Tyler: A Little Less Conversation

Ok, so I'm at my parents house and out of the nursing home, you know, woo. I'll be here for maybe a week or two and then hopefully I'll be back amongst the living. Bed rest for twenty hours a day sucks ass in case you were wondering.

So one of my last posts was the beginning of a short story I was working on. This is the rest of it. Well, this is the beginning and the rest of it. This is all of it. It's called 'The Thought of Love Over the Atlantic." It might be long but I like how it progresses and how it ends so suck it. I hope you kind of like it.





The Thought of Love over the Atlantic

Jude got home from work around 8, grabbed a beer, and sat down on the opposite end of the couch from myself. He pulled out his church key (bottle opener) and cracked the top of the domestic, “Lucy’s moving to Europe.”
“Elliot told me a couple days ago.”
“Have you cried yet?”
“I will end your life.” I hadn’t cried and didn’t plan on doing so anytime soon. Jude’s question, sarcastic as it was, was valid in a vague and distant kind of way. I did very much not want Lucy to move to Europe because I liked her on several different levels. She was cool, funny, and all that other ‘good personality’ shit but beyond that she was gorgeous. Out of my league gorgeous. The kind of girl that I should have been afraid to talk to but I usually just felt a general sort of ease around her which was both nice and inexplicable.
“You’re going to her party tonight right? I think you’ll cry tonight.”
“I’m going to shoot you so hard and then I’m going to stab your face off and after all of that I’m going to mail pieces of your body to your family every month like they ordered a fucking Encyclopedia Britannica of your anatomy. But, yeah, I think I’m going.”
“Don’t give me that ‘think’ bullshit. You know you’re going. The real question here is what are you going to say to her?”
I’d thought about it all day and I came to my conclusion after the bourbon I’d had for dessert following dinner. I was going to tell Lucy that she was going to get on that plane the next morning and somewhere over the Atlantic she was going to realize how deeply she was in love with me. Saying this to her made sense to me because I’d never met a girl that I thought so blatantly wanted me and yet she denied my every advance. Every time we hung out she would laugh at my every joke and be immersed in my every story. Jude, whether he would consistently admit it or not, also knew of Lucy’s hidden love for me but he found much more humor in her denials than myself. “I’m going to tell her that she’s going to get halfway there and then realize that she loves me.”
For an instant Jude was silent before he gave a bellowing laugh, “Foolproof. Completely foolproof.” His laughter didn’t faze me. I didn’t need his approval and I couldn’t think of anything vastly better to say to her anyway so it didn’t really matter. He continued, “And what exactly do you think that line will accomplish?”
I’d not thought it out past the line. I’d imagined getting in my car, going to the party, talking with her briefly, and then telling her how she would love me. There was nothing after that. No consequences. No reactions. “It doesn’t matter. The important thing is telling her. Besides, if it’s really embarrassing or something, I mean, she’ll be in Europe by tomorrow anyway. It certainly won’t matter then. I guess the way I see it she’ll either fall madly in love with me or nothing will happen. I don’t really have anything to lose here.”
“Sometimes I envy the way your brain works.”
“Why thank you.”
“It’s like a mouse running in a wheel.”
“I hate your soul.” I got up, went to my room, and grabbed a towel for the shower I desperately needed to take. I was hoping one would cleanse both body and soul but in much less clichéd terms. I got in and the cold water struck my body bringing first pain then numbness. I soaked my hair blinding myself and reached up for some shampoo only to knock over a couple empty beer cans that were resting on the ledge. Jude saw no greater pleasure in the world than his shower-beers and left the cans in the shower like trophies. He loved when girls would be over and see them because they made him look like a far stranger alcoholic than anticipated. Really though, the kid just liked to drink.
On my second effort I got my hands on some shampoo and got the job done with as much ease as possible. Just as I started to finish up my business behind the mildew-covered glass doors the water started to warm up so I savored it momentarily before getting out. At the white-turning-brown sink I brushed my teeth and accrued my hair in something resembling a style.
From inside the bathroom I yelled to Jude, “So are you coming or no?”
“As much as I love seeing your tears, I’ve got to stay here and beat Mega Man X.” He wasn’t joking.
“Why? You’ve beaten it before.”
“To prove to myself that I still can.” Dead serious.
“Right.” I finished up and went into my room where I already I thought out what I was going to wear. I started off with my seemingly ageless brown running shoes worn over beige hounds tooth socks. Fucking classy. Then my jeans because, well, no reason not to wear jeans. I threw on my navy and white plaid short sleeve button up mostly because I wanted to show off my new ‘614’ tattoo above my elbow though it is unlikely I would admit to anyone that I wanted to show it off. That would be quite uncouth of me. On top of all that I had my short black pea coat which was sexy as all hell with the collar put up. It made me look like a cross between an old sailor and a superhero which is usually the look I go for. What really put me over the top, though, was my orange and blue scarf which I sewed myself. Yeah, that’s right, I sew. Suck it. The thing that really set this scarf apart from the crowd was that I sewed a Versace tag to the end of it. I looked incredible. It was just the right amount of style mixed with the perfect air of haphazard nonchalance. I wanted Lucy to have an attractive memory of me if nothing else.
