This Quote is Getting Me Through...

Failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy to finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one area where I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had been realized, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter, and a big idea. And so rock bottom became a solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life. – J. K. Rowling, Harvard commencement address, 2008.

Turning Tables - A Work of Fiction

I slid myself comfortably on his couch, studying my surroundings as if my skin suddenly felt a sensation of the bourbon prickly tingling the back of my throat. Joan Rivers and her mad cabal of fashionistas were on E! and there I was, right where I had wanted to be a part of this man’s life, even if it was for that short period of time. The ride over from the city was mostly quiet, and the whizzing cars across the bay bridge past the glorious city that was behind us sank into me, maybe I was ready to leave my reality. In my imagination I had conjured up some sort fictitious potential of what the man next to me could be, and I slid back into his black leather couch

quietly imbibing myself with the cool cocktail in my hand, I thought to myself, this was it…

For the last month since we had gotten back from our trip, we were inseperable. Like two birds somehow lost in a storm. A flurry of emotional discourse and alcohol induced bonding that accumulated in an absess forming into a cyst. He was never someone I was into, I told myself, and for the years since we have become friends, almost family, I never thought of him sexually. He was everything I loathed in a man; self-centered, affected, brash, crass and a pig. A self proclaimed monster and a sexual predator of the young men he claimed to have fallen in love with. But somehow this ticking time bomb of a man was suddenly someone I saw, as if I had blinked again, and saw a loving and caring individual who in reality was not really scared of dying, but really scared of being alone.

Somewhere on the I-5 between the smell of cowshit , the sprawling towns of California’s central valley, and Annie Lennox, I felt there was something intriguing about him. Something more than his assanine comments about a boy’s ass, or his statements proclaiming is overt masculinity. Something had led me to believe that maybe this man was deeper and more involved than I had imagine. What little I gathered from our friendship over the previous years had finally become more concrete, and somehow solidified into being the minute we got to the grapevine.  I was oddly attracted to the dream, the potential and not the reality.

And there I was a month and a half later, sitting on that mans couch sprawled like the queen of sheba with his dogs on my lap and a stiff hard cocktail in my hand. I had studied the décor on the walls carefully as if it was the Dali painting of my grandmother that hung in our house back home, wandering for an inkling of discernment about what mysteries this cozy home held. The phlegm green walls ensconced with some sort of oriental tapestry that hung like drapes coveted the windows like the way he coveted my heart. The hints of southern genteel mixed with bourgeois middle class trappings felt cluttered systematically gave away that all to american mentality that more is more is more.  But somehow even though I felt it was albeit trite and trying to hard, it made sense.  Everything made sense of where I was at.

By the time Joan Rivers had made her last crack at her plastic surgery woes, he had come out of the shower still steaming and red. I looked at him with a discerning look of wonderment and I grew rigid almost tumescent when I caught his gaze. He was exclaiming the virtues of his new shoes from a luxury brand obviously bought online. I don’t know whether he was trying to impress or revolt me but nevertheless the gracious being that I am, I said they were fine. They were tacky. How did I find this man so attractive? How did I become enamored with someone who had the taste level of a 10 year old.

Clearly I saw past his façade quickly and smelled that he was trying to impress me with his brand names. I was impressed none the less with this show of sorts and let out a wyly sexy grin of his display, and after questioning me on his pants and shirt, I found it to be sexy. Guys have long since tried to impress me, the unaffected unemotional Ice Queen. It was hard for someone who was accustomed to knowing that real luxury neither came from fancy labels with unprounceable names nor the price tag they came with. Talking about money in my household was tacky and flaunting it was taboo. He was cute for doing this, and I was hooked.

He slid himself next to me and I could feel  the skin on his back brush my smooth cool legs. As I lit a cigarette and took another sip of my drink, I felt at ease. Like I could tell him everything and anything we wanted, and that had he asked I would’ve given him the world. Revolting as it was I wanted to grab him close and kiss him. Like the kind of kiss that stopped the world for a minute and all there was, was him and I, the kind of kiss that would end world hunger and climate change all in one.  For a long time since then I simply enjoyed his companionship to comiserate over issues that pressed us. 

I just wanted to hold him, and to be held by him, and quickly I remembered that on our trip I tried to hold him and he wouldn’t return. It took me back to a morning when I left to meet a movie star friend of mine for coffee and as I ascended up the stairs I saw him holding another. I have felt that feeling before. I’ve never thrown myself onto anyone before and I did with this one, got shut down, only to find out the next morning that he was in arms with someone else. I spent the rest of that day wondering why I even cared. Later that afternoon as I had returned from wanting to be alone, and he at the beach I wanted to shelter myself from him but much more I wanted to shelter myself from my feelings. I realized my thick exterior had melted around him, and I was putty in his gaze.

