“The conversation is getting a little too serious for my liking,” I said. “This wasn’t supposed to be an intense date.”
“Who said that?”
“I just assumed.”
“I know you’re guarded. I guess I just want you to know that I won’t ever judge you. Believe me…that would be like the pot calling the kettle black.”
“I just need to take this really slow.”
“What is this? Define this? Does it involve me ever getting to see you…actually touch you? Because you can’t take it any slower than having thousands of miles separating us.”
“I honestly don’t know what this is or what I can ever truly offer you, Landon.”
“You sent me that photo, and it totally fucked with my head. I was actually pretty okay with things the way they were. But that photograph really reminded me that things don’t have to be this way. And honestly, I think the fact that you sent it to me means that you really want more, too. You’re just scared, and I’m trying to figure out why.”
“I’m sorry I’m such a science project, that you have to try to figure me out. That first drunk phone call should’ve served as a warning. You should just run for the hills. I’m a weirdo.”
He wasn’t laughing at my attempt at self-deprecation. “Don’t say that shit, Rana. You’re not. You’re no more fucked-up than I am. And at least you own up to the craziness you do exhibit, unlike all the fake-ass people I encounter out here on a daily basis.”
About a minute of silence passed as we resumed just listening to the ocean sounds. I heard him flick his lighter again.
Great, I was stressing him out.
I was pretty sure I’d be lighting up right about now, too, if I smoked.
There was one more present left. He hadn’t said anything about opening it. Closing my eyes, I listened to the sound of him inhaling and exhaling. I could practically smell the smoke. My nostrils tingled just from imagining it.
“What’s next in the box, Landon?”
“I’m not sure if you want the next thing.”
“Why? What is it?”
The playful tone from earlier was gone. “Well, it’s getting cold out. If you were really here, I’d want to wrap my arms around you. But I’m not sure if that’s something you would be comfortable with, because I don’t really know what the fuck this is between us. So, if the answer is yes, that you would want me to hold you…then open it. If the answer is no, then I’m going to have to ask you not to.”
I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would want to be in his arms. I just didn’t want to admit it, because feeling this way about him scared me.
But I needed to know what it was.
“Yes. I would want that.”
“Open it, then.”
Inside package number six was a black, hooded sweatshirt. His sweatshirt. It looked like the one he described himself wearing tonight. The material was really heavy. I brought it to my nose and took a deep breath in. It smelled like cigarettes and cologne. His scent was everything I imagined it to be. I was smelling him.
“Well, I always knew you were the type of man to give me the shirt off your back…”
“Put it on,” he insisted.
“Okay,” I whispered. I started to shake a little as I pulled it over my head.
He waited for a bit then said, “Feel me wrapped around you. Smell me. Close your eyes, and just be with me.”
My eyes began to slowly fill with tears because this was the most real reminder yet of exactly what I was missing. I truly felt like a part of him was really with me, and this gesture was even more intimate than his showing me the photo of himself because it was as if I could feel him for the first time.
Each tear that fell represented the regret pouring out of me, regret for not only my past mistakes but for what living in fear was causing me to miss out on right now in the present.
SHIT SHOW
It had been eating away at me.
When my father joined me for breakfast the following weekend, I took the opportunity to tell him about Landon because I needed to know if my parents had lied to me all those years ago.
“Papa, do you remember the Roderick boy—Landon—from the garage apartment on Eastern Drive?”
“Oh, yeah. What about him?”
“Well, I’ve reconnected with him. We’ve actually become friends again.”
My father slowed down his chewing for a moment then nodded once. “Oh. That’s good.”
That reaction actually surprised me. I was expecting him to be mad.
My eyes widened. “You’re not upset? I thought you always said they were bad people.”
He shook his head. “No. Not the boy. The father he have-a crazy eyes, but the boy’s a good kid.”
“Well, he told me something different from what you told me about what happened. He said you and Shayla left without paying the rent—that we were not actually kicked out.”
My father stopped cutting the pear and put the knife down. “We no-have money for rent, but they no-kick us out.”
“You lied to me?”
He hesitated then said, “Yes.”
“I never even thought to question you on it. Why did you lie?”
“Your mother. I move to get her away from that boyfriend. But she no-leave him anyway. I no-mean to hurt you, Ranoona. I lie because of Shayla. So sorry.”
“You could’ve told me the truth. I wouldn’t have ratted on you to her. I understand why you did it.”
My father looked truly remorseful. “I make a lot of mistakes with you. Big mistakes.”
Even though I hated that he lied to me, I just couldn’t be mad at him. “You did what you felt you had to. I’m sorry for making you feel guilty, but I just wish I knew the truth because I held it against Landon for many years.”
“Where he lives now?”
“California.”
“He come see you?”
“No.”
“Why, no?”
“Because it’s better this way. You know I don’t date.”
He frowned. “Makes me sad.”
