This is where I say I’ve had enough
And no one should ever feel the way that I feel now.
A walking open wound,
And I don’t believe that I’m getting any better.
Any better.
Waiting here with hopes the phone will ring
I’m pretty sure that few would notice.
And this apartment
Is starving for an argument.
Anything at all to break the silence.
Wandering this house
Like I’ve never wanted out
And this is about as social as I get now.
And I’m throwing away the letters that I am writing you
Cause they would never do,
I would never do.
Never
Waiting here with hopes the phone will ring
I’m pretty sure that few would notice.
And this apartment is starving for an argument.
Anything at all to break the silence.
So don’t be a liar
Don’t say that
Everything’s working
When everything’s broken.
And your eyes say the jokes on me.
But, I’m not laughing
You’re not leaving
Who do I think I am kidding?
When I’m the only one locked in this hell
Leave it to me to be last minute. In the evening on Friday, October 31st, 2003 I found myself walking the Monmouth Mall with Jahiz and Tony. We popped into Zumiez, Pac Sun, and Journeys. I bought two sweatsuits, a pink and cream colored Roc-A-Wear and a red and black Ekco. There was a spring suit on sale, and I needed one. The water was cold in Jersey come April + May and that hindered my desire to surf. My wetsuit got left in a friend’s car, and I’m pretty sure I hadn’t gotten it back, so I set a mental reminder to solve the mystery. I’d picked up black tims earlier, and a pair of their OG work boots that had this fold-over option (the boots went past my calves when the fold was up, and when folded down it added a dimension of lambs wool) which were super dope.
We got hungry and hit up the Chili’s that happened to share the same parking lot as the mall. We knew the bartender, so the drinks were half off, and the conversation was full-on. Joe was the only stable employee of the restaurant, and saying the turnover was high would be an understatement. I asked Joe why so many people leave and he explained, “Kids these days are lazy and spoiled. They don’t know what it means to work hard and earn your keep. The only employees who stay for long work in the back, so you don’t see them. They work hard, show up everyday, and don’t expect some participation trophy for being here.” I laughed. Joe was a transfer to Jersey by way of Queens about 5 years ago. He came for a girl, but that hadn’t worked out. He stayed for the “down the shore” bartending cash. Thick accent, thick personality, thin frame and thinning hair. Nice guy. He reminded me of the “Get off my lawn” grandpa who walked 3 miles to school, uphill. Though, I understood where he was coming from. Monmouth County harbored many a spoiled rich kid, as it’s known as the 2nd richest county on the Eastern Seaboard. Luckily, I hadn’t witnessed that trend at my own jobs. Although, there was one chick I had worked with at my landscaping job, Nellie, who was more interested in drinking woodchuck hard cider (in the morning, and throughout the workday) and ditching most days to smoke pot with her mom, or frolic with friends at parks and DMB concerts. Not a bad kid, just not motivated. She didn’t last long, obviously. Besides that, I typically found myself surrounded by other driven, hardworking folks.
Jahiz ordered a burger and fries, Tony the same, and I went with a chicken caesar salad. While we chatted with Joe about the World Series, his Mets, and the crushing loss for the Yankees, my cell phone buzzed. It was Brian, asking about whether or not I was coming to the party. I didn’t forget, I just wasn’t sure if I wanted to go. When we’d hung out last it was just a brief couple of beers and some conversation at his apartment which he shares with three other guys, the ones who came with him to play pool on Wednesdays at the bar. They were decent. It was a little like a frat house, and if each roomy had two guests it made for a crowded apartment. Their place was above a scuba shop called Dosils. My mom had lived up in Port Monmouth, and I’d driven past the store a million times never knowing a four bedroom apartment existed on top of it. I popped back into the moment and pondered the proposition. The look on my face must have tipped off Jahiz who asked me what was up. I told him. Ja was a good dude, and had spent the last year becoming a good friend to me. He was honest and introverted, intelligent and intense. I’d spoken with him about the Brian sitchi. He called me out on not seeming very interested and I guess he was right. I liked Brian’s vibe, but I hardly knew him. Completely aware that it was mainly because I hadn’t put the effort in. Part of me was interested in getting to know him better, and part of me wasn’t sure. Another part of me had this fear of the unknown. (Spoiler Alert . . . I Should Have Listened To My Intuition! We’ll Get Into That Later)
So far in life I hadn’t had long term relationships, and I know I’m young, but I wanted to see if I was even capable of commitment without complexity and youthful immaturity. Or, blissful ignorance. Who doesn’t want that “fairy tail” and, quite simply, to fall in love. It isn’t really fair to enlist someone in your own personal experiment without them knowing it’s only for your own internal stats, but that’s the truth, it’s how I felt. I’d dated Jr. for almost a year, but he was 10 years my senior, and to be fair, I never felt like his equal. I felt like the kid I was. And, towards the end of the relationship I started to drift away. Once I knew it wasn’t going to work, I began putting distance between us while I plotted the next move – which, obviously, was to break it off. Push, push, push away. It was childish, I know. The same person who gets upset about not being treated like an adult is the same one who ends up not being able to act like one. Imagine that. In my defense, I was young and this was my first “serious” relationship.
