She wasn’t some pedestal-love or anything like that. So before you start reading this, don’t think you already know where this is going, because honestly, you don’t. Shit, even I didn’t know where it was going but I took that awkward stance on the experience. You know the one where you go along but not really with a motive; you just take a backseat to things and occasionally pipe in to speed up or slow down. Yeah, that’s kind of what I did and it didn’t work.
It was lit from the bottom up with white reflective light bouncing back and forth from one side of the cabin to the other. The sun would barge in through the small square shaped pressure-lock plastic, hit the metal surfaces of the seatbelts and blast in your unsuspecting eyes so fast you couldn’t look away before another flash aggravated the first solar-flare induced blind-spot.
My hands were casual and flipping through the SkyMall Magazine every domestic flight equipped you with so you could act like you were shopping instead of freaking out when the wheels left the earth.
I dried my palms on my white linen pants and stopped to think for a second if wearing them was a good move or not. I mean, what kind of chic, cool, trendy, 20 something wears white linen pants and a dark blue linen shirt on a domestic flight to Minnesota? I sat up and looked around real quick. Apparently, I’m the only one. Which could mean I’m pathetic or I was really late to the flight and had absolutely no time to look in a mirror. Probably more of a mixture really.
“Sorry. Sorry. Excuse me. Sorry.” Towering around a devastating 5’5” and hidden mostly in a light brown leather jacket that offset his navy blue Dickies and Nike shoes, he was pensively taking small steps towards the back of the cabin. His hair wasn’t falling out but had thinned over the few years of his twenties; he had beady eyes and was already sweating at the thought of being airborne.
The guy behind him was the opposite with a 6’ frame, slicked back hair and a downward angle to his glance that said, “I’m better than you and about 7 inches taller.” There was no second-rate leather but a button up green stripe pattern shirt with light grey slacks and sandals. An odd combination but I’m sure there was some really annoying story behind it. Maybe he forgot his other shoes in the BMW after the golf game. Either way, being around 6’ tall meant that statistically, he’d get the promotion over our low-mid level management friend who’s desperately trying not to step on anybodies toes, figuratively and literally.
These types.
I looked down at my magazine for a second, just to avoid the eye contact. Everyone hates eye contact with strangers. More SkyMall Magazine. The only reason they are still in business is because terrified fliers place nervous orders on their airplane-safe cell phones. I could hear them:
“Yes…just the alarm clock that doubles as a vacuum…”
“PLEASE FASTEN YOUR SEATBELTS”
“Oh god! Uh, let me get the…wine-rack temperature controlled humidifier to!”
I felt myself smiling at my own joke (a nasty habit) and as I glanced up saw the small family in a single file line heading to the back.
A mother and daughter team.
The daughter was about six years old, bright-eyed and making her little observations to all the passengers.
“Mommy, she has a blue purse. She has a blue purse mommy.”
“I know Sharon.”
“Mommy, he has Nike’s on! I have Nikes to!”
“I know.”
“These are our seats?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Wow! They have buckles like in the Dodge!” Sharon’s blonde hair was cut into a little bob.
“That’s right, just like the Dodge.”
Someone drives a Dodge and uses the seatbelts in the Dodge.
Dodge.
They sat down in the back of the cabin.
I had a little smile on my face when I looked up and saw our beautiful brunette. She was looking up and all the way down the aisle, which for me was a victory because that meant I could continue to look at her and not appear as the creepy bad dresser that I was. She edged forward dragging a single carry on bag with roller wheels. The first glimpse I noticed the hazel eyes; the second was her gentle skin, the third glimpse was me shoving all these observations into the back of my head and debating if I really wanted the alarm clock vacuum cleaner…but really, I was thinking about her.
I kept my head down and she edged past me.
I thought how stupid I was; a geek on his flight, wearing white linen pants and these ridiculously gigantic headphones from my apartment studio. They were huge. Comical. I wore them because they had sound canceling quality and, well, I couldn’t afford the small ear-buds. There I was awkwardly holding a SkyMall Mag with sweaty palms, notebook on the flight-tray in front of me and Mickey-mouse similarity all while fighting the desperate want to look over my seat at the super-model with her rolling-wheel carry-on at hip level.
How pathetic.
I shrugged like so many of my fellow nerds.
She’ll go for the 6’ prick with an insecurity complex.
I put myself in my place, alongside the 5’5” nervous wreck.
Yeah, that’s us.
The nice guys.
The ones that usually step down and look away with a nervous joke or a slight, “Sorry.”
Pathetic.
The flight began without much turbulence. A few bumps and drops but nothing serious. Between the quiet hush of people focused on not screaming from phobias and the murmur of the experienced salesmen in the back, talking in thick southern drawl about small towns outside of Bartlesville, Oklahoma, I found a kind of serene peace watching the earth fall away.
The dull rush of the engines were constant, that whine of the air rippling the wing a little and how the temperature changes when the air conditioners kick on to full speed once the plane reaches proper flight placement.
Everyone collectively sighs a little. As though the dangerous part was over. On a deeper level, everyone knows that they’re past the point of no return. That little portion of travel that says, “ok, you’re thousands of feet above the earth, if shit were going to hit the fan, there’s no way you could really survive. So relax and know, your survival rate is zero, just like everyone else!” It’s that morbid animal-human thought that says, “Hey, we’re dying but at least we’re together!” that’s why families stuck together in death camps or decided to all run into the burning house after the family dog. We all die together!
After all, what’s worst than surviving alone?
Surviving alone wearing white linen pants and having Mickey-mouse headphones melded to your ears.
I’m sure the hazel-eyed brunette couldn’t resist that.
I had a window seat to the clouds. Seeing them outstretched to the end of the world, they formed the ground that this other place spanned. Light acts differently above the clouds because there are no reflective surfaces above them; the byproduct is a huge beautiful blue sky around you. I kept thinking about the other side of the world and then pushed the thought away. No. Don’t think about the earth. Don’t think about the ground or the little towns below you zooming by at hundreds of miles an hour. Don’t think about that reality.
I let my mind turn over thoughts of living in this ethereal place. It was gorgeous; intoxicating to just roam around free of anything and everyone. How amazing to be alone, to be free.
There was no place like this spot in the sky.
I shut my eyes and appreciated that little thought for hours.
When my iPod kicked off I heard the small bit of drama going on in the back of the cabin.
Little Sharon had become afraid during the take off and wet herself. Her mother was embarrassed and quickly doing anything she could to clean up the mess. I didn’t look out of respect until I noticed that the hazel-eyed brunette was sitting two seats behind Sharon. Then I kept motioning to help or maybe get a towel from the flight attendant. Maybe I could help them with their in-flight magazine, explain the properties of airfoil and lift, if only I could get closer to the super-model.