It was interesting how things had changed. My father used to forbid me from hanging out with boys as a teenager. Meanwhile, I would sneak around behind his back. Now that I was older, he couldn’t pay me to go out with one.
“Why does it make you sad, Papa? Don’t you want me around you forever?”
“You no-get married, I move in.”
“Stop threatening me.” I laughed.
Still dressed in my work outfit, I lay on my stomach during my nightly phone call with Landon.
“I owe you an apology,” I said.
“Why?”
“You were right.”
“About what?”
“About my parents. They did lie about being kicked out of the garage apartment. Well, my father did.”
“Oh, that’s all? I thought you were gonna let me see your face, for fuck’s sake. You had me all excited.”
“Sorry for the false alarm.”
“How did you find out the truth?”
“My dad admitted it to me. Apparently, he was just trying to get my mother away from her boyfriend, so he felt he had to lie and make it seem like we had no choice but to leave.”
“Did you tell him about me?”
“Yes. He seemed oddly happy that we’ve reconnected. He’s probably felt guilty about disrupting our friendship all those years ago.”
“I always liked your dad. He would yell a lot for no reason, and I couldn’t always understand him when he spoke fast, but I could tell he was a good guy. I remember he drove us to the mall once in that shit truck he used to drive.”
“Yeah. And we ran into my mom there later that night with her boyfriend. Remember?”
“Yeah. How could I forget? That was fucked-up,” he said.
“I remember that night. After we spotted Shayla, you tried to make me feel better by buying me gumballs and one of those teenybopper magazines from Walgreens with the mon
ey you made from cutting the neighbor’s lawn. Mrs. Sheen was her name. I couldn’t stand her daughter, Kelsie—the blonde girl. She used to vie for your attention. I remember feeling very competitive with her.”
There was a long pause before he said, “Then I probably shouldn’t admit that after you moved away, Kelsie and I dated for two years.”
My heart felt like it nearly stopped. “What?”
“Yeah. She was my first girlfriend and my first...” he hesitated. “Well, you know.”
The room felt like it was spinning as a surge of jealousy coursed through me.
“You…had sex with her?”
Landon seemed amused by my question. “That’s what boyfriends and girlfriends do when they’re sixteen…seventeen, however old we were.”
A silent shock consumed me. And just like that, I was thirteen again.
Kelsie and Landon. Jesus, I wanted to throw up.
“Are you there, Rana?”
Still processing, I asked, “Wow. Her? She was really your…first?”
“Yes. I broke up with her before I moved to California.”
Pulling my hair, I asked, “Did you…love her?”
“I cared about her, and we had a lot of firsts together, but it wasn’t love, just teenage stuff. I didn’t even know who I was back then. It wouldn’t have lasted, even if I hadn’t moved.” He sensed my shock. “Are you okay?”
“I’m just digesting this.”
“I don’t get you.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re fucking jealous about some teenage romance I had when all I want is you right now. You could have as much or as little of me as you want, yet you’re wasting time worrying about someone I fucked a decade ago, someone who I haven’t even thought about in years until you just brought her up. Meanwhile, you’re all I can think about—even though I haven’t seen your face in over thirteen years. It’s almost comical. Seriously, this is like a B-movie on Netflix. Two stars.”
He was right, and I felt like an idiot—even though I was still burning up with jealousy.
I laughed at myself a little, even though I wasn’t finding any of this funny. “You know what? Let this be a lesson to you. I am very emotionally immature.”
“Nice try. Stop trying to warn me against you. It only makes me want you more.”
“I am more fucked-up than you realize, Landon. It’s even worse in person.”
“Well, I wouldn’t really know because you’re hiding half of your crazy from me. I’ve been trying to get front row tickets to your shit show for weeks with no luck.”
One constant thing was that even when our conversations got heated, they generally ended in laughter.
After we got off the phone that night, I was still frazzled by his admission about Kelsie. I could feel myself breaking down. The need to give him more was enormous.
Still wearing my emerald green and gold belly dancer costume, I frantically began to remove it from my body piece by piece—the bejeweled bra, the beaded hip scarf, the skirt. I couldn’t get out of it fast enough.
He was going to get a taste of his own medicine.
GYPSY GIRL
When the phone rang three nights later, I braced for his reaction.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“I see you got my package?”
“I repeat. Are you fucking trying to kill me?”
Smiling from ear to ear, I knew that UPS had delivered it, since I’d been tracking it all day like a madwoman.
“Are you angry?”
“Are you kidding?” He moaned. “I am lying in my bed right now wearing nothing but you on top of me.”
“How does it feel?”
“It’s silky…and I have gold tassels wrapped around my cock.”
“That’s a great visual.”
“You smell like heaven. Pure heaven, Rana. I just want to drown in you.”
His words gave me chills.
“You like it?”
About thirty seconds passed before he responded.
