four
Bacon! Fact: I freaking love bacon! I roll over to squeeze Master, patting around on my one-thousand-thread-count sheets, fruitlessly searching for the perpetually starving beast only to come up empty after a solid ten slaps. He’s gone. Then the reason I’m thinking about bacon comes to me, literally, through my nose. Its yummy, delicious scent is drifting through my smelling holes and I immediately leap from my bed in a panic while stealthily running to the half-opened bedroom door in order to listen for further details of my intruder (I’ve practiced this move a million times, you’ll have to trust me when I tell you, I’m smooth).
I’m desperate to be a ninja. They seem so sure of themselves, so safe. Here’s hoping that all of those long hours of training in fruit ninja will pay off when I take the sucker cooking bacon in my house from behind and school him with my mean and well practiced bacon-style neck chop. BAM! Briefly, I wonder what my points would be for that chop. With an educated guess I’d say hundreds, maybe even thousands of points. I’m that good at Fruit Ninja.
Creeping down the hall all James Bond style, firmly gripping the taupe colored plaster wall behind me, I begin to make out the sound of sizzling meat . Using my stealth-like silence the target will never hear me coming. As I approach my ears tune in to a new sound and I immediately know who my target is. Only one other person I know hums the tune of Yakkity Yak by the Coasters while cooking and that’s my big brother, Connor.
Peaking around the corner I catch him holding Master Chief’s paws up in the air and vigorously shaking them around whilst singing aloud the chorus in his best 50’s rock star impersonation. I can’t help it. Without warning them of my presence, I burst into a roaring belly laugh scaring my handsome brother and dog half to death in the process! Score me!
Connor jumps in front of Master to protect him and shouts when he sees it’s only me, “Really? Did you have to just start roaring like that? I have bacon here. I could have burned it.” He whispers the last part bent over holding onto his quaking knees while trying to catch his startled breath. Poor baby. Bwahahahaha!
“Oh God, I’m so sorry…” I’m sputtering with laughter. “So funny…” Now Masters all excited, what with all the bacon and the dancing, who could blame him. My roaring only gets worse from the humor of my inner monolouging and now I’m rolling all over the clean kitchen floor as well. In turn my brother is now looking at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“Seriously. Something is wrong with you.” He’s recovered from my attack (bwahahaha) and is back to flipping the now-smoking bacon, shaking his head, clearly annoyed with my antics.
Finally gaining enough control of myself to sit up I look up at Connor with my big, blue, watering eyes and say in a deep baritone voice, “Don’t talk back,” before falling back over again into another side splitting attack of the giggles. Now Master is jumping all over me on the floor while Connor uses his big man foot to push me out of the kitchen one nudge at a time.
Once he’s convinced I’m far enough away from him and his bacon he leaves me to lay there hoping I’ll get a grip and reign in my riotous, hiccupping laughter. It’s not long before I’m staring up at the smooth ceiling with Master sprawled out against my side, licking my hand, alerting me to the fact that he’s ready to be pet. When does he not like to get pet is the real question? You can hardly blame him; I know I could sure go for some petting.
I climb up onto the couch and lay there wistfully remembering my old life and am in the middle of a delicious daydream when Connor comes over with a plate full of delicious bacon. He sits down beside me and holds the meat hostage, breaking me from my trance.
“So. I was out last night. Saw your boy Ashton.” He looks at me sideways and I immediately feel the need to correct him.
“Not my boy.”
“That’s not the point. What I came here to talk about is…” before he can finish his sentence… it starts. The capital IT. I can see his lips moving. He must be saying things but it’s too late, I’ve already begun to feel disconnected. I start to rapid fire blink, willing the room to stop pulsing and when I finally focus back on Connor his lips have gone still and he’s looking me over with worry clear in the crinkled, pinched up corners of his eyes. My heart begins to pick up its pace. Oh shit… Here goes.