Instead, I smiled with a cordial acknowledgement; that kind of, well-these-things-happen-with-kids look and turned back around, back to my cloud-kingdom. Turned back to remember my crazy fiancé who seemed more determined than ever to find something wrong with me; my jealous best friend who swore I was making the biggest mistake of my life by getting married…to someone other than her; my shitty government-funded low-income apartment that had little food and back payments due for the electricity.
When I let my head fall back against the headrest I couldn’t help but feel a little better knowing I could die a dramatic death if something went wrong. I mean, c’mon, I was a loser but at least I could be a tragic one. No one thinks well of the loser who died in a car accident or the loser who gets struck by lightning.
That’s just funny.
I thought about a lot of things traveling across America.
How I was desperate for progress.
Sick of working the doggy-job front desk position at the gym.
How I really didn’t care about this job but needed it to remain clothed and sheltered. Things had gotten bad. Really bad. At one point, I only had $3.44 in my bank account. I had no food but really old bread and rotting eggs. I hadn’t paid rent in weeks. My bills were behind for 2 months. I couldn’t go far because I didn’t have gas in my truck.
I had my loyal band and maxed my credit cards on gear for new shows.
That never booked.
Things were so bad, earlier that year I struggled with staying alive. Not by starvation but by choice…and a little starvation. I was drinking heavily and started mixing sleeping pills into the equation. After one very close call I decided to get my shit together.
At least enough to sell out.
This whole “corporate sales” thing was the last play I had in my book to get some cash and make something out of myself. After all was said and done, this trip was my last choice.
Only choice.
I looked at my clouds.
I felt even worse now that I remembered why I was in this situation. The lesson being that life can be cruel and the real world can give two shits about your hopes and fucking dreams. That if you’re not careful with your time, you’ll end up wasting it.
I felt humiliated.
I was thankful for the window seat.
At least I could hide my shame.
I thought about sleeping but chose to stay up and watch the clouds change.
When we flew into Chanhassen, Minnesota it was around 7:16 p.m.
I hadn’t entertained the thought of meeting our supermodel brunette.
Well ok, I did for a few minutes but stomped that thought fast when reminded of who I was.
The first few steps I took in Minnesota were in a small acclimation to arriving in a new part of the country entirely. A was of people dancing in and out amongst each other in a rush to leave or desperate to slow the momentum. There is this feeling that wells up in you upon arrival alone in a new city. It’s like your heartaches at the realization that no one knows you here. No familiar faces to run up and greet you. For me, my heartache was quantified knowing that when I got back to Houston it’d be the same reception here in Minnesota.
I took a few moments in the bathroom to wash my face, take a breath and quell the solitude.
Baggage claim was where I stood when it hit me:
You’re in a totally new place you’ve never been at before surrounded by people who’ve never known you and probably never will. You’re miles away from whatever kind of home you’ve made for yourself. It’s all you. So don’t fuck up.
Then I saw her again.
She was dragging her carry on awkwardly behind her and stood about 5’6”, olive skin tone, hazel eyes, dark brown hair, cut to frame her face and accentuate her neckline. She wore a black Hooters t-shirt and jeans. There she is and there she goes.
I picked up my gym bag from the baggage claim. Yeah, gym bag.
Because I hardly traveled and never owned luggage, I had absolutely no money. So I used a huge gym bag with all my formal wear shoved inside it.
I followed the arrows out of the airport.
The parking lot was dry and cool with a scent of rolling green pastures and northern winds nearby. There was no heavy humidity here. The sun was setting and my blue sky turned to a deep purple that blended with the darkening horizon stretched and pulled on the van’s windshield as it idled in the pick-up zone. The bench was aluminum, my front seat to the van driver that was spouting conspiracy theories on 9/11 and the Bush Administration.
His left hand kept buttoning and unbuttoning all three silver clasp-buttons on his jacket while the right motioned ahead of him, up at the wall, down at the ground, up at the wall and back again. He kept checking his left and right as though the feds would come running behind with a black unmarked car. How dare he tell the truth to the new arrivals.
I didn’t humor him because well, he was wrong. A lot of his theories had holes in them. I had been following the administration, economic agendas, political wars and social trends for years. He was off. Don’t get me wrong, 9/11 was an inside job but that’s an entirely different chapter.
I would go on about the details but our supermodel sat down beside me. My hands immediately clasped together, then apart, rubbed on my pants then back together. Fuck, I was fifteen again and at my first and last homecoming dance. I was the awkward kid who got so nervous his hands shook a bit before even hugging his date. Yeah, I was that kid in school.
“So, are you here for the training to?”
I was staring down at the driver’s slip on Kenneth Coles when she asked me.
“Uh? Oh, heh, yeah.”
“Yeah, I thought so.”
“Yeah, I was on your flight actually,” hiding against the window two seats ahead of you.
“I thought so. That guy talking about Oklahoma wouldn’t shut the fuck up.”
“I know.” I still hadn’t looked at her. Not in the face but I was very familiar with her knee. I remember it was bent at the time.
So pathetic.
When I straightened up and was about to introduce myself, the 6’ tall prick walked up and jutted in, “Hey, I’m Daniel?”
Back to the left knee.
It was still bent.
Puma cross-trainer shoes.
“Great.” She says and goes back to talking with me, “Hey, are you nervous? I hear that the tests are every day and it’s pass or fail. I spoke with my boss that hired me and he said that if you fail, they really do send you home that day, like within that hour.”
“You’re nervous?” I asked her left Puma.
“Yeah.” She grimaced a little, “A bit.”
“Not as nervous as our driver over there. He’s got to be on coke.”
Just then he jumped for no reason and adjusted his tie.
“Or meth.” She added.
I smiled and finally looked at her. She had this slight smile that lit up her eyes. Her nose was small and perfectly proportioned to the tip; with gentle lips and a disarming smile, I could see why she would be good in sales.
Right at that moment, my headphones fell forward and got stuck on my nose.
Green diamond pattern carpet with gold threaded outlines formed the endless symmetry that was underfoot. Quite elevator rides, short explorations to find the laundry room, the ice machine, the hotel pool next to the mini-arcade, it was all about getting comfortable because all of us, all forty-three of us, were going to be living here for two weeks.
The keycard slipped in after a few awkward thrusts.
The door gave away with a loud click.
All hotel rooms are the same.
Not the layouts or the décor but the actual space. The room.
If you travel a lot or frequent hotel rooms (I won’t ask) you know exactly what I’m talking about. When you walk in there’s a quick burst of cigarette smoke that turns into the cheap bar soap in the bathroom next to you, that merges with the musty smell of those huge air conditioners that hum when you try and sleep; the televisions are never big enough while the carpet, though easy to maintain, barely masks the cement of the building.
