Decent breasts.

Amelia?

Yeah, Amelia.

Three tequila, floor, eh.

I’m… still wearing a condom?

That’s a good sign.

Where’s the trashcan?

Will she wake up if I move?

She’s practically on top of me.

Is she snoring?

She’s definitely snoring.

I guess it was good for her too.

Fan’s spinning.

Room’s spinning.

Is this winning?

Feels like it.

Should I stay?

I should go.

These sheets are so soft though.

I should go.

Did she move?

She definitely moved.

Shit.

“Oh. Hey.”

“Uh, hey.

Thanks for letting me stay?

“What’s your name again?”

The Difference Between Men and Women

It just doesn’t make sense to me.

You’ve got the standard pink and red pairs of boy shorts.

Well yes, the lacy black ones too,

for special occasions I presume.

And then you have a few polka dotted ones

that span from bikinis to some that aren’t quite G-strings

but are pretty damned thin.

Oh, and a few striped pairs which I guess came in a pack.

You must’ve bought a similar pack of solids too,

or maybe they were some ridiculous 7 for $25 deal

where it just doesn’t make sense to buy less than 7

when you only really needed 3 – that’s how they get ya.

Me? What about me?

Just boxer-briefs. Fruit of the Loom. Shades of black and blue.

Not So Fast

Weeks later he would find traces of her here and there:

Under the pillow, lengthy strands of her light blond hair,

Between the mattress, a lacy pair of her black underwear,

In the cabinet, a box of Frosted Mini-Wheats they used to share.

She too would clean sometimes and find the same:

Under the couch, dice lost in a late night romp after a Drinkopoly game.

In an old textbook, a Valentine’s Day card which on second thought was lame.

Behind the TV, a stuffed animal her dog Sadie had since maimed.

After every “last time” they were “definitely done”

Until one would call the other for another, “just one”.

And after every “last time” they’d finally part ways at first sight of the Sun

Until weeks later when she called and asked, “how do you feel about having a son?”

Weather

Always thunder and lightning but never any real rain,

for better; for worse.

Always just the slow run of water down the ducts

on that gutter of a pillowcase flipped 100 times over,

never changed.

Always plates and bowls, $16.22 for each new set at Crate and Barrel,

but never the china they got on their honeymoon in China.

Always over the baby: Marcus or Julien,

Catholic or Baptist, public or private…

Never mind. Nevermore.

Finally, rain. Mostly Sunny after Noon.

I’d been working at HP for 22 years, my first job out of college, when at 4:37 one afternoon my boss called me into his office. He must’ve heard Ingrid from her desk five feet from his door say “go on in” as I caught him adjusting his tie and Armani suit, the same one George Clooney wore on the cover of Esquire last month.

“Yes, Clark, shut the door, have a seat.”

I stopped mid-stride, walked the three steps back and shut the door slowly. When it finally clicked I paused,

“You’re going to fire me, aren’t you, Fred?”

“Well, Clark, I know you’ve been with us for about 20 years n—“

“22”

“Yes, 22 years now, which is why I wanted you to be one of the first to know about the acquisition.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“I’m sorry, it’s—”, before he could finish I slammed down on the handle, swung the door open and walked, not meeting any of the passing glances both puzzled and piercing.

Instead of going down to the garage I got off on the ground floor and ducked into the first bar I saw which was in the old hotel a couple of blocks down. Turns out they had cheap Ketel One during the day so I had a few on the rocks. It burned more than I’d liked but that went away sometime after the fourth. A little while after that the bartender said I’d had enough and when I got up to piss I realized that Butch was right.

A BMW drove through a puddle in the street just as I walked past the hotel busboy. It splashed muddy water onto the sidewalk which trickled through the cracks and back onto the street.

“It rained?” I asked half turning.

“Yes, sir, didn’t see anything about rain on my phone this morning either.”

I pulled my phone from my pocket, a missed call from my wife, Audrey. I had no idea what to tell her. I left it on silent and stuffed my hands and phone into my trench coat and walked off toward my favorite spot.

It was one of those dark and dirty places that was always dark and dirty no matter the time of day or the weather. No one I knew ever went and I never talked to anyone while I was there. I took a table at the back of the bar. The solid black stone was cold but I pushed both arms out on it anyway over crumbs and dried drink rings. The table shifted under the unbalanced weight on the one leg centered in the middle. I stopped short of resting my head on it. The bulb overhead had gone out but it was just light enough to make out the face of the little red haired girl whose name I couldn’t remember when she placed a drink in my outstretched hands.

“Old Fashioned. That’s your drink isn’t it, Mr. Murray?”

