A month ago I was driving with two of my friends at like six-thirty in the morning. We came to a four-way stop, right about the same time as a blue truck. The truck stopped briefly, then went through the intersection first.
"FUCK YOU, MAN!" I shouted. "Just FUCK you! FUUUUUCK YOU. MAN." My friend Tom leaned back in his seat and sucked in his breath. It was a little early to be shouting curse words. "Jane, I don't think he didn't anything wrong," he said. "HE DID EVERYTHING WRONG!" I yelled again. "All of the things that could be done wrong, he did them!" "Are you sure?" asked Tom. "I think he was there first." I began to laugh. Our other friend, Lynn, leaned forward from the backseat. "Was that R?" she asked. It was. R. If you're looking for a timeline, dear readers, R came before J. I might even say that R caused J. #rebound. R, then J, then a brief resurgence of R in which he ruined any hope of even friendship between us forever. That was December 15. I've only seen him twice since then: the intersection incident, and today. Can I admit something super pathetic? I go for a lot of walks around my neighborhood. That's how I do "exercise." For the three years I've lived here I've had the same circuit, which takes me right past R's house. It would be easy enough to avoid, but I still walk it. Not because I love those particular streets, but because I secretly (not-so-secretly?) hope that I'll see R. Today I did. And I panicked a little. He was digging into his stupid blue truck, probably getting ready to go fishing or something stupid like that. I genuinely don't think he saw me. My stomach dropped a little, and I kept walking, faster, until I was over a hill and out of sight. I stopped and looked behind me toward his house. I wanted to walk back, walk right up to him and....what? Tell him I think he's an asshole? I already did that, in person on December 15th and in a series of scathing text messages sent December 16th. Texts that I now regret deleting, because they represent some of my most specific and well-written prose.There's nothing left to say. So why am I still thinking about it? Why, when a perfectly nice man (let's call him Kevin) is telling me how excited he is to see me next week, am I thinking about R? I want, no I need, to move past this. How?
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
JaneHi, I'm Jane. I go on dates. Archives
December 2018
Categories |