He wasn’t a bad guy, not by a longshot, it was quite the opposite. We had the odds stacked against us. And, as you’ll see, there was family interference that made things close to impossible. Take, for instance, the age gap. I mean shit…we couldn’t even go grab a beer together…Our first date was at a coffee shop, The Inkwell, in Long Branch, NJ. A historically chill spot, rich in history, frequented by the epic Bob Dylan & Springsteen in the 60’s & 70’s.
We talked about the Yankees, as we were both big fans, and he told me he had never met a girl who knew sports like that. He was impressed, I was flattered, and we hit it off.
Jr. introduced me to what became some of my favorite writers, artists, and bands. He loved music, all of it, and that was something that genuinely bonded us. From Dashboard Confessional to The Doors, and everything in between, we really vibed on music, and it was central to our relationship. We both liked to write, we were both creative, and we were inspired by lyrics. He also had a large assortment of bold and colorful tattoos, which you’d never know at first glance. He wore long sleeves and jeans, explaining that most people pass judgment. I wasn’t most people. I actually got my first 2 tattoos with him, one down my spine, the other on my right thigh. Brilliant, beautiful & big! Both paying homage to my parents and heritage – eerily unknowing they would become pictorialization dedication pieces 7 years later…
We sat there for almost four hours, the last two to leave. So easy going, easy to talk to, made me laugh, was confident in who he was. I dug that. He walked me to my car, which was parked in front of a blue, two-story home directly to the right of the coffee shop. When I had arrived the lot was packed, as was usually the case with the popular late night last stop. The irony being that the home I was parked in front of that night would be rented by my dad 6 years later. And, he would take his own life there.
My pops and him really hit it off (yes, I fibbed about his age, as my father would have been pretty angry at the gap). As for his career….he hadn’t figured that part out yet, and at age 28 it seemed to grate on him. He’d worked for his best friend’s father. They did brick masonry. What he wanted was to be a Union pipefitter, but if you didn’t have a connection the chances were slim that you were getting a book, or an in. Typically too, you don’t start your Union career past the age of 25. You’re usually in early, say 18 or 19ish. You have to know someone who knows someone, you know what I mean? He wasn’t an overly driven person, but it’s not meant to be an insult. A little indecisive about his future – he had a hard time coming to grips with the reality that his Union dreams weren’t going to come true. And, he had zero interest in college, so that was out. What he knew was that he disliked going to his job every morning – and that it left him uninspired. What he didn’t know was what the hell to do about it.
He enjoyed hanging out with his friends, going to shows and concerts, sports, and kicking it with family. My beloved step-father was a Union dockbuilder. One of the hardest working men I’ve ever known. And the Patron Saint for putting up with my Mom, who had turned to alcohol and anger after my father divorced her, married my step mother, and ran off with my brother and me. But, I’ll tap into that later. Jr. & I had just started dating and I considered asking a favor of my step-dad but seeing the lack of drive made me hesitant to co-sign.
I was attending Brookdale Community College throughout our relationship, trying to tie down some prerequisites. Bearing witness to how difficult life was for my dad, distressed daily with a decreased quality of life related to his chronic pain, spinal stenosis, and degenerative disc disease I knew I wanted to pursue a health care centric field, I just hadn’t pinned down exactly where. The first few months of our relationship were enjoyable, as most new relationships are. He was funny, and charming. An old soul, and a true gentleman, especially in the beginning months (as is usually the case with new relationships). The only thing I found strange was that he still lived at home. With his parents. At age 28.
