by Ian Mark
The pain in my back kept waking me up. I gave up at around eleven. I forced myself to get up and made a cup of tea. I put on pants while it spun around the microwave. I had filled the cup too much and had to carry it slowly back to bed. A few drops jumped the lip of the cup. They landed on my once white carpet. I thanked something (not God) that it hadn’t landed on my bare feet. I looked down at my nails. They were getting long. My back twinged and I jumped. Tea landed on my foot and scalded me. I swore. My back swore. I reached the bed and sat down, placing the tea on my bedside table next to my phone and wallet. I examined my foot. I pulled the stretchy skin and prodded the toes. It didn’t hurt anymore. My too-long nails reminded me of my too-long hair. I decided my activity for the day would be a haircut.
I picked my computer up from the ground gingerly. I slid back under the covers. I sat with my back against the wall and my laptop in my lap. That seemed right, somehow. I checked my email and had seven new messages. I didn’t care about any of them, and left them unopened. I logged on to Facebook. I had no notifications or messages. But I did have a friend request from one Zoey Mclemore. I wonder if she can rap, I thought. I accepted the request and clicked over to her profile. 1,022 photos. We had one mutual friend. My mother.
I opened the most recent photo. Zoey in a coat and scarf, smiling with red cheeks. I went to the next one. Zoey with her friends, all dressed up and holding drinks. I went to the next one. Zoey and an older lady I took to be her mother. Zoey had her arm around her and was giving a gang sign. Her mother had a tough look and was holding up a peace sign. I laughed. Zoey was right, I decided, you can learn a lot about someone by watching them interact with their mother.
I started clicking quicker through the photos, going back in time. Zoey with red leaves all around her, Zoey at the beach, Zoey eating an ice cream, Zoey being held by another man, Zoey with her friends at a restaurant taking a picture of her food. I went back one. Who was that? He wasn’t tagged in the photo. I looked for other pictures of him. I found several. I clicked on his name. Ryan Marcus. The ex-boyfriend. I compared myself to him. He was taller, from the looks of it. Blonder hair, bluer eyes, Hitler would have had no problem choosing between us. I hoped Zoey didn’t have much in common with Hitler.
I looked at his education history. Damn, Columbia Law. Before that, Wesleyan. He worked for some law firm I had never heard of. She looked happy with him. I wondered what had gone wrong. I made a note not to ask her no matter how drunk I got.
I kept tabbing through photos. Zoey got younger and younger. Once I got to her prom pictures, I felt too creepy to continue. It bothered me because she was still attractive in those photos. I tried not to think about it. Our generation is the first that has problems like this. I can meet someone on the street and twenty minutes later be looking at pictures of them in elementary school. It’s weird. I had very few pictures on my profile. I didn’t like the idea of Zoey going through my photos as I had just done with hers.
The song “Hard in Da Paint” by Waka Flocka Flame started playing. I looked around, confused. It was coming from my phone. I answered it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Kevin.”
“Did you change my ringtone to Waka Flocka?” I ran my tongue over my teeth and realized I hadn’t brushed them yet. Gross.
“Ha, no, I wish I had.” I put my computer in the middle of the bed and got up.
“What’s up?” I was confused. We rarely called each other. We each preferred the impersonality of texting. Brian had always insisted on calling, and I had always told him to text me.
“You haven’t texted me back in a few days.” I took the phone away from my ear and noticed that I had several texts from Kevin and Murph that I hadn’t answered.
“Sorry, I’ve been busy. How’s Violet?” I went into the bathroom. The tiles were cold against my bare feet.
“Who? Oh, uh, that’s over.” He didn’t sound very broken up about it.
“What happened?” I couldn’t find my toothbrush. I pivoted to look behind me and my back flared up. “Aargh.”
“What? Are you alright?” He was impatient.
“Yeah, I messed up my back helping my mother move. She lives three blocks away now, can you believe that?”