“Yeah. Good memory, kid.”

“Long day at the office?”

“Last day at the office.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Murray.”

“Don’t be, kid. It wasn’t your fault. Just don’t let up on these tonight.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Murray. If it makes you feel any better Grace is going on in about 10.”

It did, then again it could’ve been the taste of that familiar Old Fashioned, cold and sweet but with a little too much fruit.

“Right on time, huh?”

I thought back and remembered that it was because of Grace that I first wandered in there in the first place. I’d left dinner at the Mexican restaurant a few doors down after enchiladas and one too many margaritas. It was on the way back to the building when I heard her through the open door singing “Que Sera, Sera” better than Doris Day herself. I started in when the bouncer’s hand firmly on my chest broke my concentration.

“ID.”

With my better judgment I fumbled in my suit jacket and flashed my ID through the plastic window in my wallet. He let me through and I walked straight up front and center to an open table I figured was left just for me.

The whole place was dark save for Grace up on that stage, even the old man on piano played mostly in her shadow. She was a damned beautiful girl if I’d ever seen one too. Beautiful just like any other girl only more so, tall with hair long, soft, and golden like wheat just before a late October harvest. She was the kind of girl they used to pick to be in the pictures back when they called them pictures and back when it wasn’t all about the pretty face but voice too, and man could Grace sing. She did the whole number eyes closed, hands wrapped tightly around that microphone as if when she sung it she could see herself as a little girl and could hold onto it for a few minutes at a time.

The little red haired girl brought a second Old Fashioned just before Grace went on, this time without the orange and cherries as I set aside the last ones on the drink napkin. There was sparse applause from random tables around the bar as Grace walked out to no introduction in a strapless blue dress. It hugged her body close but not too tight and with each step her hips waved gently as if she couldn’t help it. She turned and smiled at the old man, closed her eyes and breathing deep started a cappella, “if it takes forever, I will wait for you…” before the he accompanied on the keys. When she opened her eyes after that first line she scanned the room slowly, eventually meeting mine in the back. Occasionally she’d break her gaze and work the room but she’d always make her way back to me.

She only did one song that night. I reached for my phone to check the time only to see that I’d missed another call from Audrey. I clutched it in my hands for a moment as the screen dimmed and eventually went black.

“Got the time?” I heard a voice say from above.

“Yeah, it’s a little after 11.”

“Oh. Isn’t it past your bedtime then, Mr. Murray?”

Her sugary perfume wafted down and I couldn’t help but smirk as I shifted in my chair, sitting back to take in as much of Grace as I could.

“You’re right. Except I got laid off today so I guess not.”

“Oh, Mr. Murray. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Gracie.”

“You look tired, Mr. Murray. You should go.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m actually leaving too; do you want to walk me to my place? It’s just a few blocks down.”

I turned my phone in my hand between my thumb and middle finger a few times thinking it over before I agreed. “Sure, kid.” I threw back what was left of the drink and wiped my mouth having underestimated the amount. The table wobbled after using it to get up and the chair hardly slid on the concrete floor causing it to rear on its hind legs.

“Careful, Mr. Murray.”

“I got it, kid, don’t worry.”

Grace walked off to get her coat while I waited near the door with my hands in my trench coat pockets, still clutching my phone.

“Goodnight, Charlie,” she said walking past the doorman, “Mr. Murray’s gonna walk me home tonight so don’t wait up.”

“That your boyfriend?”

She smiled, “he wishes,” and clutched my arm as we walked briskly down the street.

Neither one of us said a thing. I don’t know how far we walked but after a couple of minutes we were outside her building.

Reaching out for the handle on the big glass doors she asked over her shoulder, “do you mind coming up with me? I don’t feel safe until I get the lights on.”

I didn’t argue and followed her through the fully furnished lobby and to the elevator. It took a minute for the elevator to come. Watching the numbers count down one by one on the bright red LED I struggled to make out 19 from 18 and 13 from 12. I followed nonetheless when Grace stepped in and pressed her number on the panel without looking.

“How is it that you afford a place like this, kid?”

“I have a roommate.”

“Ah.”

“But she’s out of town for the week.”

“Convenient.”

The door opened to the 15th floor and Grace stepped out ahead without checking to see if I were behind her. With each step the striking of her heels against the concrete of solid floors bounced off the thick white walls like the cadence of soldiers on a mission.

Her apartment was the one at the end of the hall. She took her time rummaging through her clutch finding her key, inserting it, turning the lock and opening the door. The heavy metal door closed behind me on its own. The only light in the apartment came from the street through a window across from the door that made up the whole of the wall.