His parents were newly divorced, after almost 30 years of marriage, and his father was in the process of moving, while his mother was distraught and unsure how exactly to move forward (sound familiar?). He hadn’t moved back in to help with the current crises, he simply never left. And don’t get me wrong, I’ve known people who have experienced a crisis of sorts in their lives that made moving back in with mom or dad something to consider, or the only option they had. Shit happens, no doubt.
My understanding here was that he worked, bought his own food, didn’t have to chip in on bills, and spent a majority of his earned income on tattoos, a car payment & insurance, and traveling with friends to concerts and festivals. Not much cash left after that, and therefore no ability to afford rent or bills. Hmm…
At times I could hear his mother crying, alone, downstairs which made me feel sorry for her. He’d go down and comfort her, but she was taking the divorce hard, which was understandable. It’s weird to “hang out” in a grown adult’s bedroom at his folk’s place. Thankfully, there was a couch. We’d watch movies. We’d talk. We’d go out to eat. Many times in the beginning, during the early months of the divorce we’d meet his mother at a little deli in Keansburg for coffee. He was tight with his family and I respected that. We moved in together fairly quickly. He was leaving the nest for the first time, and I think it made him feel vulnerable. He asked me to help him find a place, and shortly thereafter he suggested I move in. After six months I was completely disillusioned and naive enough to think that I’d found my “forever”. What can I say? I was young and immature. When I tell you that in the beginning he was pure of heart and a gentleman I mean it. Attentive, engaging, generous, and considerate.
Family was immensely important, which appealed to me in a big way. He was dark and handsome, affectionate and agreeable, didn’t take himself too seriously, had a killer smile and sense of humor. We could talk about anything, and he treated me like an equal. He didn’t make me feel like the age gap was an age gap. But, I knew it existed, and that became clear as time passed.
And then his father moved in with us. We were vibing, enjoying the first month of the new pad, and then he hit me with the, “My dad is having a hard time affording a place alone” conversation. Obviously, I didn’t want to be the dick who left his dad on the street! But, I guess I would have preferred more time to actually get to know his dad, to think it through, or even the ability to think about it period. It wasn’t really a question as much as it was an answer. There was no saying “no”, because he wasn’t asking me, he was telling me. That was a little frustrating, and before you judge just consider yourself in the situation. I simply wasn’t sure how a new-ish couple navigating new-ish relationship stuff would work in a small apartment with your new-ish roomie being your boyfriend’s dad. His father had a good sense of humor and was a generally nice man, but I hardly knew him (and I didn’t exactly know his son extremely well). It was a rushed move-in for us simply because they had sold the house he lived in, and he needed shelter and made the suggestion that we should move in together. ( I had my apartment, but it was too small for 2 of us, so I let a friend of mine move in who was looking for a way out of Mom’s basement).
We had hit it off, for sure, and we really dug each other, but we definitely rushed the honeymoon phase. When his father moved in it very obviously made things a little awkward. The 2 bedroom apartment, which was small to begin with, suddenly felt like a motel room. No more walking around scantily clad, for starters. No more smoking Js or cigs in the bathroom. The couch after work now belonged to Mr. L, and it belonged to him on the weekends also. As did the kitchen and bathroom, which he had no problem destroying while expecting “the woman” of the house to clean up after him. Our master bedroom became his, and we moved into the smaller of the two. He wasn’t a football fan, so there was no Sunday Funday comfortably at home. And the fact that I didn’t get home from work until after 3am became an issue. He was a light sleeper, and no matter how hard I tried to be as quiet as possible (and I tried hard!) it always “disturbed” his sleep. He was a commuter bus driver. He worked part-time. I respected him. I tried to get to know him, spend time around him..give him a chance.
He wasn’t a “happy” type. Mr. L was negative and hard to please. Junior had warned me that his father could be a malcontent. A generally discordant individual. They didn’t have some story-book dad & son relationship. I wasn’t prepared for the task of trying to please a very “ho-hum, woe is me” guy while attempting to make my relationship with his son prosper. The dude made big deals out of minor things like your shoes being neatly paired by the front door, or your jacket hanging on the back of the kitchen chair (the chair I bought). Silly little things. He was a picky eater, would put down Juniors sauce and other cooking attempts, and didn’t have any issues telling you how he felt. A time or 2 he told me I was “chesty”. Needless to say I was a tad creeped out by my boyfriend’s dad over-observation of my breasts. I totally took his old-school mentality into consideration, and I was raised with manners, morals, and respect for my elders. Believe me, I tried.