“Jeez. She’s uh, overbearing.” There it was. The perfect word to describe her. It pretty much encapsulated the entirety of our relationship, some twenty-four years and nine months, and boiled it down to eleven letters. “Anyways, yeah, we slept together a few times-”
“Let me guess, nine times?” I gave up on finding my toothbrush and went to the kitchen to get a new one. I kept a bunch above my fridge because I was always losing them. Drunk Zach still wanted to have nice teeth, but he often didn’t put his toothbrush back in the right place.
“Yeah. You know the rule. I didn’t want a relationship, so it’s over.” Kevin believed that if you slept with a girl ten or more times, they’d become attached and want a relationship. So he almost always stopped talking to girls after the ninth time. I tried to remember his last long-term relationship. It was Marcy, I concluded, back in junior year. It had ended badly; she had cheated on him with someone, I couldn’t remember who. But it was someone we knew. Kevin had spiraled into a depression. When I got dumped, I binge-drunk and did drugs. You know, the healthy way of dealing with emotion. When Kevin got dumped, he grew a patchy beard and tried to learn guitar. He would play these god-awful love songs for me and Brian. When he finished, I would tell him they sucked and Brian would tell him they had potential. After Marcy left him, he never let himself get close to a girl. He started making up all these rules for how girls had to act towards him if he was going to trust them, or for if they were dateable. Dateable. Whatever that meant. He was always jealous of me when I was with Amanda. Apparently she hit eleven out of the thirteen points on his most important checklist.
“Uh huh, and does she know that?” He also had a habit of breaking up with girls by cutting off contact until they got the message. I reached for the package of toothbrushes. My back got upset with me and pulled me back down. My fingertips grazed a toothbrush but couldn’t take hold. I took out an icepack from the freezer instead and wrapped it in a paper towel, holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder.
“Well, she asked if I could hang out this weekend, and I told her I was busy.” I slipped the pack under my shirt and held it against the left side of my back. I took the phone from its precarious position with my left hand and switched it to the other ear.
“You’re a good person, Kev. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.” I made another attempt at the toothbrush. I failed. I decided I needed to change strategies.
“Whatever, look man, that’s not why I called. We’re going out tonight, and we want you to come with us. I haven’t seen you in like a week.”
“You miss me, baby? That’s so sweet.” I made my voice higher. I looked around for ideas. I had a baseball bat somewhere, Brian had left it here months ago and never taken it back. I went into the living room and opened the door to my closet.
“Fuck you, you coming tonight or what?” The smell of weed wafted over me. Apparently today was my lucky day. I couldn’t see the bud, but I knew it was in there. I grabbed the bat, which was buried under a bag of golf clubs that I had forgotten I owned and my varsity jacket from lacrosse.
“Yeah, I guess. What’re we doing?” I walked back to the kitchen.
“Murph had something planned. I’ll text you later, we’ll probably meet at Brad’s.”
“Of course we will,” I said quietly. I reached up with the baseball bat and knocked the package of toothbrushes to the ground. Success. I bent over to get the package and ignored the signals the nerves in my back sent shooting up to my brain.
“Yeah, well, see you tonight.” Kevin sounded uncomfortable.
“Wait, don’t hang up.” I got excited.
“What? What is it?”
“I love you.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself.” He hung up
. I laughed. I went to the bathroom and put the ice pack down. I brushed my teeth. I stared into the mirror while I did so. I rubbed my head. Last day with this hair. I leaned in and spit out the murky paste. I washed out my mouth and looked at my cheeks. I could go one more day without shaving, I decided. I grabbed my razor and quickly shaved my mustache. Now I could definitely go one more day.
I returned to my comfortable perch and cursed. I went back to the bathroom and grabbed the ice pack. I returned once more and set up the ice pack to be held in place by the wall. I surfed reddit for twenty minutes or so, then put the ice pack back in the freezer. I decided to call Zoey while I searched for my treasure.
I grabbed my phone off the counter where I had left it. The screen was wet from where I had held it against my ear. I wiped the sweat away. I called Zoey. She picked up after one ring.