I set my “luggage” down next to the bathroom door.
My bed was a king-sized beast.
It was 9 o’clock.
I thought about what I would be doing if I were back in Houston; then tried to forget about everything again.
Class was at 7:30 a.m. tomorrow morning.
Laying out my wrinkled mess of a suit I hoped the smell of gym bag would air out before our first test.
It was an interesting first day.
I’ll sum it up so we can keep moving.
I hate it when narratives drag on characters that aren’t really integral to the plot.
But, I have to introduce this one coming up because he’s probably one of the funniest men I’ve met in my life. I don’t believe in past-lives or anything like that but if they were real, he and I were not only best friends; we probably fought in a few battles.
Oh and by the way, I’m keeping his real name, because if you want to track him down and say, “Man, you are a badass.” I am 100% in support of the idea.
Bryan Shapman sat down next to me during our lunch break in the conference center of the corporate headquarters building. It was one of those movie-esque kind of rooms. You know in major films how the conference center is arena seating with big marble desks and fancy chairs and laser projected visuals and subwoofer intercoms and automated blinds that automatically adjust for lighting automatically? This was one of those centers. They even had two beautiful receptionists in the entrance lobby with headsets on that greeted you with a smile and said, “We’ve been expecting you.”
The gigantic man that sat down next to me was approximately 6’5” and an easy 285lbs. I remember the first thought was, “This guy looks like Mr. Incredible. The in-shape Mr. Incredible.”
“What do you think of that LaFonda guy?” He said as he tore into his tiny salad.
“I don’t know. Didn’t seem to give us much trouble.”
LaFonda the VP of sales, had just tore apart most of the presentations we worked on all morning for class.
“I think he’s a dick.” Leo threw in his opinion and turned his head to check out the 6’ curvy blonde named Lacie strutting along the stairs and back to her seat, “Hey, what’dya think of the blonde?” his accent was thick and definitely from Detroit. He was 5’9” and 220lbs of solid self-proclaimed guido tanned goodness. A body-builder by night and a Financial Calculations Statistics Degree holder by day, he was probably one of the fastest people with numbers. He decided to go into gym membership sales because he hated the accounting firm he worked at last year, “Fucking numbers. I get them easily. My fuckin’ boss is a fuckin’ dickhead. Always bitchin’ like the whiney asshole fuckhead that he is. He needs to get turned out already. Fuckin’ faggot.”
Leo liked to cuss.
He was one of those guys that really prided himself on just how dirty he could be. Bryan and I never really encouraged him but he just tried so hard to get a grimace from us. If he could be as descriptive with everyday events as he was with describing the women that were in our class, Stephen King would have nothing on him.
Bryan, however, was this kind of character you see on TV. You know that big, chiseled man with a polished smile and sincerity oozing off of him? That was Bryan. The reason he was so gigantic (aside from the Northern-European heritage) was to be a contender on the rugby field. When he told the group he went pro, half of us thought he was joking until we saw him on ESPN slamming into the opposition. His nickname was the “Pain-Train”. The replay showed him tackling this guy so hard, they had to remove him via stretcher from the field with a concussion. Nothing underlined Bryan’s legacy more than the slow-motion highlight of him screaming at the camera with “Pain-Train!” flashing underneath the frame.
He had it figured out.
Because he could make everyone feel important without anyone feeling insulted; if he liked you, he’d tell you and if he didn’t like you, he’d insult you with so much wit, you couldn’t help but like the guy humiliating you.
He had come from managing a gym for a few years but wanted more from a solid corporation. With the newer parts of his life coming into play, a fiancé waiting for him in Denver and the urge that every man feels going into his mid-20’s, you want more in life than you did five years ago.
Leo however, wanted nothing more than to get inside one of the many beautiful women we were surrounded by.
Fast.
“Dude, the way LaFonda ripped Matthew a new one. Holy crap. That was like watching someone get crucified.” Bryan switched from the tiny salad to his tiny portion of beans, “I mean, really taking one for the team.”
“Yeah, I think LaFonda was so far up Matthews ass, he can qualify for African American scholarships now.” I said this glancing at the brunette who was shooting me a quick look and then back down at her notes.
“After that kind of public raping, I can’t go to anymore donkey shows. They’re just not the same.” The three of us laughed and finished lunch.
I was watching my shadow stretch from the setting sun while pulling at my collar. I hated ties. I hated wearing them, buying them, looking at them. It just seemed like they were modern day leashes. I heard footsteps coming up behind me. It was our brunette.
“Hey.”
“Hey. How was the test for you?” When I saw her the sunset framed her figure perfectly while the northern breeze coming off of the Canadian border tussled her hair around gently.
“It was way easier than I thought.” She did that smile again and I felt myself smile back automatically. In front of us the prairie grass swayed to the south, laying down in sequences among the open fields. Quietly, my lips held a small smile in reverence to being here in this spot, reverence to the next step and the step after that, reverence to the experience of catching her scent on the breeze next to me.
“Told you, you’d do fine.” I was aware of everything suddenly. My possibly wrinkled slacks, my off-white shirt that I thought was too big, my tie, it seemed too slender and cheap. My shoes were scuffed. A beer drenched, sweat stained stage would help me feel at home.
“Can I ask you something?” her voice felt like it was in my head.
“Sure, whatsup?”
“Is it cool if we, like, hang out during the trip? I mean, I don’t really know a lot of people here and don’t feel like really…trying to meet them. I’m just not good with socializing you know?”
“Oh…yeah. I mean, yes. I do know. And yes. Yes. We can hang out. That’s, that’s cool.” I tripped over absolutely nothing at all and regained composure. A crowd of 150 people expecting a flawless show? No problem. Walking next to this girl? A challenge.
“Thanks.”
Back at the hotel some of the sales people were hanging out in Nate’s room. He’s not important so don’t worry about him. What did happen was Bryan asking me to step out in the hall so he could talk with me really quickly.
“Whatsup man? What happened? Is it a test?”
“No, no. It’s none of that. This shit is like, 1st grade to me.” He had to stoop down a little to speak with me quietly. I’m 5’10” and he stooped down.
“So what’s the problem?”
“It’s. Well, look, you’re engaged right?”
Flash of my insane fiancé throwing a fit and shattering a glass on the kitchen floor, “Yeah, happily engaged. Why?”
“Well, I am to. I have this beautiful blonde back home in Denver and she’s the love of my life.”
How sweet is this concussion-inducing giant?
“That’s badass man. So, what is the dilemma?”
“Well, you know Lacie?”
“That delicate, 6’ tall fawn of a beauty? Yes, I managed to pay very close attention to her presentation this afternoon.”