“Sis? What’s wrong? CeeCee?” His eyes are bugging out even though he’s practiced at being cool for me. He gathers himself and then using his strong, steady hands gets a nice firm grip on my upper arms, the way he knows I like, before he begins counting out loud with a strong, steady voice, “one-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand…”
Anyone who spends any length of time around me learns rather quickly the steps I must follow in order to stop one of my infamous panic attacks from taking hold and escalating. The speed with which this one came on is a bit alarming, and Connor’s startled state almost caused him to drop the bacon. He all but threw it on the coffee table as he reached to steady my shaking limbs. His quick reaction did the trick though and by fifteen one-thousand I’m beginning to breathe in and out to the regular rhythm of his words, allowing the pace of my heart to steady alongside my trembling limbs.
As I curl onto my side he lays a blanket over me, then hands me a pillow, which I immediately shove under my head for cushion. My hands nestle between the smooth, cold fabric of the cotton pillow and the pasty flesh of my cheek before he starts the conversation over, this time with a much less aggressive tone.
“I’m sorry Cee. I didn’t know things had gotten this bad for you.” I look at him with wounded eyes and in return he gives me a sad smile.
“Why don’t you come and stay with me for a while? My new girlfriend, Liddy, well its Lydia but she goes by Liddy. Anyway, she just moved in and you’re going to love her. She’s a clothing designer, not big time or anything but she sews her own stuff and sells to a couple of small boutiques in town. She has big dreams for her line and I’m sure she’d love your perspective. Between your drawing skills and your unique fashion sense, I don’t know, I just thought maybe if you two talked, maybe shared ideas or something that it could help you?” I love that he is always trying to help me so it’s important that I don’t come off ungrateful here because I’m not. I’m the opposite. I’m beyond grateful that I still have one other person other than Ashton who continues to champion me in my own life.
How do I tell him no without it sounding like a personal affront? I’m sick of delivering the famous ‘It’s not you it’s me’ line but in this case it is me, it’s always me.
I sit up and pull the cover up under my chin as a sort of cashmere shield, “I love you and I know if Liddy, cute name by the way, but I know if Liddy loves you then I’ll love her. It’s just, I’m not ready.” I try to go on but he stops me with a raised hand.
“That’s my problem here Cee. I’m worried you’ll never be ready again.” Right there, in that one sentence, he sums up the entirety of my fears.
“Me too.” I stare down at where he’s worrying his fingers and continue. “But, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m not ready. I want to be. That’s the thing Connor. I really, really want to be… normal? But something is stopping that from happening and I have to figure out what that is before I can start to get better.”
He reaches over and grabs the discarded tray of bacon off the antique coffee table and holds it between us. It must be said that I am very proud of my dog for not stealing any of the bacon while it sat there, because bacon is his absolute favorite and, because of all the nitrates that are in it (which are way bad for you, by the way), I haven’t made it in forever.
“Well then, can you please just eat a couple pieces of bacon for your big brother? You’ve gotten too skinny and that would worry Dad. It’s my job to worry about you for him now, so eat.”
He pushes it to within an inch of my mouth and I smile remembering how much my Dad loved bacon flavored everything. Because I love him, I do what needs to be done to make my big brother happy and I take a couple
pieces of the greasy meat, hoping that I can keep it down. My stomach’s had a rough couple of days and I can’t remember the last time I had bacon.
I bite into the crunchy, salty meat and moan in pure, unadulterated delight. Holy Mary Mother of God , I forgot how good this stuff is. Imagine the first time I have sex! I may die from all the delight. I watch as my brothers’ face lights up from my reaction, just as I was hoping it would. His warm smile splits his face in two and those happy brown eyes of his that remind me so much of my father’s are now shining with peace rather than the tears I brought to them only moments ago. As I prepare to stand up on my wobbly legs I take another piece of meat just to up the ante of his happiness and I’m rewarded when his smile grows even wider.
“Okay. Now that I’ve been reintroduced to my old friend piglet here I’ll make us each a cup of coffee and we can talk about how you met this Liddy girl. Sound good?” I pat his leg as I get up and head into the kitchen.
As I’m making the drinks I hear Connor telling Master Chief what a good boy he is for looking after me so well and then I hear Master’s growl in delight as he’s rewarded with his very own slice of crunchy pig belly. If Master could talk I’m positive he’d Scooby Doo my brother with a sincere “Rank Rou” in appreciation for this mysterious and delicious treat. Now if only he can help me battle the mystery that is my anxiety….