“Watch that step, Mr. Murray,” she said moving through the apartment and to the kitchen area turning on a single light over the stainless steel stove, “don’t just stand there, Mr. Murray, have a seat. You’re making me nervous.”

It took a time for me to spot the black leather couch and loveseat arranged around the glass coffee table, all obviously from IKEA. She even had the matching TV cabinet and a Sony Bravia with a matching entertainment system someone set up for her.

As I admired her living room she came and extended a glass of whiskey neat to me.

“I shouldn’t have that.”

“Please, Mr. Murray, I don’t like to drink alone. We’ll have just this one and then I’ll be ready for bed.”

“Of course.”

She turned the system on and played some song I didn’t recognize but I knew the voice as Sarah Vaughn.

“How did you get an ear for all of these old songs and singers, kid?” I asked moving across the living area.

“I’m not sure, really. I just like the way they sound. Natural and strong, you know?”

I knew exactly what she meant but didn’t respond. I took off my coat and suit jacket slowly, maneuvering the drink from hand to hand, tossed them on the loveseat adjacent the coffee table, and sat down on the end of the sofa next to it. The leather was cold against my shirt and slacks. Grace sat down in the middle seat next to me clutching her glass of whiskey with both hands, sipping it like hot chocolate. We just sat there for a while not talking, faced forward at the black screen listening to the music, when an Etta James rendition of “My Funny Valentine” came on the playlist.

“I should go” I said sitting my glass on the table and reaching for my phone as I couldn’t make out the time on the stereo, just a green blur.

Grace lunged out catching my right wrist just inside my jacket pocket with her right hand, “stay.”

I could feel the hard plastic of my phone’s case with my fingertips for a moment; then nothing as her fingertips racing slowly up my arm then across to my chest caused me to retreat into the sofa. I sunk down low as she pushed harder eventually whipping her leg over mine, the dress riding up appropriately. She paused there, lording over me finally conquered.

“You know, you’re my biggest fan.”

“But I have a wife,” I managed to whisper.

“I just wanted to thank you,” she said, her thumb working the knot in my tie.

“But I—”

“Always listening so intently…” two hands now making short work of the buttons.

“But—”

“Please. This one’s on me…” 

Anna, I only knew because your cup had your name on it. A creme brulee frappuccino, festive, typical. I pretended not to be looking as you pretended to not catch me looking and we went on in that manner until one by one the students stressed out on finals and cracked out on caffeine slowly left as the time for the place to close slowly crept and we’d have to go our separate ways.

As I write this the workers mop around us, a subtle sign it’s closing time yet you remain, perfectly proportional bare feet perched on the coffee table twirling your jet black hair, too comfortable to care, flipping through your texts on Australian Cinema. I usually don’t believe in these things, a shot in the dark for those rubbing out shots in the dark, but here I am and there you are, and I know you’ll be gone and I’ll still be here wondering what could have been. At least with this there might still be, maybe you read them for the novelty. Maybe your best friend reads them and she’ll recognize you and she’ll tell you about it how I want to meet you here again tomorrow, same time, same big, red, kind of uncomfortable chairs.

You sneeze, and though I have my headphones in I say bless you too have your headphones in and apparently don’t hear me, or don’t care to hear me.

The time is now Midnight, the couple who’d been talking three inches from each other’s face over the table in the corner finally left and now it’s just us. As if noticing the empty room you close your laptop, close your books, wrap your headphones and put them in your leather tote in that same order. I put my head down but angle my eyes up as you walk toward the exit. As you pass a piece of paper falls on my keyboard as I quickly open a new tab to hide this post. It lands face up as if you meant for it to land that way. It reads call me in a couple of hours.

            I told her I’d walk her to her door after we got back from dinner, she insisted I come up and see her room. Her dormitory was older than the others and the smell of rain had begun to seep through the windows lining the hallway. The lighting was low and she held my hand as she guided me toward her room. As we walked I noticed all of the doors had sports themed decorated nametags, Sarah’s was a basketball. She fumbled with her keys for a second as if it were a new set and she couldn’t tell the difference between her room key, her mail key, and the key to her house back in Virginia. When she found it, she struggled putting it in, having to work it back and forth like a knife cutting into a steak.

            “Old locks”, she said with a smile I could faintly make out as it turned with a click and the door opened with a loud, long creak.