“She wants me.” When he said this I wasn’t surprised. I mean I was borderline crushing on Bryan to at this point. Handsome devil.
“Yeah, so what?”
“Dude, we’re engaged. We can’t do anything like that while we’re here.”
“That’s a given, I know,” flash of fiancé crying while locking herself in the bathroom because I didn’t know what the difference between port and wine was.
“I saw how that brunette was looking at you this afternoon.”
“What?” I could feel my skin getting hot.
“Yeah, exactly. You know who I’m talking about. She clearly wants you.”
“Pft, no. No way.” flash of her and I slipping off to her room…to study.
“Yeah, you were not thinking about studying with her.”
How did he do this?
“Look. Let’s make a solemn promise to not let each other cheat on our girls while we’re here. I need help man. I mean you saw how Lacie looks. I mean, your brunette is way hot to. We can’t give in man. We got to stay strong on this one. For our girls back home.” He stood there upholding a ton of integrity that lesser men would easily have given away.
“Yeah, you’re right man. I’m down. Lets do this.”
“Bros before hoes.”
A firm handshake and back to the hotel room party we went.
The ice bucket was about fifteen feet away from me in the dark. I was nervous about the exam tomorrow morning and was so focused on memorizing information my mind kept spitting out paragraphs from the training binder instead of going to sleep.
I came downstairs to the dining room of the hotel because I hated my room. I hated the carpet and the microwave and the local television stations and reruns of Family Matters this early in the morning. I hated it. I hated my stupid gym bag. I hated being less than.
When everyone had come in from the flight they had leather luggage, personalized engravings and name brand clothes. Here I was sporting a George button up and matching slacks I bought from Wal-mart the night before my flight.
I shrugged and sat back with my cup of water in hand.
I just wanted to disappear.
Wal-mart slacks included.
A shadow appeared on the rug from the outside dim lighting down the hallways. It crept forward and I saw a silhouette in the doorframe. I didn’t know this woman standing there. 5’11” and by the shape of her figure, incredibly proportioned.
“Hello?” her voice was low but young.
“Yeah, I’m here. Uh, just drinking…room temperature water.”
“No brandy?” she joked.
I leaned forward and turned on the lamp to see dark brown eyes smiling at me.
“Can I sit?”
“Please.” I wasn’t baffled by her but awestruck. I was tired so my nerves didn’t over-ride my body. Her face was young, probably 21 years old but you could see the rough times she had in the past. Long black hair fell and rested just short of her breasts. They were, definitely not real under her camisole. Her waist was small and judging by the curve of her pajama pants, really toned.
“What’s your name?”
“My name is Heather.”
“Hello Heather.”
“Hi.”
“What are you doing up? Nervous?”
“Heh, a little. Are you?”
“My mind won’t stop I’ve been studying so hard. I hate my room and judging from the décor of this dining room, I’m going to bet yours isn’t any better.” I motioned with my warm water around the room, ending at the deer-head centerpiece mounted on the wall.
“Yeah. You nailed it.” She sighed, “I feel so stupid.”
“Why do you say that Heather?”
“Because I’m so scared about this test. I’ve been studying so hard and I’m just…I really need this job you know? I mean…I need it.” Her fingertips were tracing the edge of the small stand the lamp shone down on. I remember they were painted perfectly. Her toenails matched.
There were just little things to women that I adore. These little details are so important to them. The way their hair falls in the front but not in the back. How the clasps on a belt look, which shade of grey goes better with their earrings? They are so incredibly delicate with everything they do, even if they want you to not care, they still do.
“You know Heather. You can talk to me. I know we just met but that’s the point. I don’t judge people I’ve barely met and well, you seem like a good person and good people need to open up sometimes. You can if you’d like. I mean hell, just to hang out with you is a plus.”
She laughed a little and looked down at her hands, then at her toes, “You know I did my toes last night and no one noticed them.” Her feet bounced up and down a little.
“I did. I didn’t want to say anything because you’re a beautiful woman and it’s 3 a.m. in a quiet hotel dining room, we just met and if I were to mention that I also noticed how your lip-gloss brings out the hues in your cami, I might scare you off. Do I have to go on? Do I have to point out my white linen pants?”
She laughed again.
“No. I won’t make you do that.” She had that diminishing giggle that slips into a sigh. She paused while we listened to the Minnesota wilderness outside. She sighed, “I just feel stupid.”
“Heather, why in the world would you say that?”
“Because I am. I’m just some dancer. I’m not a sales person.”
Its nights like those that cause people to be vulnerable. Thousands of miles away from home and you don’t know anyone; all of your future rests on a few answers. You’ll pour your heart out to a brick given enough solitude.
“You’ll do fine. Trust me. If I can get here,” flash to me desperately trying to learn how to iron slacks two weeks ago, “I’m sure you’ll qualify.”
“So what’s your story?” her eyes, genuine, held a lot of the hurt pride she suffered in the past. I thought about her being a dancer and how much shit she had to have taken just to get out of that stigma. How being this beautiful might actually work against you if you weren’t careful. No one took her seriously. Women would scoff and say, ‘I mean, c’mon, those aren’t even real. What does she know?’ while men don’t even get that far but chose to placate and stare. I felt for her, this woman who desperately wants to be heard.
“I have a really boring life.” Warm plastic gave to the clutches of my hand.
“Not compared to mine.”
“So where does your story begin?”
“I was fat when I was younger. You know, chunky,” she motioned around her slender frame shaking the imaginary fat, “I grew up and everyone made fun of me for it. I was always nice so instead of getting mad I just shrugged it off. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore and started working out. Found an obsession with health. I lost all the weight and kept going. I started dancing a lot. You know, jazz and tap, then hip-hop and the usual stuff. The only thing was that I lost all my fat.” She pointed down at her breasts, “All my fat, including my boobs.”
Awkward as any guy, I nodded and motioned for her to continue.
“When I got these,” another gesture, more awkward, “I felt better at first.”
“At first.”
“Yeah, well I mean. They help my confidence but it detracts from who you are. It’s like after a while, no one sees who I am, they just see my breasts.”
“Well, you’re beautiful. I mean, clearly, you can’t miss them but it’s not like that’s all there is to you. The first thing I noticed was your eyes, then your fingernails, your toenails; I noticed how you have this kind of sadness to. Despite how hard you try for someone to acknowledge who you are, they stop at your looks. You’re one of the most beautiful lonely people I’ve ever met.”
3:37 a.m.
“Thank you. I mean, for seeing me. I just feel like no one sees me anymore.”
“Tell me about it.” No more room temperature water.
“You know, I’m engaged.” She said motioning to her ring.
“I’m not surprised.”
“He doesn’t even pick up on half of the stuff you just said.”
“That’s a shame Heather. There’s an entire world with you.”
