Heartbreak for Dinner: It's Kind of a Long Story

by Rondon, Annah

  “I’m going to kick your ass, you know that?” I shouted at Michael over the music as I carefully stepped over the mess and opened the door.

  “Delivery for Ms. Rondon,” he bowed dramatically and handed me a note.

  I opened it curiously and blood rushed to my cheeks upon reading its message.

  “Guess who has a date with a certain pedophile tomorrow night?” I gushed to my friend, who quickly tore the note and threw it in the garbage dismissively before grabbing himself a beer.

  The next evening, I ransacked my closet looking for an outfit that didn’t scream desperation. Under no circumstances did I want him to think I put too much thought into what I was going to wear for the night. I finally decided on a casual but sexy ensemble consisting of jeans, a fitted tank top, and heels. I had Michael coach me on the phone all afternoon and my nerves were pretty much under control. That is, until Noah knocked at my door.

  “Ready?” he kissed my cheek and sized me up.

  I was born ready, Noah.

  “Sure thing,” I replied.

  Dinner with Noah to me was like a date with all the members of N’Sync to a teenage girl in the 90s (that’s if all the members of N’Sync were Justin Timberlake and you were into orgies, of course). After the movie we bought a bottle of wine and headed to a spot on Rickenbacker Causeway where people – mainly couples – park their cars to stare at the ocean and do inappropriate things like make out, smoke weed, and, sometimes, have sex. We sipped our chardonnay from Styrofoam cups in silence, holding hands and staring out at the ocean in front of us. The inevitable first date banter took place and I tried my damnest to make the knot in the pit of my stomach go away unsuccessfully.

  “You seem distracted,” he said to me, inquisitive eyes attempting to stare deeply into mine.

  “Not really,” I scoped out our surroundings. “Just kind of paranoid. I heard people get mugged here all the time.”

  “I’m really glad you came tonight,” he caressed my jaw line with the back of his fingers and ignored my last comment. “I wouldn’t mind spending more time with you during the next two weeks,” his hand went slowly to the back of my neck, fingers firmly massaging the area and then moving back to my jaw line, caressing softly again, “only if you want to, obviously.” Those words were magic to my naïve ears, all inhibitions out the window along with the last Styrofoam cup of chardonnay.

  I closed my eyes and let him continue caressing me, fully aware he was playing a game in which he was the star athlete. When I opened them again, his face was dangerously close to mine. Emboldened by the wine and years of fantasizing about this very moment, I kissed him. My hands moved up to his hair and I pulled his face against mine. We made out with a sense of urgency, forcefully sucking and biting each other’s lips. I wanted to tear off his Hollister t-shirt with my bare hands and jump his bones right in the driver seat. I scratched his back while he kissed my neck, his hands already unbuttoning my jeans. Fighting an internal battle between the need to not sleep with him on the first date and the want to ravish him right away, I pulled back.

  “Wait,” I panted, not really sure why I was stopping him. “We can’t do this here like this.” I pretended to be insulted even though I was dying to seal the deal.

  “We?” a grin flashed across his face as he undid my zipper. “I’m the only one doing anything tonight, Annah.”

  And with those words and experience none of the high school boys I dated ever possessed, Noah took me to the moon and back with nothing but his lips and tongue.

  The following days were heaven personified. Noah and I spent most nights at the movies making out like teenagers, oblivious to what was playing on the screen. Our little rendezvous at the causeway was never mentioned and it was just as well, considering I was immediately mortified the day after. He never tried to touch me again in a sexual manner or bring me to fruition as he had done so flawlessly that night in his car. I found this odd but never questioned it for fear of messing up whatever wonderful thing we had going. Was it so bad to think that maybe, by some fateful cosmic alignment, I was going to end up with my teenage crush?

  Fate is a funny thing, though, and the series of events that followed didn’t exactly resemble the beautiful picture I’d constructed in my obviously delusional mind.