I wanted it to work until I recognized that the situation wasn’t healthy mentally, and it wasn’t helping our relationship. It was hindering it. It didn’t ever feel like an apartment me and my boyfriend rented and then let his father live in – it felt like I was the odd man out, the person who invaded their space. He had an obligation to please his father, and that came before our happiness as a couple. I understood, even if I didn’t agree. Yes, you are supposed to respect your parents, but his dad knew he was being outrageous and demanding and invasive. Some days it seemed like a cruel game he was playing, where only he knew the rules. Impossible to win. Unfortunately, I felt as though he too looked at me as some young kid, and too young to be serious enough for his son. And it was hard to make myself feel comfortable when we all were cohabitating. Any time off from work was spent in a tiny bedroom, or making plans to go out to have some “alone time” which was the whole purpose of moving in together in the first place, right? I was usually exhausted on my days off, which were few and far between those days, and not exactly always game to come home just to leave again.
Things changed, and his desire to throw the life raft in showed me where he stood. It was more important for me to learn to live with his father than it was to save the relationship. I understood that the implications for him ran deep. His father wanted him to prove that their relationship was more important than ours. And, Jr. did that. They were never close growing up because his dad was hardly around, and when he was he wasn’t exactly Mr. warm & fuzzy. According to Jr., his father had always been a bit of a grump. The glass half empty, maybe even ¾ empty type of fellow who found reasons to harp, bully, moan and groan. Jr. told me that he was shocked that his parents’ marriage had lasted as long as it had. And now he found himself, at 28, caught between two feuding family members who both insisted he pledge his allegiance to only one of them. Tough spot to be in. All of this excess in-fighting pushed me out. He became pulled in so many directions, and I decided it may be better not to put myself in the middle. He still made the effort, or at least tried, to make our relationship a priority. But, it was watered down. Totally diluted. And my heart wasn’t in it. To be honest, I don’t think my heart was ever fully in it to begin with – there wasn’t really any time for my heart to get involved. Which is a good thing, especially since it didn’t work out. The pressure from the palpable parental pull became too problematic, and ultimately the ruin of our relationship.
At one point his mother started getting on him about his age and her wanting grandchildren. She suggested she’d love to be my maid of honor at our wedding. What wedding? And who makes the decision for you about who’s going to be in your wedding? It forced him to face a faction of his life and our relationship that seemed futuristic, if feasible at all. He started rushing being ready to settle down, more to please his mom than himself, and I didn’t have a fucking clue about what tomorrow would bring, let alone the future. It added more weight to our already hangin’ by a thread relationship. What happened to the fun? Things got more stressful and way too serious. That’s when I knew it was time to move on. Getting married, having children, especially after one “serious” relationship seemed insane. I wasn’t even sure I knew what love was, for God’s sake, I was newly 18. I’d only ever had minor relationships. And I knew with certainty that THIS relationship would not go from “first sorta love” to “marriage” to “baby carriage”! Not a chance. So, I started taking on more shifts, avoiding being home while I navigated the next step and the feelings that accompanied them.
Sensations dulled, and there was a numbness that came over me. When I started thinking about leaving I noticed that I felt no anxiety over the dissolution of the relationship. I was actually looking forward to moving forward. And with that, I knew it was time to break the news. Luckily, I had my apartment to move back into, and my friend had found a spot in my complex and was moving the last of her things out. No sense leading someone on, that’s not healthy for either of us, and it’s not my style. I try my best to keep it real, which led me to examine real feelings: There was no more attraction, it seemed weird, but it vanished. No desire to kiss, no desire to sleep next to him. Quite the opposite actually, it made me uncomfortable. I was skeeved. His mother’s proding, his father’s pushing + poking, and Jr. ‘s powerlessness pussification felt like a full-court press which discouraged and depressed the pathos of our partnership. I didn’t want to be around any of them, and they always seemed to be around each other. Jr was shocked when I broke the news that I was moving out, and I was shocked he didn’t see it coming. I tried to end it amicably but I sensed the acrimony. We parted ways, not remaining the best of pals, but not hating one another. You can’t always get what you want.