We were both quiet again. I guess a little embarrassed at how lonely we were. Maybe because a stranger can understand you more than the people closest to you; despite all the greatest efforts in the world, sometimes nobody notices.
“I wouldn’t worry if I were you Heather.” I stood up to go back to my room, “It’s the lonely people that need no one else for validation.” I smiled at her. And she smiled back.
“Can you walk me to my room?” she asked.
“If you don’t mind the pants.”
Five days later.
The last few days had been a mixture of trying to not get sent home (three people had been escorted out of the conference room and back to the airport within five minutes of getting their failing test results back) and trying to not get distracted with all the amenities available at the hotel.
By amenities I mean people.
Given the usual pattern of human behavior, the remaining forty of us broke in to social groups. Those social groups, as luck and millions of years of evolution would have it, had a perfect ratio of males to females. Let’s take the next step and see that each group could be determined to couples. And all the couples were trying to study the material and not the obvious fantasy of having a heated romantic affair at a sales seminar in Chanhassen, Minnesota.
My counterpart was the brunette.
I was seated in her hotel room on the bed going over different memorization techniques when she peaked around the corner and said, “I’m going to change into my casual clothes,” and disappeared back into the bathroom.
Yeah, you like how I skipped all that conversation and foreplay? I mean c’mon, I could write it for you but who wants to read that crap. Lets get to some action.
She came out in shorts and a tank.
Comfortable but definitely inviting.
She plopped down on the bed and with hazel eyes looked at her binder.
I was picking up on some very thin signals.
Quick crash course for the guys reading this:
Women give out signals. It’s how they communicate. They expect you to be interested in them enough to at least pick up on some physical cues. This is a trace back to our primal days before language. If you watch any other animal behave this way, you can clearly see what’s going on, but if you happen to be male and human, you’re probably going to miss it altogether.
Men are more direct in communication and instead of subtle cues and hints, we need the female to wrap her legs around our face and say, “I’d like you inside me.” Ok, ok, too far. But c’mon, if you’re a guy, I’m sure you’d appreciate that approach instead of the thinly veiled ‘come hither’ stares.
Give me a break.
Back to the scene.
I sat across from her at the small kitchenette table built out of the wall. She sat up and dug in her purse for a pen.
It was purple.
The pen.
And her underwear was to but the pen matched.
Focus.
I taught her the different techniques on memorization I learned from my pre-med days back in college. How you can memorize 266 bones and crevices in a little less than 18 hours for the written exam. How you have to understand memory recall pathways, then develop your own recall device to find the information you’re learning.
How you have to distract yourself with pointless pieces of information to avoid staring at her perfectly symmetrical body, the supple skin and that scent of lilac she wore.
A few hours later and I was lying next to her, propped up on my elbow while she lay on her back staring at the ceiling. She was having an incredibly hard time remembering what she needed to. And no, you perverts, nothing happened.
“Can I tell you something?” she asked.
“Anything, whatsup?”
“I don’t think I can do this.” Her tank top fell with a small scoop that revealed her black bra underneath. She turned towards me, “I’m just so stressed.” Hazel eyes reflected gently on the first ring of her training binder. You can always learn a lot about someone when they aren’t looking at you.
“Yeah, without this job I got nothing. I just go back home to my shit life.”
“I thought you were engaged.”
“Yeah, well, that’s…” not a guarantee of happiness.
She was polite, “Your girl is lucky.”
Flash of tiny Portuguese woman always belittling every word I say, “Whom do you have back home?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I see.”
“No. I mean. I’ve had a chaotic life growing up. I’m just trying to make sense of it now. Most of my life I’ve been in the midst of trying to find something stable. There’s been a lot of shit happening back home and this job is supposed to be my way out, kind of,” hazel eyes, “I just want to be respected.”
Everyone kept telling me things like that. Everyone had so much of their desperation invested in this job. This training. They had all been sold so hard that if they could land this job, all their hopes and dreams would happen. Money. Respect. Status. Promotions. That if they came back home with a certification to sell gym memberships, maybe they could buy that car they wanted or be a serious business woman or have some kind of stability in life; maybe even pay the bills and get out of debt.
At that silent moment we both felt that desperation.
We were two strangers on a get-a-way trip from our lives back home.
When I looked up she was already looking at me.
There she was. Our supermodel. Her body stretched out with her olive skin and golden hues, soft brunette hair, small smile and those eyes.
“I hope you find that life you’re looking for.” My voice was lowered trying to avoid breaking that moment with my tenor.
“Me too.” She smiles at me looking into my eyes.
“I really mean that.”
“I know. That’s rare. There’s got to be more to you.” She poked my chest.
“Well,” I joined her on my back, looking at the same ceiling textures, “Do you want to know me, really?”
“Yeah, I do.” She turned over on her stomach, rested her chin in her hands and raised an eyebrow at me.
Confession time.
“I hate this job. I hate this corporation. I struggled with being alive the last year or so. I hate the way life is and how we have to be slaves to this bullshit. I don’t like the corruption I see in the world and this was my last ditch effort to try and keep a shitty apartment over my head and food in my gut. This lifestyle that they’re selling us; corporate jobs and fast cars, millions of dollars, retiring early, that’s all shit to me. I just want to be left alone.
I play a role on the outside for everyone. I’m fake. The real me tends to offend people and piss them off. I think I’m pathetic. No, I know I’m pathetic. I’m lonely in my hotel room. Being thousands of miles from my problems is awesome and I don’t want to leave this room because you’re in it.
Because you’re some stranger that doesn’t know me and may not care about me but that’s better than the shit that I have waiting for me just past that chain-locked hotel door.”
I quieted myself with a sigh.
“You know,” her hazel eyes widened a little, “I could love you.”
And her cell phone rings.
“Oh shit. Hold on.” She sits up and digging through her purse finds the razor flip-phone she’s been totting in class. I take a breather and her hotel phone rings.
I answer.
“Uh…312, how may I help you?” stifling the adrenaline.
“You son of a bitch.”
“What?!” I’m guilty.
“Ha. I’m just playing,” it was Bryan, “Dude, you got to come to my room.”
“Really? Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
“…God damn it.”
I hung up and hear her ask, “What? Why?” on the cell phone.
When I left, I motioned goodbye to her and she was so caught up in the conversation she didn’t see me. When her door shut, it locked automatically. Standing in the empty hallway, I felt like more of a sucker than ever before.
Bryan stood outside his door making the wall-mounted lamps seem like dollhouse figurines.
“What? What happened?”
“Lacie is in there,” he whispers.
“Yeah, so?”
He shook his head, “No. You don’t understand. Lacie, is in that room and she’s naked.”
My eyebrows go up.
“Well…did you get any pictures?”