“Good to see you can follow orders.”
“Yep, I pretty much do as I’m told.” I opened the closet door and got down on my knees. “How are you?”
“Good, good. I met a cute guy last night for the second time and we smooched.”
“Uh oh. Is he bigger than me?” I flipped over an old sweatshirt. Nothing.
“About the same. What’re your feelings regarding stage productions?”
“What do you mean?” She talked funny sometimes. I also manipulated strings of letters in perhaps unorthodox ways as well when the fancy struck me.
“You know, actors, curtains, false narratives, that sort of thing. You like?”
“Yeah, sure.” I dug through the junk. I had way too much crap in here. I began to worry the smell was an illusion, a combination of other smells that mixed in such a way as to taunt me. I wondered if “illusion” was the right word for talking about smells, or if there was a special word for false smells instead of false sights.
“Well then. Your enthusiasm is lacking. Would you like to go to a Broadway play with me tonight? My mom got me free tickets.”
“First you friend me, then you ask me out? You certainly are direct. No societal norms will constrain you.” I chuckled and lifted my old backpack. Bingo. There was about a gram in a little baggie in one of the pockets.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m a regular beacon of feministic pride and daring. You in?”
“Sounds delightful. When will you be picking me up? Should I wear a nice dress?”
“You can wear anything you want as long as it’s not one of those hoodies your mother was going on about last night.”
“Ah yes, my dress sense. Yet another way I have failed to meet her expectations.”
“Whatever, Norman.” I laughed.
“I hope we don’t seem that dysfunctional.” I held up the baggie to look at it. I stood up and slipped it in to my pocket. “Now it’s my turn for questions.”
“Very well, sir, fire away.”
“How do you feel about certain illicit substances that the kids these days have been known to burn and inhale the vapors of?”
“I’m not going to smoke heroin with you, if that’s what you’re asking.” I snickered. She laughed too. “But if you are offering me marijuana in exchange for theater tickets, I won’t object.” She pronounced the “j” in marijuana, so it sounded like “Mary-jay-wanna.”
“Alright then, I just found a little digging around in my closet, so we are in luck.”
“Why are you digging around in your closet? Oh no, are you like all the other NYU boys?”
“Very funny. I’ll have to convince you tonight that I’m not.”
“I don’t know. You kind of kiss like a gay guy.”
“What does that even mean?” She laughed and hung up. I went and lay back in bed. I pictured her lying in bed. I wondered if she was picturing me. I went into the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I sucked my little belly in and flexed. I had a six-pack. Sort of. I took the baggie out of my pocket. Now I had to wait to smoke it. Oh well. I took off my jeans and turned on the shower. I took off my boxers and examined my penis. I considered shaving. But I hated shaving, and I didn’t want her to think I was so presumptuous that I would shave for our third date. I imagined her naked. I started to get an erection. I looked at my penis in the mirror. I wished it were bigger. I wondered if there was any man who had a penis so large that he didn’t ever wish that. I doubted it.
I got into the shower. I kept picturing Zoey. I realized I hadn’t slept with a girl or done the other thing since I had been with… I wanted to say Becky? I chided myself for not even being able to remember the names of the girls I fucked. I tried to recite each of the women I had slept with. I gave up. My mind drifted back to Zoey. The water ran over me. I did the other thing.
Zoey came over at 6. I had hastily cleaned up before her arrival. Amanda had always criticized the mountain, so I pushed it into my closet. I wiped down the kitchen, tossed empty bottles into a bag and brought the bag out to the street, sprayed Febreeze as far as the eye could see, and generally did my best to upgrade my apartment from Filthy Bachelor Pad to Slightly Smelly Single Guy Suite. I texted Kevin to say I wouldn’t make it, wherever we were going.
Zoey knocked on the door. “It’s open,” I yelled. I wasn’t sure she had heard me. I got up and walked towards the door just as it opened. She was wearing a navy raincoat and purple boots. I glanced at the window. Apparently it was raining. Or she was insane. She shook her yellow umbrella out in the hall and then propped it up next to the door.
