CHAPTER 5!
I ended up trashing the entire thing and starting from scratch. But here it is...finally. And for some reason my picture's not posting--which sucks because the relevance was ASTOUNDING. :)
Chapter 5: Let’s Get Serious, Here
She’s smiling, and it’s the first thing I notice when I walk into the living room. My first instinct is to smile as well, and when her eyes meet mine, it only grows. I can feel it, try a bit of everything to stop it, fail miserably. Realize that it’s okay.
“Hey,” she says, laughing into a yawn.
There’s not a single room I’ve ever been in that wouldn’t have benefitted from your presence inside it. Not one.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I don’t know,” she says, letting her hands fall from her hair down to her waist and back.
But of course she does. I’ve seen that face on people. Heard that laugh. I watch her as she shifts nervously. Youthfully.
The date had been a smash. She liked her.
“You don’t know?” I ask, sounding like a tired, distracted parent. She picks up on it and laughs again.
“Well, now I’m laughing at you.”
“Story of my life, Spencer.”
“Oh, I’m so sure.”
“How was the um…how was your night out?” I ask, forcing a smile as I sit in the chair across from her and fold my arms, “oh, and please remind me to get some coffee before I leave.”
“I don’t think anyone’s ever had to remind me to get coffee, but okay.”
“Ah, I know. But we’ll start talking and I’ll forget and then I’ll get to work and realize that I haven’t been properly caffeinated and it’ll ruin my whole day.”
“You don’t have it at work? Or…”
“Yeah, well, they do. They do. But I don’t like drinking it before I have a class because…like, if I drink it at home I have time to…look, just tell me about last night.”
She sighs, shaking her head. The hair that was once in her hands falls into her face and I literally feel like I’m being haunted by every moment I ever spent staring at her from (what felt like) miles away.
“Stop shaking your head. I can tell it went well,” I say, successfully disguising approximately 75% of the frustration I feel.
It’s not that I still like her. It’s that the old Ashley still likes her. It’s not about the present. It’s about the past. Moments like these, I’m overtaken by an Ashley that still wants her, while the better one just wants her to be careful because first dates can be lies. I know because I only ever have first dates.
“No, I’m not. I just feel really…stupid. Like, I feel really stupid and immature because yeah, it went well. It went really well and I like her a lot and now I have this crush or something. How ridiculous does that sound?”
“You don’t even know her.”
“Right? I know, and yeah, exactly. I don’t know her,” she says, studying her fingers as she searches for the validation she needs, “but isn’t that what a crush is sometimes? You obsess over this person that you don’t even really know?”
“I guess so. I mean, I-”
“Why would I even ask you? Of course you don’t know. Girls have crushes on you…not the other way around.”
“Right.”
She smiles at me, but it’s different. It’s with sympathy. “Crushes feel good. They can. I had forgotten how good it can feel.”
“Sure, okay,” I say, wondering if this is it. Should I tell her that this isn’t our first time sharing walls or let it all just…
“You don’t feel like you’re missing out, huh?” she asks, leaning forward with her chin resting on her tightly-balled fist.
“Missing out?”
“Don’t you feel like you’re missing out on that part where you can’t wait to see someone again?”
“Wait a minute. Up until about six seconds ago, you were the no-nonsense, no-dating type. Now all of a sudden you feel compelled to preach to me about how grand love is?”
“No one said anything about love, Ashley. It’s just a crush.”
“A crush that feels good.”
“Right, a crush that feels good. And yeah, I admittedly was anti-dating and all that. I absolutely was. It’s just that I had forgotten how…”
“How good it feels.”
“See, I feel so dumb. Stop me if you feel like you’re going to explode from all the absurdity. I can run and get the bottle of industrial-strength carpet cleaner from under the bathroom sink.”
