Bug's Life

We met outside a restaurant and walked around for a while.
“At least your ass still looks good”, I said when I first saw her.
“You shouldn't say that sorta thing anymore...” she mutters as we walk up the viny road.
We sat down at a bench, dimly lit by a lamppost that projected an ugly white. It was past eleven pm and breezy.

“So how you doing?” she asks, and I turn around to answer.
“I'm on double dose of prozac. Doctor wants to give me more. Can't sit still I'm so happy. ”
It wasn't unlike her to detect the sarcasm in my voice and she was quick to make a remark.
“Don't fucking pin this on me! You didn't think of how limp your dick would be after having sex with that hooker in Thailand, did you?”
“Well there's a variety of ways I could answer that question..”
Cutting me off she slaps me in the face and stands up.
“You didn't think I'd be so fucking mean to you did you? Huh? Mr. Bigshot Hotshot I Took Her Virginity She Won't Leave Me Because I'm Better Than Her? Mr. I Fuck Around And Don't Suffer The Consequences Because I'm an Existential Writer Who Looks At Things From His Own Little Outside Stupid Fucking World!? Well news-fucking-flash Phoenix now you got nothing! Cards on the table, empty pockets, it's done, I'm gone, it's finished!”
I guess I didn't have much of a choice but to watch her lips move as she talked, and covered my face with my arms from time to time whenever she started wailing her arms around. When the tirade was over and her pretty face walked away, I thought “well, that's what you get for getting your dick caught in a Thai vending machine.” She didn't care if it was pure business, she only cared that I fucked another girl.

The relationship was dysfunctional from the get-go to say the least; fingered her on the first date, fucked her on the third and it all seemed more like a two-month-long fuck around than anything real or committed. That's why when I fucked another girl and asked mine if she cared, all unexpected hell broke loose. Two weeks later I found myself with a hand full of flowers and a dick full of HIV (this was not actually the case but it had been itching and burning like an infected mosquito bite. The penis guy at the hospital gave me the thumbs up though, thank Christ). I found myself standing on the corner with a piece-of-shit grin, clutching my presents for her.

We tried it for a long week and that didn't work; we fucked on every date and barely made the effort to talk. The stress of fighting about bullshit had worn me out, and she had realized she was pulling my leg. Her eyes looked even more gray than her natural color, and the wrinkles under her eyes that showed up when she smiled were getting scarcer by the day. When the break up finally happened it was neutral, but some gaping horrid wound opened up inside that stung me every minute. I break her heart and she breaks mine, fair deal, but at least we were never in love, I concluded.

When our meeting was over, or ended abruptly, I drove home and initiated the Bear Trap. The Bear Trap was a ritual-like activity I partook in whenever my warm and dark blood felt cold. I would lock myself in my room, smoke endless amounts of cigarettes and drink off a bottle of whiskey. I did this originally while listening to the most heart-shattering music to lure the demons out, and shut the cage with a sip and inhalation. The sting goes away for several hours, but once I sleep and wake up again it's a whole other story. Who knew the morning sun could make you feel so wasted?

This time the feeling was quite different though; instead of having a heart in two with a crack down the middle, it was cut up into small portions that pulled in different places. The pain stemmed from the fact that we wouldn't work in a relationship together, and I was glad everyday we were finished, but almost wished at the same time that I loved her and treated her better. Like my ex-ex-girlfriend, the fact that I wanted to be with her came rather from the fact that I wanted to treat her better, and make them feel better, but man, if I had to sit and listen and beg at her feet then the trouble isn't worth it, especially if she's gonna stick her nose in the air. I have done this before and it doesn't change shit. Although I felt like apologizing for the sake of making her feel better, I know she'll be hysterical and pissed off before I even get the chance to say “hey man... I'm not in this to win a medal”.

The trouble with this break up is that it is the best choice for both parties involved, though during sex we can convince ourselves in love. I never loved her though, and if I had, I would stitch a blanket around me and cut a hole out for cigarette smoke. This bed I would never leave, until the sun comes up or the curtains come down. If I feel better, I'm standing on my head, but if I don't I stay in the shade. No world today for this bug, I'd say, and roll on towards the wall.

The same old story I hear every time. “I don't regret that we went out though,” they say, the long pause, and then: “because I've learned a lot about relationships”. Phoenix The Bad Example I always was, the guy not to date if you want it to work out. The guy who sits around with a megaphone at the pool telling you what and what not to do. What's the big deal though? I'm making it easier for the next guy right? Especially since I was popping fresh cherries before anyone else did? And I do all this for what? Not a single thank-you letter from the next-gen boyfriend and yet I made the effort. Man, what a whack job I am. Anyway, pack it up, I'm gonna go watch porn.