  The day before Noah departed for school again, I called in sick and we made plans to go on a picnic. Considering most of our time had been spent inside, a day in the park sounded like the perfect finale to our two weeks in the clouds. We had not spoken about starting a serious relationship, but he kept dropping hints that alluded to him wanting to solidify something with me. He spoke of wanting his own place in Miami once he landed a job after graduation, insinuating that I’d sleep over and describing all the fun we’d have once he was back in town. I wasn’t into the idea of a long distance relationship anyway and trusted he’d follow through on his promises once graduation took place.

  “If it’s meant to be, it will be,” I told a very puzzled Michael one night over dinner, when Noah was out with his family. “But you never know, fairy tales do come true.”

  Michael stared at me in disbelief and shook his head. “Boy will I be glad when this bozo leaves town because, believe me, this won’t materialize into shit.”

  I lightly brushed him off and changed the subject. Jerk.

  That Monday – much to my surprise – Noah called me and cancelled on our picnic. His mother’s car had apparently broken down on the way to work and he had to pick her up. He said they would be spending the whole day at the shop trying to figure out what was wrong and that he’d call me later for dinner plans.

  “Do you want me to come with you?” I asked in an effort to be supportive.

  “No,” he said a bit too quickly. “I’ll call you as soon as we’re done. Besides, babe, you’ll be bored out of your mind there.”

  He was right. I hated smelly auto repair shops and although I wanted to be upset at him, I couldn’t blame him for being a good son. I called Michael to see if he wanted to hang out, but he had made plans with a girl he’d met over the weekend. My mother was back from Cuba and working nights at the time so I had to leave the house since she didn’t know I’d called in sick. Michael said I could spend the day at his house watching TV even though he wouldn’t be there. I took his offer and, after about two hours, became irritable and bored. Noah hadn’t called, nor had he replied to any of my texts. I decided to visit the Humane Society and spend the rest of my day there doing volunteer work. After feeding and walking about 12 dogs, I fell into a depressive spiral and decided it was time to go home. On the way there I was hit with a craving for Mexican food and passed the border on to the nearest Taco Bell. Once I parked my car, I looked down at my phone to find Noah still missing in action. The frustration pushed my hunger boundaries and when it was my turn to order, I ate for two.

  After downing two Burrito Supremes, a Gordita, and some nachos – all topped with fire sauce, of course – I jumped in my car and drove on home. The Humane Society in North Miami is located in an area surrounded by warehouses and businesses. I wasn’t completely familiar with the area but knew how to get to the expressway in order to head home. After being lost for almost 20 minutes, I saw a sign for the highway a few blocks ahead of me. Once I jumped on the Palmetto expressway, a sharp pain stabbed my lower stomach and I gasped.

  “Dios,” I muttered under my breath, “not now.”

  The pain continued its sharp jabs, making vibrating sounds that went from the bottom of my pelvis all the way up to my stomach and back down again. I was praying it would subside in time for me to make it home, but the excruciating pain was getting worse with every mile traveled. I sat there in anguish focusing on the road, my forehead sweating profusely as I scanned ahead for the nearest exit. I drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other clutched on my stomach, hoping this would relieve me from some of the suffering. Another vibration shook me, I squeezed my butt cheeks as tight as I could, praying to the bowel go
ds to please cut me some slack and give me a few minutes.

  By the time I got to the next exit, World War III was going off inside me and I knew that if I fired a fart, a missile would come out. I quickly realized I had no idea where the hell I was driving to or what street I was on, yet I had faith I would find a McDonald’s or Starbucks somewhere down the road. One minute passed, then two, my entire body clenched tightly and covered in sweat. As I turned onto another street it was evident I’d soon have to pull over and shit on the side of the road when I mercifully saw the light. A Citgo gas station was standing like a beacon of hope at the following intersection. I pulled in Mario Andretti style and parked my car right in front of the women’s restroom, bolting as quickly as my body allowed under the circumstances for the door. I imagined what it would be like to crap in a public bathroom standing up, as it was obvious I’d have no time to cover the toilet seat with paper. I turned the knob joyfully and to my horror, it was locked. A paper taped to the wall read the following:

  There are moments in an adult’s life where they realize they have lost and their only option is defeat. This was definitely one of those moments. I walked purposefully to my car, sat in the driver’s seat, and just let it rip. I defecated in my pants for almost a full minute, glad to relieve myself of the pain that had been haunting me for the past half hour. Loud farts and squishy sounds burned my poor defenseless butt hole. Never again would I eat another burrito, even though they tasted so damn good (never again = two months). I turned on the radio and drove back home, sitting in the warm shit that was now under my ass and all over my thick workout pants. The smell was making me so nauseous I felt like I would throw up at any minute. My mind kept focusing on getting home, burning the pants, and taking a shower, not necessarily in that order. I’m not sure if it was from the frustration or shock, but I silently began to cry as I drove in the putrid stench.

  To add insult to injury, I had to figure out how to get to my apartment without running into anyone. I knew the stairs were my safest bet, but I couldn’t imagine climbing them without poop dripping down my legs and most likely out of the pants. I figured it was early in the day and most people would be working, making my elevator plan the preferred escape method.

  As I turned past the gates toward my parking space, I was smacked in the face by a vision of Noah hugging a girl as she kissed his neck. I was sure the scent of my own feces surrounding me like a bubble was making me delusional and I blinked repeatedly to focus on the picture to my right. There he stood, Mr. Future Plans himself, leaning against the elevator with one of the girls he’d brought to the pool weeks before. I glared at him in spite of myself and momentarily forgot the bigger picture. When he saw me, his eyes opened in surprise and he quickly detangled himself from her death grip. He said something to her and started running toward my car, ordering me to put down the window.

  How sweet it would’ve been to let the smell hit him in the face and see his reaction, but instead I did a three-point turn, nearly running him over in the process. Noah banged loudly on my window and even tried opening my door as I attempted to make my escape. He pleaded through the glass as I waited for the electric gate to open, possibly assuming I was too angry to confront him. My only option upon leaving was driving another 10 minutes to Michael’s house to shower there. I picked up my cell phone and called to make sure he was home before jumping into a Miami canal and calling it a day.

  “Hello?” he answered, breathless.

  “I have to take a shower at your house,” I sobbed pathetically into my cell phone.

  “Why are you crying?”

  I sniffed and blew my nose while saying something incoherently.

  “Just come on over. I’m here with Jessica, but my shower is all yours.”

  I hadn’t anticipated him being there with anyone but frankly didn’t give a shit because well, I was all out of it.

  “It’s fine,” I said, defeated. “See you soon.”

  By the time I arrived at Michael’s, I was so nauseous I thought I would faint. I stood at the door knocking softly and feeling sorry for myself.

  “What the hell is going on?” said Michael. “Whoa, Christ! What’s that smell?”

  “I told you I need to use your shower.”

  The good thing about my friend, was that loud persona and the need to make a joke out of everything aside, he knew when to shut the fuck up. He stepped aside and motioned like a butler would to his master. “Go on.”

  When I stepped inside the bathroom I rolled my pants into a ball and stuffed them inside the garbage bag, tying a secure knot on top. I hurried in the shower, still too stunned to fully process the afternoon’s events. As soon as I turned on the water a wave of nausea hit me and I barely made it to the toilet before throwing up the rest of my dignity into it in my best exorcist impression.

  Two hours later, I was sitting at the kitchen telling Michael and Jessica my story. While Michael laughed so hard tears streamed down his face, Jessica looked at me like I was a pig covered in manure. Like if she never had a stomach ache before. I thanked them for their hospitality and apologized for interrupting their afternoon. Jessica got up and mumbled something about having to go to class.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” Michael got up after her.

  “Bye,” she said quickly without even looking at me.

  While my friend was out with Miss Snob, I disposed of the garbage bag and began to clean his bathroom. He walked in on me in the process and howled with laughter now that we were alone. I chose to ignore him and continued scrubbing his toilet in silence. Sensing my desire to be alone, he retreated to his bedroom and let me sulk in solitude. I was wearing pajamas that belonged to Michael’s sister when I finally emerged from my pity party, every piece of clothing I’d been wearing earlier tossed in the garbage and part of a not-so-pleasant past. I went in feeling sheepish and silently climbed in his bed and ducked for cover.