“Dude!” he exclaims and then smiles, “That’s a really good idea but no I didn’t.”
“You didn’t do anything did you?”
“No. No way. I was just sitting on her bed going over my notes. Lacie had asked me to help her study in class. So we’re going over some notes and she goes to the bathroom and when she comes out she’s sneaking up on me, butt naked. She throws my binder across the room and mounts me right there.”
“Holy fucking shit.”
“Yeah. I got my stuff and told her I had to get back to my room to ice my balls down,”
“So what’s she doing in there?”
“She came back and said she wanted to apologize. So, you know, no big deal. I didn’t want to make this awkward, so I play it off as a joke and we get back to studying.”
“And she pulls the same stunt in your room.”
He nods with a kind of proud smirk.
“You bastard,” I say and laughing, forget about my hurt pride.
“So what do you want me to do, go in and scare her off?”
“I need you to call my phone from your room, make something up and I’ll act like I have to go to the lobby or some shit.”
“Ok, no problem.” He was still smirking, “You bastard.”
I walked back to my hotel room with a twinge of jealousy and a reminder on how alone I was up here.
My hotel room was cold and dismal.
No one was waiting for me or wanting to stay or mount me while naked.
No, not for me.
Just a crappy iron that managed to burn my white shirt and a dirty microwave.
I made the call to Bryan’s room:
“This is Abraham Lincoln, I’m looking for a Bryan Shapman.”
“Yes, this is him.” And in the background you can hear Lacie telling him to hang up.
“Bryan, I’m glad you picked up. I’m currently being assassinated and need someone to make me feel like a rejected sassy blonde.”
“Ok, I’ll come down right away…asshole.”
I laughed and hung up; then sat in the empty room for a few minutes listening to the air conditioner kick on. You know those moments when you realize everyone else is happier than you are? Yeah, I was having one of those at the time. I spent an hour staring at my binder, another hour eating a sandwich and watching local television.
Around 11 o’clock I couldn’t help it anymore.
I wanted to see her again.
I made up all kinds of excuses and the best one being that I wanted to see if she needed anything else to help her for tomorrows test. Every step I took towards her door I felt a mix of excitement and desperation. I felt pathetic but hopeful. Spineless and confident. What made me stop my stride was hearing her voice crying and half of the conversation she was having on the phone.
She was leaning against her room door, sobbing into her cell phone and saying, “This is why you hurt me.”
I felt stupid.
And humiliated.
Not because of her.
But because of how caught up I let myself get by spending a few hours alone in my hotel room fixated on a beautiful woman that could help me forget about the shit-life I had waiting for me back home. I felt stupid because she has her own life to and I have no place in it. Imagine not wanting to have the life you do and no one else wants you in theirs either. The worst part about all of this: I had no booze.
Nothing more righteous and sobering is the ray from a formidable morning sun. I had a light breakfast and after a solid night sleep came to conclusions about a few things.
First of which, I wasn’t going to let myself get distracted like that again. If you want to be respected like an adult, you have to act like one and that means not entertaining any ideas outside of your principles or the consideration for others principles (no matter how insanely tempting they are).
Second, that I had to be more confident about life in general. Yeah, it sucks sometimes but you can’t let yourself fall back to who you were in the past. Those years are over and as bitter as you want to be about them, it won’t help in the long run.
Third, if I really wanted a new life it meant earning it.
So when I walked into the conference center, my head high and my shoulders straight I winked at the receptionists and breathed it all in.
I felt like I was back.
Better than that. I felt like I was James Bond.
I dropped my training binder down next to Leo’s.
“Dude, you’re never going to believe what happened last night!” he says with this cheesy white grin, exemplified by the orange skin tone that artificial tanning beds give you. He was sporting a pin-stripe suit that day with a silk pink tie and matching handkerchief in the front pocket. The hair was of course spiked as far as it’d go and his silver watch was lodged between the left cufflink and button of his shirt underneath.
“What?” my confident voice was sterling.
“You know that hot brunette that your like best friends with?”
“Yeah?”
“Dude, she totally spent the night with me last night.”
I nodded automatically trying to hide my disappointment.
Disappointment all around really.
“Really?”
“Yeah man,” he motioned for me to come closer, “I gave her my number two days ago and I didn’t think she’d fuck me but last night she called me up and was all ‘emotional’ and shit. I totally flipped her. Hard man. Really hard.” And he bounced up and down a little, “Oh man, she’s good. I thought she was going to go for you, you know? But I didn’t want to get in the way. When I found out you were engaged, I was on that pussy so fast. Oh man. Oh man.”
More sobering rays of sunshine here.
“Damn man.” I sat back, tucking away more contempt, I smiled, “That’s awesome.”
“I know right!” he leaned for, “And the best part is that she thinks I’m really interested in her, so I can nail that for the rest of the trip! She thinks I’m going to come to Texas and see her and I’m so not. Dude, it’s like, ‘pft, yeah, whatever, let’s fuck already,’ you know?” He nudges me in the ribs.
“Trust me,” I wave to Lacie walking into class, “I know.”
He could barely contain his pride at ‘nailing’ our supermodel brunette.
“Wait, when did she call you?”
Cut to the night before.
While wallowing in my pathetic solitude, I built up this construct in my mind to go back to her room yet again and see if she needed anything. After hearing her desperation on the phone and heartache, I thought she may be in more need of a nice-guy like myself rather than a guido; but when I quietly came around the corner where her room was at, she was gone.
I guess she needed more guido than nice-guy.
I rubbed my forehead.
All the more motivation to focus on the fucking job now.
I was such a fucking idiot.
Outside the building during the afternoon break, I was sitting on the curb watching the birds chase after each other and fly over the prairie grass. It was sunny but because the atmosphere was different, it didn’t feel remotely hot.
Not like Houston.
I was hunched over watching my tie flap around and then looking up at the clouds. It’s a totally different world up there, anywhere but here.
“What’s going on man?” Bryan sat down next to me casting a shadow.
“Usual shit.”
“Yeah, you’re telling me. Lacie hates my guts now. Dude, you turn a woman down and they’ll never forgive you.”
“…Yeah.”
“What’s wrong man?”
“…Eh, just bored I guess.”
“It’s because Leo spent the night with her, isn’t it?”
“He tell you?”
“He told everyone here. Christ man, I wouldn’t be surprised if LaFonda knew about it.”
“Great.”
“Hey, don’t feel bad. It’s not like she’s your responsibility. Besides, you’re engaged,” flash of Portuguese woman lecturing me on why she knows more about the world than I do or ever will.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I shrug half-heartedly.
“You weren’t…falling for her?”
“No.”