As I was making my way for the door I checked with Jude one last time, “You sure your priorities are in order tonight?”
He was already started in on figuring out the best way to conquer Boomer Kuwranger, “I’ve never been so sure in my life. But call me when you’re getting ready to get out of there. I’d love to hit the Dube before last call.”
“Fair enough,” I crossed the threshold of our door, “Godspeed with Boomer.”
It was a normal Ohio winter so the wind was bitter against my exposed skin but the beauty of the night was enough to quench any resentment I had toward the climate. I stayed in the wind just until my nose lost feeling then I made it into my car and blasted the heat. Before I’d even left the apartment I knew what song I was going to listen to on the ride to see Lucy before she left. I’d racked my mind going over possibilities (Colin Hay’s I Just Don’t Think I’ll Ever Get Over You was way too dramatic and inaccurate, Hey Jude by the Beatles was the ultimate goodbye song but somehow completely irrelevant to my situation, Atmosphere came to mind because of Fuck You Lucy but it was really just for the name and no other reason) and finally landed on the immortal song by the Cure, Close To Me. Perfect. It had a beat lively enough to prepare me for a party and yet still retained a sense of transcendent melancholy seemingly designed for the possible night ahead of me.
Physically, the drive over was not the least bit taxing; it was my mental state that drove my stress level up. I’d been neurotic about girls my entire life. I read too far into every little movement and word and rarely slept because my mind would refuse to stop questioning the inflection with which a girl would use when speaking to me. To this day I am haunted with past mistakes with women but I believe the level of my neurosis is unhealthy. About two years ago I was leaving my apartment and I passed a girl cleaning up in our courtyard after some party our neighbors had. I went straight to my car instead of saying something to her like, ‘I can’t believe they’re making you do this all by yourself’ or ‘can I help you’ or even ‘hi.’ This event is still etched very clearly in my mind and for some reason I cannot let it go. The stress I was feeling on the ride to the party was mainly induced by a strong desire to say the right thing to Lucy at the right time because if I didn’t I would always be reminded that I missed some opportunity. I’d rather live regretting things I did rather than things I didn’t.
I pulled up to Lucy’s house on the north side of Clintonville and tried to game what little composure I had. Luckily Elliot was outside smoking one of his hand rolled cigarettes and jumped on the back of my car before I could even park. My mind was quickly taken off worrying about Lucy as it was more focused on not killing Elliot. I got out and he hit me with about as epic of a hug as one can give or receive, “Eli, how the shit are you my good man?”
“I’m pretty good I think. Things are going about as well as I could reasonably expect. And you?”
“It’s a sad day, man, but we can’t mourn Lucy’s death. We have to celebrate her life. It’s what she would have wanted, you know what I mean?”
“Some of the time. Is everyone else inside?”
“Yeah, yeah. They’re all in there. Let’s hit it.” So we went in the front door and were greeted by around thirty strangers which wasn’t exactly what I was expecting. I’d somehow forgotten how many connections Lucy had and how many friends she’d amassed through her various activities in the community. She volunteered and did other things respected by society instead of spending countless nights in countless bars like my usual crowd. It was overwhelming and I spent my first ten minutes there as a helpless vagrant surrounded by people better than myself and all I wanted was a drink and some time with Lucy.
After managing my way past several guys in sports coats I found the kitchen and grabbed PBR from the fridge. I figured Pabst would be good for my soul in a crowd of mixed fruit drinks. I was not a mixed fruit drink kind of guy nor did I want to fraternize with that particular type of person. Unfortunately, this party wanted me to mix with these people and seemed adamant about it. A couple came up to me, “Hey, I’m Luke. Man, can you believe Lucy’s leaving?”
I had to speak with both actions and words, “No.” and I turned and left. They had to learn their lesson somehow and continuing a conversation with theses kinds of people would not teach them anything. Also, I didn’t want any of the gel from their hair to somehow dislodge itself and taint me. Bring me death before gelled hair.
I found Elliot’s long time girlfriend Jill in a corner and made my way to her. She was a pretty young thing with wild auburn hair and big baby eyes. She was always good for conversation so I made a seat next to her, “Jill, my dear, how are you?”
“Eli! I didn’t see you come in. I’m great. How are you? You’re staying for a while right? There’s too many weird people here.”
“Actually I think I’m just going to find Lucy and get out of here but, yeah, I’m good, I think. Good as I can be probably. What’s going on anyway? I haven’t seen you in awhile.”