Women

Several months ago I witnessed one of the most memorable arguments I have ever seen or heard throughout my life. It took place in the middle of a relatively upper-class Mediterranean restaurant where I was eating with my girlfriend on a rainy Valentine’s day. The conversation between a balding man and his Vietnamese wife sitting in the corner of the joint gradually erupted into explosive shouting and insults. The interesting thing was that they seemed perfectly fine and happy together when they walked in, but after several minutes of looking at the menus the shouting began. I could hear the voice of the woman slightly escalating with a whiny twinge, while words like “why are you always…” and “this is why we can never...” were flying around in the mix of a hushed down angry whisper. Unaware of what was about to happen, assuming the argument was never really going to take off, my attention went back to the yellow rice and fish sitting in front of me, as well as my girlfriend's voice I could hear somewhere in the background (she was a real fucking bore. Why I was spending that night with her instead of getting high and watching TV, single and happy about it, is still a real mystery to me). From what I can recall our conversation at the time went a little something like this:
“What would you do if I slept with someone else?” she says, trying indirectly to get me to say how much she meant to me.
“Well… I'd hit you over the head with a shovel and bury you somewhere in Western Australia”, I said with slight humorous attempt and general lack of interest.
“No, but what would you really do?”
“Probably just stab you to death. I don't even have my P-plates yet.”
“Am I ever going to get a straight answer from you? Ever?” She asks.
“Fuck, is that Tom Waits?” now focusing on the music coming through the stereo.
This is how most conversations between her and I were conducted. Stupid questions, lack of interest, stupid questions, etc. etc.
 
So the argument that happened that night in the restaurant was an absolute life saver, if it was ever possible to die of severe boredom. At this time I was especially not paying attention to what my girlfriend was saying, and she wasn't dumb enough for this to go unnoticed. However, my excuse was that I was a little hazy from the sleeping pills I took the night before that give me strange nightmares, and this is what I told her. It was all entirely true and I had a free pass for inattentiveness for the rest of the night. What I didn't tell her though, was that I was taking the pills for inspiration; I was writing a short story horror collection that had a chance of being published by a friend of a friend, and the deadline was just around the corner. First time I swallowed these pills I took twice as much as I should have, didn't get to sleep until 4am, then woke up at 2.30 in the afternoon screaming like a goddamn banshee. It was a strange drug, or perhaps just a strange reaction on my part. At least they were good for something, but really, my waking life in the past week had been like a preview of the afterlife. Barely felt like I existed at all. Funny thing is, I was still tired as hell. Got my prescription changed a few weeks later.
 
I was stabbing at my fish with a fork continuing to think about my state of mind when the balding man stood up and started yelling in the corner of the restaurant. “Hey! I got an idea!” he screams. The whole restaurant jumps up and turns around at this. “Why don't you wipe your cunt with a fucking tissue and come back when you feel better? You and your temper you bitch, you and your fucking period, can't fucking stand it, can't stand you, you cunt!” He goes on like this for a while and storms out after being confronted by a waiter. Hilariously, the Vietnamese woman stays and orders a full course dinner banquet and a bottle of wine, with little to no change in her body language or facial expression. “What a prick!” my girlfriend says, referring to the man who left, and to this I can agree. The woman though, to me, appeared elegant and graceful. She changes something in the air and the way I feel about where I'm sitting, and what I'm doing there. After several minutes of contemplation, I stand up and grab my jacket.
“What are you doing? Where are you going?” she asks.
“What am I doing? I'm going home to die in my sleep, I'm so fucking exhausted. Have you even glanced at me today? The bags under my eyes are so deep you could go grocery shopping with them. My face is so pale I can almost communicate with the dead. I had a heart attack looking at myself in the mirror before!”
She pauses and looks back at me with a confused look.
“…No movie??”
“No movie. I've already seen The Wrestler.”
“You know what this means, right? I mean, it’s Valentine ’s Day…”
“Yeah I know what it means.” And I leave. In retrospect, that was one of the most heartfelt conversations I ever had with her.
 
Wish I had the courage to thank the Vietnamese woman that night. She gave me more inspiration than those pills ever will. It’ s good to be free and we know it like nothing else. Me and her. Fucking carnival of freedom.