His face knew that was a lie but he knew better than to mention it, “Good. Cause I knew you were smarter than that. I see you and I think, ‘Nah, he’ll never be taken in by a girl like her, nope, he’s got more conviction for his life back home,” he nudged me, “You know what makes us better than most guys? Because we don’t let ourselves believe we deserve the comfort of a fleeting-romance. That’s why our girls back home love us, they can see that we’re honest men,”
Quietly I nodded.
He added, “Besides, dude, it’s Leo.” He pointed over his shoulder to Leo hitting on LaFonda’s assistant, “Dude, she got gamed by that.”
I can hear him smile and standing up, he says, “You got a few more days here. I say, let’s hang out and have as much fun as we possibly can before we go back to fuckin’ reality.”
“Bros before hoes,” I said smiling.
He grinned, “Bros before hoes.”
Out of the forty-three original contenders, only twenty-six of us passed.
Everyone else went home.
The entire class had decided to go to a Buffalo Wild Wings and pool their money together for a gigantic bash. It was the Ultimate Fighting Championship Fight Night Event at the restaurant and by combining our per diems together, we had an immense amount of cash left to drink throughout the night.
The place was packed. Full of muscle-head wannabe-fighters that wore Affliction shirts and Xtreme Couture. Coming from an experienced cage-fighter, I’ll let you know right now, when we see those shirts, we automatically know they’re full of shit.
I had joined Bryan and the rest of the party against the wall near the bar. We had prime seats at the monitors and as the rest of our group filtered in, we were the center of the placement; Bryan, the gigantic, confidence filled success and his setup man, the goofy and forever awkward jackass.
What had started as a small celebratory meet-up turned into a drunken party. So drunk in fact, that we only noticed the fifty-five year old leather jacket clad biker dad and his skater son sitting at our table three hours after we had been drinking. The kid was seated to my right and was trying desperately not to make eye contact with any of us. His dad was glued to the LCD’s of the fight going on.
“Hey man,” I nudged the kid. He pretended not to feel me, but I nudged again, “Hey man, you skate?” I pointed at his shirt. It said Blind, which was a skate brand that had just popped up. He nodded quickly and looked down.
“You know,” I said a bit louder, “I used to skate when I was your age.”
At that point his dad screamed and raised his arms in the air, “Yeah! Get him you son of a bitch!”
I sipped my rum and coke, “Are you good?”
“He’s the best.” His dad answered for him with a proud smile. He was definitely older than most dads for a kid this age. You can tell he worked on bikes because his hands were caked with dried oil and bits of grease. He got distracted as Lacie, Heather and the brunette walked by him carrying some drinks.
Can’t blame him.
The whole place was distracted by the girls we had in our party.
Bryan leaned down, “Man. Check out those guys over there,” his forearm the size of my bicep flexed to lift his finger. Two frat-boys were shamelessly staring at our table, at the women, at how much fun we were having and all the drinks we had, “they’re so jealous man! Ha!” He turned to his left and let out a short scream. Lacie had just sat next to him.
Given his situation back in Denver I could see the justification in a short scream.
She looked amazing.
It was the last night and the girls had gone all out. They had spent hours getting ready; hours making sure their hair was perfect, not overdone but you know, they wanted it to fall naturally, but not too naturally. She was wearing a black low cut sleeveless swoop-neck, incredibly tight jeans and black 5” heels. Her lips were a little brighter than usual and the eye shadow was tastefully done.
She winked at Bryan and said, “Scoot over you big piece of man.”
He pushed me a bit to my right and he had his blonde queen for the night.
I looked over at our brunette who was talking up a storm with a table full of Englishmen. She was bent over, laughing a little louder than she usually does and smiling a lot more. Leo was sitting on the other end of the table attempting to flirt with Heather but having no luck. He didn’t notice our supermodel at all.
“You lazy piece of shit!” screamed the leather-jacket clad dad at the fighters.
“He’s the Fonz man.” Bryan said as he sipped his drink, motioning at the dad.
“Holy shit, he looks just like him.”
“I know right. Monday, Tuesday, happy days!”
I looked back at the table of Englishmen and she was now blatantly flirting.
I finished off my drink and ordered another one.
A double.
As the night progressed, I’ll admit things got fuzzy. I felt the warmth of the bar and the booze. I felt good about passing the exams and meeting new people but still lonely as hell. I kept drinking continuously and the old habits were coming back. I never had an empty glass and the more and more comfortable I got, the more I spoke with the kid to my right. I would have talked with Bryan but he was caught up in fighting off Lacie’s grab-hands. Occasionally, I’d look forward and see the brunette there, sitting on a lap or playfully teasing the guy with the soccer shirt on.
Another double please.
“Listen!” I slurred, “You gotta know’bout hows these things are workin’! You know? Because dreams Edwards, dreams are what’yous need to takesaway from tonight!”
Edward, with his Blind shit stared at me, kind of in disbelief.
I like kids. I used to teach music and I loved it. Kids are just so honest and aren’t contrived with worldly bullshit. They listen sometimes. Sometimes they’ll speak up. Either way, at least they weren’t trying to power-play you over bullshit pride or insecurities.
Kids: they didn’t give a fuck.
That’s why they’re awesome.
And that’s why I was stumbling around and ranting to poor Edward.
“Man, thisworld overhere, you seethat?” I pointed at the brunette, “Ha, Leo’s allover that,” and burst out laughing.
“Dude, scoot over, I got to take a piss.” Bryan left his seat vacant and people cleared a path for him straight to the bathroom. I guess when you’re that big you don’t worry about slipping through the crowd.
Heather sat in his chair, “How are you feeling babe?”
I concentrated on sitting up, “Great. You?”
She turned towards me, “Fuck, you’re wasted.”
I smiled like an idiot.
“You are such a cute drunk.” She said. The two thin straps that traveled down her shoulders secured on to the lace-patterned silk she was wearing. It was an interesting choice for this place, but I realized she chose it because it showed off her breasts the most. A tight skirt that matched her heels hugged her little hips.
“Can I tell you something?” I managed to say clearly with some concentration.
“Sure babe, whatsup?”
“I want you to be happy. I want you to know, not assume, but know that people want to see you for who you are. You’re incredibly beautiful. I know life has been hard to you but resilience is what forges the character that allows us to live so freely.” I was looking her in the eyes, “People, they always want to dominate or force you into thinking you’re some kind of tool. Ha. They call it ‘resource’ but they just want to use you. Someone like you, with your kind eyes and genuine hope, should never be reduced to the sum of your physical attributes. When you find love, it’ll reach past all of your expectations and envelope the deepest part of your frailty.” At the end of this, I just smiled with the clinging of the ice in my double jack and coke.
She was speechless.
A single tear rolled down her cheek and she hugged me.
“Thank you.”