“Let’s see. I’m moving into a house in Victorian Village next week and, um, that’s about it. But, yeah, once I’m in, Elliot and I are going to throw a nice little housewarming party. You’ll be there right? Oh, be there and make some food.”
“That’s wonderful and lucky for you I’ve got a new recipe for chicken that involves a shit ton of Old Bay. It’s delicious. Sure to please. So where’s Lucy anyway. I haven’t seen her yet.”
Jill looked around the crowded room apparently finding nothing of interest, “Shit, I don’t know. You know what, she might be upstairs.”
Again I was alone in a sea of unfamiliarity. It wasn’t so much that I felt I was being judged that made me uncomfortable. It was that I was judging the room so harshly that my mind was on a kind of sensory overload of things I didn’t like. I mean, who under the age of 30 wears Dockers for Christ’s sake? Was everyone going yachting after the party without me?
After a couple minutes with only my quickly vanishing PBR to amuse me Lucy jumped down the flight of stairs, “Eli! Ahh! I’ve missed you!” Her arms flung around my neck and she squeezed hard. Before I was blinded by the infinite darkness that was her hair I caught a glimpse of her and she looked incredible as usual. She was wearing a dark, tight skirt that went past her knees and a white tank top thing that just looked amazing. Whether she was in love with me or not, I knew that I was a lucky man just to be hugging her.
“Lucy, darling, you’re leaving me?” I put on my best sad puppy dog face.
“I know. It’s going to suck not seeing you for six months but I think we’ll make it, baby.” She laughed. I didn’t really. “But I’m so excited though. Oh, I’ve always wanted to go to Europe and see castles and go to pubs and everything. It’s all so fanciful. Are you staying long?”
“I can’t really. I just wanted to drop by and see you.”
“Eli, you’re a sweetheart.”
“Well, as long as you’re happy about it then I’m happy for you. I do have some bittersweet news though.”
She smiled, “What’s that?”
I swallowed my pride and pitched my line, “I’m pretty sure that you’re going to get on that plane later and when you’re halfway over the Atlantic you’re going to realize that you’re madly in love with me and then you’ll be stuck in Europe. I think it’d be easier if you just admitted it now and saved us all a lot of trouble.” And my plan was done. There was nothing else I could do. I didn’t even hope for any particular response I was so proud I just got it out of my mouth. This may be pathetic reading but, I mean, I just overcame a lot of inferiority complex shit right there. I had good reason to be proud.
She smiled sweetly and sincerely, “Eli, darling, if that happens, you’ll be the first to know.”
“I await your phone call.” It could have gone much, much worse and since I went in with no expectations I couldn’t be too upset with the outcome. “I think I’m going to go then. Have fun, take pictures, don’t be too much of a tourist.”
“I know. I’m going to try not to be.”
“Give me a call when you get back so I can hear all about it.”
“Will do. Goodbye, Eli.” I left on that note and felt a soothing calm wash over my body. I presented my case to Lucy and left the door open. I didn’t get an outright rejection and, actually, probably could have had the best response possible.
I found my car and got back in neglecting to put music on because I knew of no song that would reflect my mood so perfectly. I pulled on to High St. and made my way back to the apartment, calling Jude in the process, “I’m out of Lucy’s, still want to go to the Dube?”
“I beat Mega Man in record time. I am a god. Say it. Say I’m a god.”
“Never. Are we going to the Dube or what?”
“Yeah, I’ll be outside. Just pick me up.”
I drove down the few necessary allies to our apartment and found Jude waiting at the door, cigarette in hand. He got in the passenger side, “When I die I’m either going to be really pissed off that I spent so much time playing video games or incredibly pleased with myself that I beat so many video games.”
“No you won’t. You haven’t regretted playing games for a second of your life. I can’t imagine you would stop in death.”
“Yeah, you’re right. It’s been a productive life. So, Eli, did Lucy admit she loves you or what? Is she going to stay in Ohio and abandon her dreams in Europe?”
“You know, it could have gone much worse. It wasn’t good but it wasn’t bad either. I mean, I left there and it was as if nothing had been said at all. I planted the seed and that’s all I wanted to do so, for me, the night was relatively successful…”
Jude interrupted so rudely, “So she said no then?”
“So you can fuck yourself. It wasn’t ‘no,’ it was just, it was just nothing.” It wasn’t ‘no’ right? If it was ‘no’ she would have said ‘no’ at some point. It was more like she acknowledged my point, absorbed it, and moved on and with no expectations I couldn’t be disappointed. I didn’t care what Jude said, I did just fine.
We got to Blake Ave. and parked behind North Campus Video before crossing the street to the Dube, a quaint diner with walls still tinted yellow even two years after the smoking ban came into affect. I’d lived in places that felt less like home.
We found a booth near the jukebox and got comfortable on the vinyl. Before too long our favorite waitress, Michelle came up and sat down next to Jude, “Hey guys, you’re a sight for sore eyes. Tonight’s been awful.”