***
As I clean up the fine film of bacon grease that’s found its way onto almost every one of my kitchen’s surfaces I hear my Xbox alert me to a friend signing on. I’ve been running to the TV every time I hear the ding-ding of a player signing in and if I were into serious exercising these sprints would be ideal but seeing as I haven’t run any further than my bedroom to the bathroom to barf lately I’m getting pretty exhausted from all the back and forth.
Fortunately, the last ding was none other than Mrnotsosmall himself. When I see that he’s signed in to play, the fog of sadness magically clears from in front of my crystal eyes and my world tilts back onto its intended axis, the axis of unrequited love I’m so familiar with. I’ve been signed onto his favored Call of Duty map for the last couple of hours hoping and praying he’d show today and, lucky for me, he has (imagine a deep, unsettling, squealing sound and then insert my face into your imagination because that’s me, right now). I throw my headset on and I’m ready when he calls out to me, “PrettyPanties, I’m here. Let’s get us some Nazi’s. I’m in the mood to make things happen.” I’m blushing.
Now, if you are a normal girl who is around boys every day, flirting and touching their biceps, this simple phrase may not do it for you. But, if you’re me, the agoraphobe who’s been locked inside her house for the last three years only seeing her brother and slutty best friend on occasion then you’d be as delirious as I am by those words. He may as well have caressed me for the tingles he’s sent streaking through my body. Is it hot in here?
“You’ve got it Mr. (Only I call him by an abbreviated term of endearment. I know? Awesome, right?) Let’s kill us some Nazi’s. I’m going to flank to the left, then you hit the right side and then mama’s going to blow this place wide open.”
“Hell ya, Panties. Let’s DO THIS! WOOHOO!” My man’s on fire and I don’t know if you caught that? But, he shortened my name too! I could die. I have been nicknamed by my one true love… swoon.
I’ve never felt so alive. My KDR (Kill to Death Ratio) during this round is out of control. I’ve killed like 30 other players and I’ve only had to respawn like two times. Mr. has totally been paying attention and giving me all sorts of positive reinforcement. Some of my favorites include, but are not limited to: 1. “That’s my girl!” I heard the emphasis on the “my” and then I got shot, which was the cause of one of the two deaths that ruined my chance at a perfect KDR. That’s like a hole in one in the gaming world people, it’s huge. 2. “You know how to work a weapon.” Are you kidding me? That’s the most action I’ve had in years. 3. “That’s right boys, she’s all mine.” He’s being possessive. He wants me. BOOM! Take that British beauties of the world! I’d like to declare that he’s all mine as well. Maybe the next round I’ll shout it out as well. I just worry there’s not a whole lot of British babes playing this game that will hear me and get the memo. Oh well, I can put it out into the universe like Oprah always says to do. I mean if she’s the guru everyone touts her to be the shouting it out loud should count for something right?
We’re two matches in and I start to feel some courage from all the pretend dying that’s not happening to me, so I decide to ask Mr. a personal question, which in the gaming world is frowned upon between two online strangers playing together. But, I figure what do I have to lose? I’m already a shut in with absolutely no life outside of this headset.
We’re in the middle of a battle, sitting up against a wall somewhere deep in Nazi Germany waiting to make our move when I blurt out, “So, what do you do for a job? What I mean is I’m a freelance writer, which explains my unusual schedule, but I was just wondering because you seem to keep the same kind of crazy hours as me?” Nothing. Either he doesn’t want to answer because he now thinks I’m a freak or he didn’t hear me. I’m going with; you guessed it, option two. So after another moment of silence I ask again, and still... Nothing…
At this point I feel that’s obvious and fair to say that I know absolutely nothing about the opposite sex.
“Hey? Yah. Um, I have to get to work actually, just got called in so we’ll just catch up later. Good match by the way, awesome KDR. I aspire to have your numbers PrettyPanties.” Then, he’s gone and I’m left to do the damn pondering thing. FRICK! FRICKIN’! FRACK! FRAGGLE FRICKIN’ ROCK!