            As we walked in I was knocked back by the smell of 1000 lotions, perfumes, and scented candles. The only light came from Sarah’s Macbook which she apparently never turned off and the backlight was always set at its brightest. She took my umbrella which we shared, threw it into the closet next to the doorway and flipped the light switch which revealed the rest of the room. Two beds were bunked to save space and each of their Cherry wood desks were pushed to opposite corners of the room. A small, 19 inch flat screen TV sat on the microwave which sat on the mini-fridge which was placed evenly between the desks. She opened the mini-fridge and placed her leftover lasagna next to the mostly empty bottle of SKYY Raspberry Vodka.

            “Where’s your roommate?”

            “She went home for the weekend.” How convenient, I thought.

            “What’s the rule here about ‘guests’? It’s different at every dorm isn’t it?”

            “Well ‘guests’ are supposed to check in at the front, and boys aren’t allowed in after Midnight on Fridays and Saturdays.”

            The clock on her desk read 10:47.

            “Good timing.”

            “No one checks anyway. My RA has her boyfriend over most of the time and no one says anything.”

            “Oh, okay.”

            She walked over and sat on the futon under the window next to the beds, “so you don’t have to go if you don’t want to”

            “Alright,” I said. The way she sat with her long, slender legs crossed tightly within her black, strapless dress I could tell she wanted me to sit next to her, but I wasn’t quite ready. I looked around some more and noticed she had pictures pinned to the corkboard above her desk. They were mostly of her and her “girls”, as she often referred to them as.

            “What’s with the outfit?” I asked, pointing to a picture of her in a white button up shirt with matching navy and green plaid skirt and tie. She stood out the most; tall and the only one with red hair. “Were you and a bunch of friends schoolgirls for Halloween?”

            “No, I went to an all girls school in Virginia after me and my mom moved there.”

            “Then what brings you back to Texas?”

            “My dad still lives up in Dallas. I never really wanted to leave.”

            “I see”

            She stood and walked over next to me. “It’s bright,” she said. “Do you mind if I turn off the light and plug in the Christmas lights instead?”

            I looked up and noticed a ring of Christmas lights around the top of the room, “Not at all.”

            “That’s better,” she said. The room was much more dim but still light enough to see.

            “You can take your jacket off,” she said, “unless you’re cold.”

            “Oh, I forgot I had it on.” I knew what she was doing, but I didn’t know how to stop her.

She reached up, took it off for me, and placed it on the back of her roommate’s chair. I was still looking at the pictures for a distraction when she placed her hands on my shoulders, turned me around, and kissed me. I didn’t resist, I’d have been crazy to push that away. Some of the wine she had at dinner lingered on her lips just long enough so that I tasted it too. It was richer and sweeter than any wine I’d ever tasted. From then on wine has neither tasted rich nor sweet. Actually, I hate the taste of wine now. She slowly began walking backwards. With her hands running through my hair she held us together until she fell carefully under the top bunk and into her bed. I had no choice but to follow obediently.

I awoke the next morning by the warmth of the sun imposing itself on the jersey cotton sheets and flannel blanket. I flipped my head around and realized I was alone. I looked over at the clock, it was 9:20. Some part of me wanted to stay, but the better part knew I couldn’t. Still, I lay there, sprawled out as much as possible on the extra long twin bed staring at the bottom of the bed above, imagining what could be.

            I glanced over at the clock again, 9:29. A few seconds later a sharp buzzing shattered the dream space I was in, causing me to hit my head on the top bunk as I jumped up in surprise. I rolled out of the bed and realized the alarm was on her phone. I tried to turn it off but I was prompted to enter a passcode. I quickly entered four 1s and the screen went red. I sat down in the her chair when the phone centered in front of me and thought for a second. I looked up and saw a picture from what appeared to be her birthday party, she was wearing a stunning red dress which wrapped tightly around her body in all the right places, her tiara was a dead giveaway. The date was in the bottom right of the picture in bright orange text, 12-04-10. I looked back down, entered 1204 and the room was quiet again. When the phone unlocked, a message popped up on the screen: “Text message from Brad”. I glanced over at the door, wondering how long she’d been gone and when she’d be back. I couldn’t help myself, the curiosity was killing me. “I love you. I miss you. Baby come back” it said. I stared at it, trying hard not to jump to any conclusions. I wanted so much to believe she was a good one, just a little desperate. But it turns out desperation wasn’t her angle. I took it upon myself to dig around in the phone for clues. No sooner had I hit the “back” button the door opened.

            “What are you doing?!” she shouted.

            “I guess I could ask you the same thing.”

            “I went for a run, figured you’d show yourself out.”

            “Didn’t think to take your phone, to lock your door?”

            “I don’t take anything with me. These Nike shorts don’t have pockets.”

            “I guess that makes sense. Not the safest running practice though.”