I grew up too fast. A piss-poor relationship with my wicked stepmother had me desperately seeking solitude (and shelter) at 15 – let’s be real, it probably started the day my father married her. My resentful life rival, she was an irritated, irascible, ill-tempered alcoholic who saw my mother when she looked at me and envied my super tight relationship with my father. Miserable person who duped my dad. He thought he was getting this ambitious, kind-hearted, hippy-dippy happy chick who claimed she covetted her new role of “step-parent”. That changed just as the ink dried on the marriage certificate. Ambition never exceeded random waitress positions where the only thing she seemed to covet was drinking and partying until the early morning with her co-workers. She was mean, and we spared on many occasions, starting as early as the age of 5. Whenever my father would leave the room she’d do random cruel things like pull my hair, slap my head, point her finger in my face while telling me I was “stupid” or “ugly”. Crazy shit! Her behavior was wretched. She was sinister, spiteful, and surly. I never told my dad, because I didn’t want to rock the boat, but he started seeing it with his own eyes, and was furious. Other family members had seen it, too, and had told him. He would talk to her, fight with her, ask her to get help..give her chance after chance to redeem herself but she just wasn’t cut out to be a parent or a sober individual. Things got worse as I got older, so I immersed myself in school, sports, and work when that became an option.
At one point my father had reached a breaking point and packed up the Caprice and motored us out of Florida back to Jersey (we lived in Florida for a few years hoping the warmth would help my dad’s back issues). He was adamant that my step mom get help, and knew that he was enabling her by staying. When we arrived back in NJ the phone calls started, and the promises were made. He’d had enough, he had checked out mentally and emotionally. And, she was supposed to check-in to a rehab with a psych eval. He gave her a year. She didn’t deserve him, and he deserved so much better. Because his first marriage ended in divorce I think my father felt that if his second one did also that he was some failure. Incapable of cultivating a companionable confederation. Which couldn’t be further from the truth. His luck simply sucked. My father was patient, loyal, amiable, and lived by a simple mantra “family first forever”. The relationship was strained. They’d been together 10 years when Dad had left the first time. Sadly, he’d be gone 10 years later, and if you think I don’t blame her for what transpired in 2008 you’d be criminally insane. But, that’s for the future.
I moved in with my mother at 15. By my 17th birthday I’d saved enough for an apartment. And because of that, at 17 I felt like an adult. I just didn’t always act like one. Now, at 19, I’ve been on my own for three years. I loved my independence, and I also enjoyed kickin’ it with my friends and being around people. I liked my social life, on my terms. My obligations to work were as paramount as my obligations to self-jubilation. So when my phone buzzed again, after taking a long walk back through memory lane, I still wasn’t sure if I wanted to give Brian a shot. I hit the f*ck you button and snapped back to Chili’s.
Jahiz looked over at me curiously and asked me if I had heard what he said. I answered honestly and he pushed me playfully. “Where is your mind?” he asked. I thought about the Pixies song and answered “Wayyyy out in the water, see it swimming”. That only elicited weird looks from the boys, so I told them, “I’m good” and ordered another drink. Jahiz started, “Like I was saying, this girl just randomly stops by the crib, she talks to my mom, she’s everywhere I go. I swear, she was at the grocery store last night, and when I stopped by the bar last week she showed up with her sister. I tried to point her out to you, City, but the bar was slammed. Do you think I’m being crazy? Or is this chick stalking me?!” He was looking to me for an answer. I asked him, “What did you do to give her the impression you’re into her?” Tony laughed and added “That’s what I said!” We all laughed. Jahiz was trying to be serious, but it was hard. Don’t tell him I told you, but he’s a softy. He lives in Atlantic Highlands, and stops by the bar on nights I’m working with a group of our friends. He’s a big (tall, too!) sweetheart, which is something I found appealing about him. He was sensitive, yet strong. An enigma of sorts. One of the best listeners I knew. And he cared genuinely, and made you feel like everything you confided in him was important and between us. I valued that. A true friend. I wanted to make him feel like what he was saying was also important, because it was.