  “Are you okay?” he nuzzled my ear and hugged me like a bear would their offspring.

  I burrowed my swollen face into his chest and hugged him back, seeking shelter in his arms from the horror of my day. “I guess I had it coming, huh?”

  He kissed my hair and rubbed the small of my back. “Shit happens, Annie,” he sighed and pulled me closer in an embrace that possibly crossed the friend zone for the very first time in our history of platonic affections. As I looked up at him and put my hand on his face, I realized how simple life would be if only we’d fall in love with our best friends and not the assholes we chase so dearly as we roll into adulthood. That’s the thing about life, though, it is never simple nor easy, and much as we may try, the heart will guide us to the places it wants, even if most times it’s quite dangerous and smells of shit.

  Besties for life (or until Michael married some girl who didn’t like me).

  Encounters of the 3rd Kind

  I was standing against a light pole trying to rest my feet, a sea of people gathered in front of me as they waited to enter the nightclub. I’d managed to sleep two hours on the flight into Spain that morning. Yet, despite my desire to make the night mine, my eyes closed involuntarily as I rested my head on the wooden structure.

  “Don’t you dare fall asleep,” my best friend shook me and smirked. “I’m this close to getting us in.”

  I watched Olivia go work her magic and tried to light a fire of excitement unsuccessfully as I surveyed the people in line. As always, judging and examining strangers when they weren’t looking was a pastime I couldn’t resist, starting with the couple arguing right at the very front. The girlfriend scolded her guy for not making reservations earlier just like she’d asked, and he rolled his eyes at her in silence. A group of girls drank red wine from a Coke bottle, undeterred by the long wait and creepers behind them trying to get a grope in. A fat guy picked at his teeth with what looked like a plastic knife and I winced in disgust. Someone behind him laughed in amusement and whispered something to her companion. Groups of Spaniards gathered in clusters and wait
ed, their heavy accents reminding me I was 4,000 miles from the place I called home.

  I continued my judgmental parade down the line half-heartedly and sighed, halfway hoping Olivia wouldn’t get her way and we could head back to the Westin for some much-needed sleep. Two girls in miniskirts, a soccer team of guys, a transvestite and his unsuspecting date, some friends on a double date and then, there he was.

  I drew in a sharp breath at the sight of him and did a double take, making sure James Dean hadn’t manifested his resurrection in my dreams and, maybe, I was still sleeping in first class. My curious gaze must’ve drawn his to mine, and from one moment to the next, blue eyes were locked with brown in a staring contest I wasn’t mentally prepared for. At that moment, Olivia tugged on my hand and announced we were in, a satisfied smile on her beautiful face. I managed an enthusiastic squeal as my legs moved me forward, but when I looked back to make sure I hadn’t imagined him, all that remained was his ghost.

  Delicious Disaster

  Ever had one of those days where a single event triggers a chain reaction that only leads down Disaster Road? Awesome.

  Back in ’04, I used to have an assistant position at a consulting firm I loathed with the very essence of my being. My boss was a fat fuck with a BMW complex – men who solely drive BMW’s to overcompensate for their lack of good looks and bedroom skills – who demanded I make him Cuban coffee every morning and go on pastry runs in the afternoons to fill the endless void in his stomach and soul. On that fateful day, my mother rang me up around noon and told me she’d made rice and beans with pork for lunch. Needless to say, I was home within the hour.

  I was living with my parents at the time, their house a two-story place with seven dogs, five cats, and a thousand roaches lurking in the dark just waiting to strike when you least expected. I had a one-hour lunch break and my boss was a stickler for punctuality, so I grabbed my plate of food with a cup of water as soon as I arrived, making the trek two steps at a time. I ate in my room while surfing through MySpace (that was totally cool back in the day) and I could hear my mom yelling after me to be careful since I have a tendency to drop everything I touch. After devouring my meal in 10 minutes flat, I started downloading music and eventually lost track of the time. When I finally looked at my watch, I had exactly 17 minutes to get back to the office. I snatched the empty plate and cup and made a run for it down the stairs.