Excusing myself from another disaster, I got up to make another cocktail when he said it was time to go and I made my goodbyes to this dark house and slid myself onto his car. On our way back to the city I had imagined a life for myself that I did not exist. For years as a party girl, I’ve always longed for that kind of life that was simpler.  I’ve spent most evenings in nightclubs since I was 15, you could say I was living that dream .
I was ready to grow up and start a new life, and  I hoped that maybe this man could  give it to me.

As gauche as he was, he always took care of me, making sure I was alright. Made sure to grab the tab and bought me presents. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I didn’t like this but it made me wary and question why he was doing it. “What if he was trying to buy my friendship?” was always the question in the back of my mind. That quickly waned away the more time I spent with him.  I thought about the endless possibilities of having a life that didn’t have to do with putting on a show. I saw a yard a volvo and a daughter who I would spoil rotten, the man who came home who I cooked dinner for, vacations to disneyland, Paris, the best private school money can buy, family portraits and ridiculous christmas cards extolling the happiness of what our family would’ve been.  I saw flashes of a life I never had as a kid, simple and loving. Something I’ve lusted for, and even questioned myself that if he was gone off cheating with some other person, I would be the martyr and wait for him.

I was quickly transported back to reality the minute he took the exit back to the city, and the grin that came onto my face at the thought of the endless possibilities became a half hearted smile as he opened my door. There we were again trapped between disillusionment the jaded cynicism of the nightlife scene. As the doorman greeted me and the flashbulbs of photographers went off inside the club, I spied whispers of innuendos in the room. Yes he was with me, Fuck Off it’s none of your goddamn business who I am with, were the first words that popped into my pretty little head.

On and on the dance went into the wee hours of the morning. I was unhappy being there, and everyone was of course clamoring to be around him. He had the same celebrated status that I did. I mean who didn’t know him. I was more than happy to have spent a quiet evening away from the monotony of the same boring people I saw almost every night out, same drama, different night. I really didn’t care to be there in that room and I fell silent even though I was amassing my own crowd around me. I feigned smiles and talked about my next venture, I would’ve rather wanted to just be at home in bed with a good book, but of course I gave him what he wanted.

I wanted to run out and scream as if my head was on fire. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs for everyone to leave me alone. But I couldn’t and somehow even with him there I felt absolutely lonely. I knew deep down in my heart that this was all it could ever be. He could never be the companion I longed for.  He could never be the man of my fantasies who I wanted to kiss so bad because this was it, between surrealism and the present. I felt sharp pangs crawl through my skin and I bolted fast as I could to the nearest car service that was parked outside of the club.

Self doubt overcame me and I was fighting off tears in the backseat of that town car. I kicked off my shoes and ran upstairs to my apartment and sobbed hysterically on the floor. Was this all it ever will be, I seemed to have repeated over and over and over again? Was this a punishment for never having given anyone my true self until now? All I wanted was for him to come charging through that door and pick me up off the floor and tell me that everything will be okay. I wanted him to just hold me and let me know that I don’t have to cry anymore. That I am safe in his arms even if love was something he couldn’t give me, just to let me know with him I’ll be okay. Nothing, not even a phone call. I had stayed up drinking till the sun came up filtered through my curtains.

I finally mustered up enough strength to pick myself up from the rocking position I held at the foot of my bed on the cold carpet and crept under my comforter that I had since I was 9 years old. Somehow through the turquoise glow that encompassed my room, I had hoped that this was just a sick nightmare that I would wake up and this will all be over.  The stream of consciousness eventually led to a deep sleep.  As I shut my eyes I asked myself, maybe I won’t wake up anymore. It wasn’t the first time I had tried to commit suicide. Ive only fallen inlove twice before, and the first time ended in a car crash and the other we became dear friends. I was thinking to myself, I had given myself fully, willingly wanting to surrender myself to this man and yet I got nothing, I was okay with nothing. That was what the definition of love was. To give everything and expect nothing in return.

I surrendered myself willingly and clung to his every word. I had studied the movement of his lips. The way his brows tense up when he got upset, the way his body fell lax when he touched mine. The way his eyes lit up when he talked of things that could happen, things that should happen. I knew in my heart that I wasn’t merely a night stand he had picked up. I knew the way he looked at me that I meant something more, but I questioned why he couldn’t tell me what I knew his eyes were saying. I questioned why I wasn’t worthy of what he was feeling.

I have showed him so much of myself. Though I feigned dominance over him at times, I know he knew that there was nothing more that made me happy more than being his submissive insouciant thing. That all he had to do was ask for it, and everything I could give him would be his. All he had to do was show me his heart.

And as the sun rose and fell, and I slept, I dreamt of all the endless possibilities of what life with him would be like. The dream ended and I woke up the next evening to the lingering memory of a dream.

(To Be Continued…)