“Seriously, Ja, is it making you feel uncomfortable? Have you asked her what her deal is? Where did she come from to begin with?” He took a swig of his draught before explaining, “I met her at the bar. Well, actually, we didn’t “meet-meet” which is why it’s so weird. I was at the corner spot trying to order a few beers, she was sitting on a stool with a girlfriend or something. You were working that night, she was the chick with the blonde ponytail, oversized sweatshirt, looked like she was 12?” He waited for it to start clicking in my head. I thought for a second, and bingo, I had her. “I got you. Pale girl. Drinking vodka and Sprite. She was on her phone most of the night. Grey sweatshirt, and sweatpants. Frumpy, first glance, puffy faced, and I’m not trying to be mean. She seemed nice, but preoccupied.” Now I took a sip. She was sitting with a friend, but paid more attention to her phone. They were there for a few hours, had a lot of drinks, and we didn’t talk about much, that is what I remember. Jahiz pointed at me, “Yep, that’s the one. Nothing special, wouldn’t have even looked her way but she asked me my name. I introduced myself and called you over trying to get my change, but it was mad busy, so I left the money on the bartop.
Next thing you know the girl is at our table handing me twenty bucks. DJ was loud, so I crouched down to hear what she said, and she’s telling me she bought our beers and was giving me my money back. Gotta admit the encounter was a straight-up bizarre. I told her thanks, let her know I appreciated the kindness, and turned back to the gang to continue the conversation. But, homegirl didn’t move.” Tony and I were dying laughing because Ja has the best facial expressions and hand gestures. He kept going. “So I look back at her, and ask her what’s up. I didn’t want to seem unappreciative, but I figured the thanks I gave was appropriate. And she just stands there looking up at me with this goofy expression on her face. Then, she grabs my arm and starts rubbing it. Now she’s got the attention of the table who stops talking to take in this bizarre moment. She grabs my hand and asks me if I’m gonna introduce her to my friends, and I’m stunned and a little embarrassed ‘cuz everyone is looking at me all curious and shit. So I’m like “I don’t even know your name”, and she tells everyone “that’s not what you were saying last night.” He looked over at us with a pained expression. I almost spit my drink out. “Ja, that’s bold! Holy shit! No she didn’t!” Between his expression and me picturing this encounter I couldn’t stop laughing. Tony’s jaw almost hit the table. “She had jokes, huh?” Joe walked over with freshie drinks and asked what he missed, but before we could answer two chicks sat down a few chairs over. “Duty calls” he replied over his shoulder.
We took a drink break before Ja started back up. “Yeah, you call it jokes, but I was mortified. I pulled her over to a quiet spot by the bathroom and tried to give her the twenty back. I also fibbed and told her I had a girlfriend just to end the weirdness and in hopes she’d leave me alone. She got pissy and walked off in a huff, which was fine by me. I thought that ended it, but I swear on my moms that she’s stalking me.” Now he looked concerned and stressed. Tony asked, “Do you think she followed you home that night?” Ja put his hand on his forehead and thought about the question. I added, “And what’s this shit about her talking to your mom?” He perked up, pissed off now. “Get this, I headed over to my mom’s house two days ago after work. Eric gave me a lift home and as we’re about to pull up when I see mom outside grabbing the mail standing next to a white girl with a blonde ponytail. I knew it was her, and I was heated. I jumped outta the truck and told her she needed to leave and never come back. My mom was confused, so I told her to head inside. Then I got in her face and told her what I’d do if she showed up at my moms again. She told me that she thought we were friends, and I lost it. My step-dad had to come outside and pull me away. She has a small, gray SUV, and was with the same chick she was at the bar with. She dipped, and that was the last time I saw her. But, before that it was twice at the bar and I swear she was at the A&P. I’m pretty sure I scared her off, but damn, the shit is fucking crazy.”
I couldn’t agree more. It bothered me that this girl was pulling this shifty psycho bs. “If you see her again, you need to call me immediately. I’ll handle it. Nobody needs to be stalking you and your family.” He softened a bit. “I didn’t want to drag you into this, but that’s why I’m telling you. You may have to handle shit if she doesn’t get it. You know I’d never lay hands on a woman.” So, my dad taught my brother and I to box when we were younger. My pops was scrappy, and ingrained in us the importance of being able to protect ya neck. I never went looking for shit, but I’ve had a fight or two and I was pretty confident in my ability to defend myself and people I cared for when the circumstances became favorable. Jahiz’s folks were very kind, very mellow. That doesn’t mean they deserve random annoyances, nobody does. I gave him a look, “When you’ve got someone crossing the line, bringing shit to your mom’s doorstep you have to drag your friends into it. It’s the rules.” We smiled at each other.