            “Your turn, why are you looking in my phone?”

            “Your alarm went off, and you had a text message from Brad. Your boyfriend?”

            “Ex-boyfriend, actually. Can’t get it through his thick skull that it’s over.”

            “How long were y’all together?”

            “Three years. Started in high school, came to college together. Not so easy to let go after only a week.”

            “True. So what happened?”

            “Just lost that loving feeling.”

            “I know what you mean”

            It was quiet for a while. Neither of us said anything as she walked into the room.

“I was thinking you’d be the one to help me get over him. I guess I thought wrong.” She grabbed my jacket off the back of her roommate’s chair, “you can go now.”

            I stood up slowly. Put on my jacket and left, making sure not to look back.

            The walk back to my apartment wasn’t that long and I wasn’t the only one obviously wearing last night’s clothes that Saturday morning. It was strangely comforting. As I got closer to my door a particular smell filled the air. When I got close enough I realized the smell was coming from my apartment. I turned the key and opened the door to see my girlfriend in the kitchen, pancakes on the griddle, bacon in the pan.

            She turned, hopped over, and threw her arms around me. “Michael! Did you have fun with the guys last night?”

            I paused, “yeah. I don’t remember a thing” as I put my arm around her with one hand and closed the door with the other.

Always thunder and lightning but never any real rain — for better for worse. Always just the slow run of water down the ducts on that gutter of a pillowcase flipped 100 times over; never changed. Always plates and bowls, $20 for each new set at IKEA, but never the china they got on their honeymoon in China. Always over the baby: Marcus or Julien, Catholic or Baptist, public or private… nevermore. Finally: rain. Mostly sunny after Noon.

“But Dad, just listen. Just because I’m gay doesn’t mean I can’t make it in the business world”

…

“I did everything for you: played Pop Warner because you wanted, dated Jamie Shaw because she was a “nice girl” and your Boss’ daughter — none of that matters, huh?”

…

Mason’s father heard a resonating thud when the phone hit the balcony coming to rest of the edge as if it too wanted him to hear the screams five floors below.

I fell in love with that Barista when the first sip from a drink I’d been getting for the past 4 years touched my tongue and sent a new warmth down my spine, followed shortly by the sugary latte down my throat and into my stomach, causing me to sit back against the cold chair exhaling slowly. I knew I’d never have her when her boyfriend entered, set down his motorcycle helmet, and kissed her ferociously with affection.

“New message — Im sorry” flashed on the screen lighting the dimly lit patio Mikah wallowed in for a while after she’d been dumped. They both knew it was coming, hell everyone knew it was coming; she just didn’t know how. Even the Barista knew it’d finally happened when Mikah swung open the door, “Oh honey. This one’s on me.” She knew what Mikah liked, Skinny Vanilla Latte, but gave her the regular anyway. It was still 98 out on that patio and despite the numerous empty chairs at 9:15 she sat outside sweating, staring through the store windows at the couple talking at a table against the far wall.

A couple of men lit up at the table nearest her and talked loudly over cigarettes and iced coffees, but she didn’t move. She remained, eyes fixed on the couple inside as they talked, occasionally reeling backward with laughter before returning to their locked and hunched over the table position, close enough to smell what each other had for dinner. 

She watched, hands clasped tightly on the cup, arms resting between her raised legs as the couple, hands now intertwined, looked around noticing they were alone in the lobby and kissed. Mikah looked down at the cup and realized she’d cracked the top in numerous places.

She got up, grabbed her phone, disposed of the cup, and started in the direction of her so-called “best friend”.

“Wait”, she stopped suddenly coming up for air.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Have you ever lied to someone? Like, a big lie?”

“No. I guess I haven’t. But I can understand why people do.”

“So you think it’s okay to lie?” she asked softly and calmly, considerate of the moment

“Well, sometimes people like to protect the heart of someone they love. Or at least care about. They lie because if they told the truth and they knew the truth would be too much to handle at the moment, they save it for a better time. Because a lie must eventually be told and maybe later the relationship will be strong enough to withstand it. Maybe. Hopefully.”

She leaned back on her hands and stared past him into the dark room.

“Why do you ask?”

“Nothing”, she replied putting her hands on his shoulders, “it’s nothing”. She continued, pressing her body hard against his, closing her eyes once more only slightly harder this time; picking up where they left off.

The first girl I met at the bar was so drunk that I knew she wouldn’t remember who I was in the morning unless my name was tattooed on her neck by the time she woke up. I wasn’t sure if she could walk away from the bar without falling but I figured I’d take her home anyway.