I smiled and caught the scent of vanilla her bodywash must have had.
Victoria Secret probably.
She pulled away, “Your fiancé is a lucky woman!”
Flash to Portuguese woman calling me an immature child and screaming that I need to grow up.
I took a deep gulp of my drink, “…yeah.”
Heather got up and headed to the bathroom, probably to check her eyeliner.
Bryan came back just on time to hear the fight start.
Not the fight on TV but the fight happening ten feet in front of our table.
“What the fuck! Fuck you! Asshole!” and she threw a drink into one of the guys’ faces. He was in shock but laughed it off and the entire UK started laughing with him.
She went over to Leo, “That guy just grabbed my ass!”
And Leo laughed at her, “Yeah, it’s a nice ass!”
Frustrated she stomped over to my end of the table.
“That fucker just grabbed my ass!”
Bryan looked at me and I shrugged back.
We both giggled a little.
Quickly, he said, “Dude, don’t even go for that. I mean, c’mon, seriously?”
“I just want another drink,” and we both kept laughing.
“Wait!” Fonz stirred to life, “What happened?” His leather jacket rested on the back of the chair and fell off he got up so fast.
Edward and I looked at his dad.
The Fonz was making a comeback.
“He grabbed my ass!” she had been drinking.
“No one is going to treat a woman like that while I’M around!” and he puts his beer down to fight the British in the name of honor and America.
“Hey Edward,” I sip my drink, “Twenty bucks says your dad’s going to win this thing.”
Bryan, “Fuck it, I’ll say forty! Edward’s dad is a beast! He’s the Fonz!”
After a shoving contest the two men were broken up and the UK left.
I just kept drinking.
And here, is where I started to black out.
Because as I write this I don’t really remember much of the bar.
I remember smoking a cigarette outside in the parking lot and Lacie jumping on my back and throwing it to the ground.
“Smoking kills!” and she stomped on my smoke.
Damn.
When you’ve drank as much as I have, you don’t get hangovers.
No headaches.
No abrasive light.
No amplified everyday noise.
None of that.
So when you wake up after blacking out it’s kind of like someone hitting the reset button. All you know is that some point of your day has begun and in the last 12 hours, anything could have happened. In my experience, it’s always good to check for blood or injuries.
In this situation I was fully clothed laying in my bed covered in twigs, branches, leaves and peanut-butter. I rolled out of bed and slowly stood up. I remembered that I was drinking a shit-load last night. That the drinks were $4.00 each and my tab was around $88.00 flat.
I laughed.
Awesome.
And I know what you’re thinking.
You’re thinking that our supermodel is going to be on the other side of the bed or come strolling in with breakfast for me.
And you are way off.
Maybe Heather found her delicate body underneath my hands?
Wrong.
I sat down on the cold, refreshing tile of my hotel bathroom and gripped my head out of habit.
“What happened?” my voice asked itself bouncing off the walls, “You passed the exams and went drinking. Then you made an ass out of yourself at the bar, only after spending almost every cent you have on getting so drunk you’d forget about how shitty your life was. Then,” I paused, “…then you got back to the hotel and trashed as you were, decided to go wander around outside in the woods since no one was going to keep you company in this place,” Another pause, “oh shit. Really?” My voice answered, “Yeah. You went out on the running trails and freaked out when you saw a deer.” I paused a bit longer and burst out laughing. “What the fuck?” and right then, I discovered spoons in my pocket, “Oh, the spoons? Yeah, I don’t know about those.”
Conversing with myself aside, I didn’t think I was in that bad of shape.
I spent the rest of the afternoon rehydrating myself and hiding in my room. I packed up my clothes, my notebooks, everything and with a tinge of apathy, let the hotel door close on two weeks of lonely madness.
In the hotel lobby, waiting for our van to arrive I didn’t see anyone else. It was just I there with my gym bag. Everyone else had already left for their flights. I was the last to leave this place.
I sighed.
Fitting.
The airport was a welcomed sight for me.
I had already checked my one bag and waited at the gate for my flight to board.
I was drinking my bottle of water sparingly. When you’re rehydrating, getting all willy-nilly with the water leads to an upset stomach and a pissed off bladder. You got to take your time with these things.
“Is it ok if I sit with you?”
The same Pumas I had studied so intently upon arriving in this town were standing in front of me.
“Of course.” Tired and drained.
When she sat down I noticed we were the only ones at the gate. People were walking by but it was just in this row of chairs we sat.
I smiled.
She wanted to sit next to me.
“So Leo is a total asshole.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“He told everyone what happened.”
“…Yeah, I know.”
For us nice guys, we’re used to sitting quietly and listening to the beautiful girl tell us about how we were right the entire time. We smile and nod and think about how all of this would have never happened if you’d just listened to me.
But looking at my track record in life, I wouldn’t have listened to me either.
“I’m sorr-,”
“Don’t worry about it.” I cut her off and sat back against the seat, “Back to the real world.”
My clouds are different now.
My sky is different.
The sunset is casting a longer reach of its light across the base of the clouds in the sky while we move towards Houston. She and I, the delicate hazel-eyed brunette sitting next to me now, are going back home to our chaos and problems. It’s a sad but grateful trip we have together.
I reflect on the sadness that I had seen and the troubles everyone has in life.
I think about how we perceive ourselves so awkwardly and it’s only a matter of changing your mind to move away from these perceptions. How you can construct other people around you on false notions, idolize them, build them up, break them down and forget that all of this is just in your own head.
That they’re human and just as fragile as you are.
None of these strangers have ever tried to hurt you.
It’s only those we love that hurt us.
So what is the crime?
To fall passionately in love with a stranger?
There is no crime but the punishment is getting to know their shortcomings.
The obsession in poor Heather’s mind to be acknowledged.
Wanting to get laid, ASAP.
How people compromise themselves just to feel loved.
How people compromise themselves to forget it all.
At least for a few nights.
To be someone else.
It’s the strength that we find in our personal disappointments that we use to build each other up. When we realize that we’re no better or worse than those of us we so desire to control; the strength to uphold principles and not compromise your promises to other people; no matter how crazy or hurtful they can be.
A promise is a promise.
I glance over to the east and the moon is rising but because we’re thousands of feet above the earth, the sun is still in the west at the same time.
My sky shifts hues before me.
It goes blue and then to a soft pink, to an orange, a purple and ultimately, goes dark. The stars are brighter up here, outside of my window and I imagine all the different let down’s and tragedies that are going on below. How quickly we forget that we were once on the ground and will join it soon enough.
I turn and look at her.
She looks up from her magazine and smiles at me.
My desperation is gone.
As though she read my thoughts, she leans over and whispers, “I’m glad I don’t have to go back alone.”
“I’m not.”