I pushed my plate away and excused myself to run to the ladies room. On the way I passed a table of guys, two of them seemed familiar but I didn’t slow down to check. My phone vibrated, call coming in from a number I didn’t recognize. I was feeling a little buzzed so I took my chances. “Hello?” asked a classless me, hoping the mystery caller didn’t recognize the flushing toilet. “Stella?” a familiar voice asked back. “Yep, hold on a sec”, I requested as I quickly washed my hands, dried them and opened the door. “It’s Lou.” That was a surprise. My pulse quickened. I hung back in the corridor, covering my other ear so I could hear him better. “How are you?” I asked not having heard from him since the accident. Word on the street was Lou headed out of town for a bit, and when I had tried to call to verify that his phone had been disconnected. I’d been worried about him, and a little bothered that I hadn’t heard from him – we’re friends, and you don’t leave a concerned friend hanging. One of the familiar looking guys from the table brushed past me to hit the restroom. We made eye contact, smiled. I was almost run into by a group of girls hustling into the ladies room. I couldn’t hear Lou at all, so I decided to go have a smoke outside.
Once there I lit up and asked again, “How are you?” He sounded distant, muffled almost. “I’m really sorry I haven’t filled you in. I’m sorry I haven’t called you. I’m up north, recovering. I should be back in a few weeks. Court. I just wanted to reach out, let you know I’m okay. You’re not mad at me are you?” Of course I wasn’t mad, I was concerned. He went ghost on everyone, and I’ve spent the last couple of weeks dodging chit chat concerning the chronicles of Lou. More than anything, I was happy to hear his voice, and to know that he was alive and well. “No, I’m glad you’re good. You had me shook.” I took one last drag, snuffed it out in the ashtray by the door. I had a feeling he didn’t want to say too much over the phone. “Can you keep in touch with me, so I know what’s going on?” I heard him cough, then he suggested, “I was hoping to talk in person, before I get back. You think you could come through. It’s gonna be almost a month before I head back. Maybe next weekend? I’ll text you the details.” I told him I’m game, and walked back inside. “I am so happy that you’re alright.” He thanked me and we disconnected.
Tony and Jahiz shot confused looks my way. I apologized, held the phone up and said “Lou”. Their bewilderment dissolved. “I heard he’s in rehab.” Tony questioned. I didn’t like rumors, and Lou’s disappearing seemed to create more drama than his actual plight did. I dismissed it. “All I know is he’s ok.” Jahiz finished his drink, reading my mind. “You guys ready to roll?” I pulled some cash out and Ja pushed his hand towards it. “It’s on me, save that in case I need that favor.” I smiled, thanked him and nodded. Jahiz drove us, so we piled into his truck. Tony lived in Eatontown with his brother, in an apartment complex by the parkway. He invited us in, and we accepted. It was Halloween but we missed the cute little kids in their costumes as it was a little too late for trick or treating.
His brother Christian was on the couch, bowl of Reese’s peanut butter cups on his lap watching ESPN. He got up when walked in, exchanging handshakes and hugs. Tony took my jacket and hung it in the front closet. I sat next to Christian and helped myself to a Reese’s. Christian was a few years older than Tony, with gorgeous green eyes and dark hair spiked into a faux hawk. They both worked together at their father’s painting biz. Both were single, focused on work and school. It was a perfect match, them living and working together. I’ve never been around siblings who got along as well as these two did. Family first, forever.
“We’ve got twisted tea’s, heineken, bud light cans, and mixers. Whatcha guys feelin’?” Tony popped his head out of the kitchen with an inquisitive glance. Gotta appreciate options. Jahiz was curious about the mixed drink selection and headed after Tony while I accepted a twisted tea. Christian and I caught up. He filled me in on his major, criminal justice, and how his sister and mom were doing. Jahiz fingered the CD collection and seemed like he was having trouble deciding. I got up to help. Tony walked out of the kitchen with his and Hiz’ Bacardi & Cokes. Christian felt left out and grabbed himself a tea, too. We’d decided that a mixed CD would work, and Outkast came booming out. Elevators. Tony grabbed a deck of cards and we hit the kitchen table. While he shuffled, the four of us shot the shit. Caught up since the last time we were all together. Harmoniously, we hit the chorus, “Me & you, yo mama and yo cousin too.” Laughed, and laughed. My phone vibrated the table and Tony turned the music down. “It’s all good, I’ll take it outside.” The boys made immature “oooohs” and kissing noises. They swiftly got the finger as I ducked out the front.