He just breathed into the phone before he said, “You know, there are fleeting moments when I still wonder whether I’m being catfished. Like maybe, those pictures weren’t really you, or maybe there’s some sinister reason why you won’t let me see you. But let me just say, if for some reason that were true, in this moment, I wouldn’t want to know the truth. I want to believe that you’re as amazing inside and out as I believe you are. And I want to stay here smelling you until there’s nothing left.”
His words made my entire body buzz with an urgent need to be touched by him.
I cleared my throat. “It was an impulsive decision.”
“Well, it gives me hope that one impulsive decision will lead to the next. I’ll take whatever you want to give me. What made you decide on this particular outfit?”
“It was the night that you told me you dated Kelsie. After we got off the phone, I took my clothes off in a jealous rage and put them in a box to you. You’re wearing my jealousy.”
“You are totally batshit crazy, woman. But I love how you worked with my idea.”
“I am very resourceful in the course of my psychotic outbursts, yes.”
“Next time send me everything—the panties, too.”
“That actually crossed my mind, but I didn’t want you to think I was depraved.”
“I like depraved. What I don’t like is how I’m feeling right now—deprived.”
An idea popped into my head. “Hang on. Let me get into your sweatshirt.”
I ran to the closet and placed it over my head.
“Okay, I’m wearing you now, too.”
“What else are you wearing?”
“Nothing. Just you.”
“Fuck.”
“Your smell is fading, though.”
“Well, I’m not sending you anything else from me. You want to smell me again? It’s gonna have to be me, not my shirt.” I could hear him taking a deep breath in. “I’m so fucking horny right now.”
It felt like I could come from just hearing him talk dirty. He had that kind of deep voice that just did it for me.
“You’re making me horny, too.” I dared myself to ask, “What would you do to me if I were there?”
“A lot of things. But for some reason, smelling your scent makes me really want to eat your pussy. I’m craving that right now so badly, like my mouth is watering for it.” He lowered his voice. “Would you let me?”
Barely able to speak, I stuttered, “Yeah…I mean…yeah…I would be okay with that.”
“I’m totally fucking obsessed with you, Rana.”
I wanted to tell him that I was beyond the point of obsessed with him. Instead, I tried to snap myself out of the sexual spell his words were putting me under.
“You’re obsessed with the idea of me—the mystique. The reality is a mess.”
“What reality isn’t? A relationship is about appreciating the good, the bad, and the ugly. No one is perfect.”
A relationship.
That’s what this is, isn’t it?
Knowing that my resolve was weakening, I whispered, “I’m scared.”
“I can’t do this forever. I haven’t been with anyone since before the night you sent me the photo of your ass. But I’m a man, and I have needs. Either you let me see you, let me be with you, or I’m going to have no choice but to take this sexual energy out on someone else. Is that what you really want? You want me to give someone else what’s meant for you?”
My heart was thumping out of my chest. “No.”
“Then set a date. Set a fucking date. I want to see you. You have to make the call. I’ll never show up at your door without your permission. I promised you that. You’re the one who’s keeping us apart, so you need to decide how it happens.”
My voice was trembling. “I need more time.”
“Can you honestly say that more time will lead you to me? If so, then, I will wait. If not, just put me out of my fucking misery now. Tell me it’s
never going to happen, so I can move on.”
Fear had taken away my ability to speak. This was turning into way more than I’d bargained for. I didn’t have the answer. My silence caused him to draw his own conclusion.
“I need to go, Rana. Call me when you have something to say to me. The ball is in your court.”
Then, he hung up.
Landon wasn’t playing around.
A few days passed, and he hadn’t called or texted. I had mixed feelings about that. A part of me was miserable because I missed him so much. The self-destructive side, on the other hand, rejoiced that there was no longer pressure to have to open up fully to him, to deal with all of the painful feelings that would inevitably come from meeting him face to face.
But despite that negative voice, my heart was in serious pain and begging me to let it out of its misery—to contact him.
At work one night, visions of Landon were particularly intrusive during my nightly routine. As I picked up the dollar bills that had been strewn at me, I wondered how much longer I could live like this.
The music stopped, and I ran off to grab some water. During my break, I finally broke down and sent Landon a text.
Rana: You weren’t kidding when you said the ball was in my court. I miss talking to you, and I’m really sorry if I upset you.
The three little dots signaling his impending response appeared. My pulse raced as I watched the dots dancing around.
Landon: This is Landon’s friend, Ace. I have his phone. He was in an accident down at the skateboarding park. He fell unconscious after hitting his head. I’m at the waiting room at Los Angeles Memorial. The doctors are running some tests on him right now.
What?
My heart was beating out of control.
This couldn’t be happening.
The room was swaying, and it felt like some kind of out of body experience. I was panicking as what felt like a million thoughts ran through my mind.
What if he was severely injured?
What if he lost his memory?
What if I never had a chance to be with him?
Drunk Dial Page 6