“It’s really coming down out there.” She gave me a hug.
“Really? The weather?” I smiled and took her coat.
“You know what would make for more interesting conversation?” She took out a lighter.
“A little weed?” I took out the baggie. I went into my bedroom to get my vaporizer. Zoey followed me, her head swiveling as she walked and observed.
“I was going to say a rapport established after years in a caring and committed relationship, but I guess weed will work fine too.” I looked at her. She smiled somewhat nervously.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to be revealing how adorably quirky you are yet.” I plugged the vaporizer into a socket and set it on the bed.
“I’m not?” She grinned at the words “adorably quirky.” “What am I supposed to be doing?”
“Pretending to be perfectly normal until we like each other enough to reveal who we really are.” I packed the vape.
“Well you certainly have a healthy view of how dating works.” She sat on the bed. “Ooh, a water bed. Very nice.”
“I like it. And that is how dating works.” I was defensive. I knew how dating worked. I had lots of experience with girls.
“You think everyone just lies?” The vape had warmed up. I took a hit and passed it to her.
“I wouldn’t say lies. I’d say presents an idealized version of themselves. And that ideal is based on movies and stuff.” I looked her over. She was wearing a strapless aqua blue dress and matching heels. It looked expensive. I regretted not changing into nicer clothes before she had arrived. I wanted desperately to be wearing anything other than my faded purple t-shirt and old jeans.
“I’d like to live in movie world.” She took a hit.
“I’ll be right back.” I grabbed a button-down and khakis and went into the bathroom. When I came back out, she had kicked off her heels and was lying on the bed. Her legs dangled in the air above her. She took another hit.
“It’s definitely your turn now. This really hits.”
“Yeah, my friend bought it for my birthday in college.” I sat down next to her. She passed me the tube. I took a long hit, then another.
“Aww, how sweet.” She grabbed a pillow and took a hit after I passed it back to her.
“Stop it. What were you saying earlier? About movie world?” I took a hit.
“Think about it. You never have to go to the bathroom, you rarely have to sleep. Everyone is pretty, and all your conversations are of the utmost importance. Plus, almost everyone who’s nice gets a happy ending.” She took a hit and co
ughed. I laughed. She looked hurt. Then she laughed.
“Well,” I said, taking the whip from her. “I just want the happy ending.” I breathed in from the mouth piece. She giggled. “Not like that. I didn’t mean it, y’no.”
“I know what you mean.” We sat in silence for a few minutes, passing the whip back and forth.
“What do you call this?” She asked. She held up the whip. “I never really vape.”
“It’s called the whip.”
“Oh.”
We sat there. It wasn’t awkward, but I felt like it should be. I wanted to talk about something. I didn’t want her to get bored.
“When do we have to leave?”
“It starts at… 7:30 I think. So, I don’t know, 7:00?” She looked at me. Her eyes were red. I laughed.
“Don’t ask me, you’re the one running the show tonight.”
“No that’s my mother.” She laughed at that. I didn’t get it. “Very well, good sir. We shall depart at 7.”
“Fantastic.” I lay down next to her on my stomach. I didn’t care if my clothes got wrinkled, I decided.
“Here’s the whip.” She held it out to me. I took a hit while she held it. She laughed. I leaned back and turned towards her. She turned towards me.
“Thank you.”
“You know, we’re doing this all wrong.” She took a hit. “I think it’s kicked.”
“I’ll repack it.” I started to get up. She put her hand on my shoulder.
“I’m good.” I stopped moving. She left her arm there.
“Whaddyou mean, all wrong?” I looked in her green eyes.
“Well, think about it.” She sat up. I did too, looking at her intently. And contently. “I met your parents on the second date.”
“Mom and step-dad.” I corrected her.
“Whatever. You’re going to meet my mother, and maybe my dad, tonight.’
“I am? I didn’t know they’d be there.” My eyes widened. I started to get nervous.