This is the point at which I’ve always called Ashton in for help. He’s my go to guy when I’m in the throes of trying to break down the male psyche.
I suddenly remember that we’re in a battle of our own at the moment and so I do the bold thing and hold the phone in my hand willing it to ring. Oddly enough, that doesn’t work. So instead I shout into the universe in a vain attempt at willing him to call me. “PLEASE CALL YOUR BEST FRIEND, ASHTON RILEY STEVENS! I need you.” Again I wait… and… nothing. Oprah’s tell it to the universe plan can suck it because it’s not getting me the results I was promised. Not. Even. Close - OPRAH!
It’s only seven o’clock and because I know Ashton has a gig downtown tonight I’m not going to start panicking, yet. I take a moment to work out the timeline of his night trying to determine the estimated time he may show up. Right about now he’s probably doing a quick sound check. Then he’ll have a beer at the bar with some hussy, followed immediately by his set that will take about two hours with one break included. Add all of that together plus the time he’ll hang out after the show with the hussy from earlier or if he’s lucky an even newer, smuttier version of the other model and year will appear, and that puts him stumbling in my door at about… three am. THREE A.M is equal to EIGHT HOURS from NOW! How in the world am I supposed to just sit here patiently and wait to see if this ridiculous argument of ours is going to end tonight for the next EIGHT! FREAKING! TORTUROUS! HOURS?! (I apologize for the overuse of exclamation marks but I am feeling really! Really! Exclamationy!)
Like a fat cat to a fishy treat I go running to grab the laptop from my room. Times like this make waiting for it to power up feel life threatening. The Google icon glows at me in welcome and I’m already able to feel my pulse beginning to slow down.
Once I’m on the internet I click open my Favorite’s folder and am immediately met with a big decision: will I visit Victoria’s house of Secret’s or Playboy? Hmm? Playboy wins by a slim margin tonight for the sole reason that sometimes I just need the articles as much as the sexy lingerie to feel better, and tonight’s an article kinda night.
The pretty lace panties’ that barely conceal the models do their intended job and calm my frayed nerves at once. To most women this would seem irrational, but for me, these ladies have always represented the soft kind of motherly femininity that I’
ve always yearned for and never received on a consistent basis. I realize I’m grown up now and that I should be capable of understanding that they ARE NOT, in fact, giving out motherly vibes but, let’s also keep in mind that I should be able to safely wonder out onto the simple landscape of my front yard and am incapable of that as well. So… back to the articles and pantied ladies.
Skimming through the current choices of useful reading material can sometimes be distracting, what with all the unnaturally-large breasts peeking out from behind the headlines but not tonight. Tonight, almost instantly a caption catches my eye and it reads: How To Have a Friend With Benefits and Not Destroy the Relationship. I will give a brief summary of its contents here.
Number One: be clear and precise with what the expectations are for the relationship before attempting the “benefits” portion of the friendship (I feel this to be self explanatory. However, if you do not, this may not be a good idea for you to consider, just a thought.) Number Two: Play it cool. Meaning no date nights or personal texts about gushy feelings, think light and breezy (I can do light and breezy, I run from feelings! I represent breezy! I’m a freaking palm tree!). Number Three: still see other men or women to keep it from becoming a traditional relationship between just the two of you (that part’s going to be tricky for me unless you count my seeing Mrnotsosmall, then I should be good to go). And, last but not least, the golden rule that’s never to be broken in this sort of arrangement… Number four: Do NOT under any circumstances tell her/him that you are beginning to have feelings for them if your goal is to keep this friendship intact and ongoing. This phrase, these feelings, will be a time bomb for the beneficial outcome of your special “alliance” and mark my words, WILL DESTROY IT like the nuke that it is. Do not enter into this contract if you think there is any chance of this happening for either one of you. It will end B…A…D...L...Y. Badly. Twitter would read: #Don’tdo#4, #feelingsRbad, #FWBholdthefeelings.
Single Player: Humor, Love, Breast Cancer and a Gaming Girl... Page 4