Jude slid his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him, “Baby girl, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Well, Rick, this new manager we got, is such an ass and he keeps yelling at me for shit I didn’t do. It’s really pissing me off. Oh, and my boyfriend called me earlier only half drunk and said he wants to marry me. I mean, what the fuck?”
I chimed in, “How long have you been together?”
“Like a year but, you know, fuck that. I don’t know. You guys want some drinks or something?”
She looked to Jude first, “Can I get a well whiskey and a PBR?”
“Of course.”
My turn, “Double bourbon and a chocolate milk please.”
“Alright, I’ll be back at some point.” She got up and left, returning to the kitchen where Rick was already yelling at some other poor server.
I started reading the menu, a bad habit I have in restaurants where I am already familiar with the food served. I’d been to the Dube countless times and their menu probably hadn’t changed since John Mellancamp was John Cougar but my mind still forced me to go over the appetizers. Of course I knew that the zesty fries were the only way to go but something deep inside my soul needed reassuring that onion rings were still and option.
By the look in Jude’s eyes I could tell that he was concerned by something, “I was thinking today…”
“That’s a big step for you. Don’t over do it the first time.” Hilarious.
“Fuck yourself. I was thinking today, if I just up and died I don’t know if anyone would notice.”
“Well, Jude, I live you with. I’m sure I’d figure it out at some point and call your parents or something and then they would contact the local news and at that point I’m sure AP would pick it up. I imagine a memorial service would be held and dignitaries from all over the world would make it. You’d be like the new Princess Di. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Yes, thank you, you asshole.”
Michelle returned with our drinks and set them in front of us. Smells of bourbon, beer, and rich chocolate milk wafted around and the endorphins in my brain started kicking into gear. Any pain I had started melting away as it usually did when I was about to begin drinking. Once the smell of whiskey hit me I entered a state of complete contentedness in which I could not be harmed or bothered by the plights of day-to-day life. It always made me think of Wilde because he may have been the first to recognize work as the true curse of the drinking class. The sweet smell of bourbon was the calm before my storm… of drunkenness.
As is the case with most alcoholics, I took my drink and was happy but it could also tell that it was not the same case for Michelle. After she set the drinks down she hastily asked us if we wanted some food and barely waited for our decline before returning to the kitchen. Before she was more than a couple booths away I could hear Rick yelling at her, “Well, am I making food or what?”
“No, they don’t want any fucking food. Christ!” I’d never seen her so livid. Though I was not the wisest person, my twenty-one years had taught me that everyone has a breaking point. I’d had mine years before and it was memorable and public. People would ask why I had the breakdown but few would recognize that it’s never one thing. Shit like your boss yelling at you and your lover confessing stupid things to you build up and keep doing so until you either explode or implode. Me, I imploded. I never yelled back at anyone or spoke out of line too much. I could see Michelle was on the verge of an explosion. She was red in the face and pacing around in the back.
I think Jude also foresaw Michelle losing her mind. He was a pretty good friend of hers and clearly wanted to help out. I had no idea what to do so I just sat there and drank my bourbon and nursed my milk. Jude was proactive, “Hey! Hey, Michelle. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, you know, about life and shit. I think I’m mature enough to settle down. You should totally drop your boy and marry me.”
The Dube went pretty quiet. Rick stopped yelling and Michelle stopped pacing. The jukebox kept playing because it had no sense of dramatic or comedic timing. We both looked to Michelle to see if Jude had pushed her closer or pulled her away from the edge. It was a risky move but if it resulted in Michelle not killing anyone that night it would have been worth it.
She stood there lifeless for maybe ten seconds while the rest of us took in what had just transpired. I wanted to drink, I really did but I just couldn’t bring myself to move. Jude, on the other hand, acted as though she had never been anger and he had just asked her for a water.
Slowly at first, a smile began to appear on Michelle’s face. Before long her smile turned into a giggle and then an outright cackle. The Dube gave a collective sigh and Jude was, at least momentarily, the day saving hero he always fancied himself. Michelle was once again safe, “Jude, I fucking love you. You crack my shit up.”
“That’s what I’m here for, darling.”
We finished our drinks and got out of there before any more shit could go down. A single saved life was enough for one night. We got in my car and we pulled back onto High St. to get home. Right before our turn on Hudson my phone started to ring. Jude picked it up from the cup holder and saw who was calling, “Eli, it’s Lucy.”
“Fuck you. Who is it?” I didn’t believe him for so many reasons.
“Lucy, for real. You might want to answer it.”
He handed me the phone and I could see that Lucy was indeed on the line. I answered, “Are you in love with me yet?”
“Not quite yet. I was actually wondering if you could give me directions to Port Columbus.”
“God dammit. Yeah, where are you leaving from?”