“Y-ello” I lit a ciggy. It was chilly out, and the smoke burned my lungs as I inhaled. “Hey, it’s Brian.” I knew that. I figured I couldn’t avoid him forever. Look, I was definitely interested in getting to know him, I’d decided, but when the day to do so came I found myself finding an excuse to bail. Like now. “Hi, how’s it going?” I asked. I could hear music in the background and laughter. “Can you hear me okay?” he asked. I told him I could. “Brian, I didn’t forget about you. I got caught up with some friends at dinner, and they drove, so I’m kinda at the mercy of them.” I hoped he’d understand, it was true. “No worries” he replied, “We’ll figure it out sooner or later.” I smiled and appreciated his not making a big deal about things. Maybe he was unsure, too. Maybe he wasn’t sweating it at all. Either way, it scored points with me that he wasn’t bent. “Cool, thanks for getting it. Hopefully we can get together before the holiday or something.” It sounded like quite the party. He promised me we would, we exchanged pleasantries and hung up.
The boys arched their eyebrows and stopped talking. It’s like the needle on the record scratched. I felt my cheeks flush, as I sat back down to the table. I asked Tony to turn up the stereo and deal me in. Slick Rick. Spades. I felt the eyes on me. “So, you got a man now?” I looked up and Christian gave me a sly smile in return. I peeped my hand and looked around at the wash women around the table, anxiously awaiting the response. “ The witty committee? Ja, what did you tell them?” I asked, half annoyed, half amused. Mainly amused. “I told them it was probably that dude from the bar. Why? Was I right?” I threw my card out and explained the sitch to Tony and Christian. “I’m not looking for a relationship, he invited me to a party and I chose to hang with you fools instead. It’s nothing more.” That seemed to satisfy the interest. We went back to our card game, our drinks, and our conversation, easily losing track of time.
I lit another smoke and gave myself a minute to think, sitting on the cold concrete, hugging my knees to my chest. It may not have been “clearly”, but I needed a sec to try to figure out why I was avoiding this encounter. He seemed like a really nice dude. The one time hang out was cluttered with other people, which I thought would make things easier, but I guess it was harder to get to know him while fielding questions and responding to conversation with his roommates. We hardly spoke one-on-one that night. There was an attraction, not forced, that I had felt, and I recall us having some similar interests. So far, so good. I made a mental note to check my work schedule this week and try to figure out an actual game plan. Then I headed back to the warmth.
We made the safe call to crash on the couch. Everyone had off tomorrow morning, and I didn’t have to be at the bar until six pm. Christian tossed us some pillows and blankets. I gladly accepted a bottle of water and some ibuprofen. My liver probably wasn’t psyched, but I knew a headache was on the horizon. After we exchanged “good nights” with the boys, Ja and I set ourselves up – I took the smaller couch despite Ja’s insistence. “Dude, your legs will hang four feet over this love seat.” We laughed ‘cuz it was true. I pulled my phone out and read my texts while Ja told me more about that sitch with the weird chick. He was obviously disturbed by the whole thing, and I got that. He’s an incredibly kind, mild-mannered, introspective guy who actually feels badly about asking this girl to not stalk him. That’s why he was such a solid dude. After responding to Dre’s texts, and trying to decipher the address Lou sent I turned to Ja and told him “You don’t deserve to be bothered, just like you tell me that I don’t deserve to be bothered. When the guys at the bar are rowdy, or get too invested you don’t tell me it’s my fault for being nice to them. You tell me that just because I’m being nice doesn’t mean I want to be harassed all night by some guy who mistakes my niceness for wanting to have sex. It’s no different, my friend. And if it escalates we gotta handle it.” I was hoping I didn’t sound as buzzed as I felt. He smiled, we dapped, and were soundly sleeping within minutes. I never take for granted the power true friendship holds. I’m a lucky, lucky girl.
Confessions of an Outlaw Junkie 