But she looks so young and hopeful, that I just sit with my mouth slightly ajar. I can feel the words wanting to push their way up and over my teeth and through my lips. Fill the room with their bitter warnings about what it actually feels like to want someone so badly that you can’t hardly stand living inside yourself for another a second. Your skin just tingles from wanting to fold itself inside-out and pour all of that want onto the floor until it oozes away and traps someone else, instead.
She looks so beautiful and scared that I just let out a short, gruff laugh and choose my words more carefully, “No, I think it’s good. If it makes you happy then it’s good. Are you seeing her again? Did you make plans?”
“Saturday we’re supposed to maybe get dinner again. That’s pretty soon, huh? Maybe I should have waited a few more days.”
“I thought we were…never mind.”
“Wait, what? Tell me.”
“Nothing, I just thought you and I were doing dinner on Saturday. You know, the whole celebratory thing.”
“Oh my God! Of course. What was I thinking? I’ll text her and reschedule for Sunday or something.”
“No, no. Have your follow-up date. It’s cool.”
“Ashley, you and I are going. I’m excited to go.”
“Why?” I ask, realizing how indulgent the question is even before it’s asked.
“Why are we going or why am I excited?”
“Why are you excited?”
She looks perplexed for a moment, but answers, “Because I’m anxious to figure out who you are behind all the girls and the rumors and the pretty face and the ridiculous body.”
My cheeks are on fire, a shameless blush spreading like wildfire makes me look 100% less cool than I like to think I am.
“Are you seriously blushing?” she asks, tilting her head back in a rather loud fit of laughter, “I’m not trying to stroke your ego because God knows you don’t need it. I’m just stating what you already know about yourself. I mean, isn’t that your claim to fame…your looks? Because it’s not like it could be your personality.”
“Thanks.”
“No, I don’t mean it like that. I’m just saying, it can’t be your personality because you only talk to these girls for six and a half seconds before you get them in bed, right?”
“Six and a half seconds is too long, of course. I try to limit it to like, two or three.”
“What was I thinking?” she asks, sighing dramatically.
“This is why you’re the person with the crush and I’m the person who people have crushes on. For that very important reason.”
“Because I talk too much?”
“Something like that, yes.”
“Oh well,” she says with a shrug, “maybe one day someone will look beyond it and have a crush on me. There’s a first time for everything, I’ve heard.”
I nod in response, “Yeah, maybe.”
We both hear a strange conversation taking place outside of the apartment door about fruit bats and wingspans and we listen before staring at each other and laughing.
“What?” she asks, nodding her head once in the direction of the voices.
“I have no fucking clue.”
“Don’t forget your coffee,” she says suddenly, looking up at me as I stand and stretch my arms over my head.
“Right, thanks. What about you?”
“I already had a cup.”
“No, don’t you have to get ready for work?”
“I think I’m going to use a sick day today, actually.”
“I bet you have like, forty.”
“That’s a bet you’d win, because I do. I never take them.”
“Of course not.”
“I love when you do that thing where you act like you know me,” she says, trailing me into the kitchen.
“I do. But not just you, Spencer. I know all women,” I say as I reach into the cabinet for a mug.
I can feel her eyes on me, but she’s not staring. She’s thinking. I glance back at her over my shoulder as I pour my coffee and I wait for whatever it is that’s forming in her head to be said. By the time I’m spooning sugar and stirring-the clinking of the spoon against the ceramic mug reminding me of Kat’s neighbor and her wind chimes-she finally speaks.
“If you know women so well, tell me what I’m thinking about right now.”
I laugh, softly, and look at her. Her eyes are complexly blue that every time I see into them, it’s like a brand new experience and for a moment, I forget her challenge. But when I remember, I lift my mug to my lips and enjoy the first taste of morning and adulthood. When I hear her mumble “see?” under her breath, I accept it.
“That’s easy.”
“Oh?”
“And to answer your questions, yes, she’ll call today. No, you shouldn’t turn on your laptop because if you do, you might as well be at work. No, I’m not lonely and yes, this,” I say looking down at all the parts of me not hidden by too-short boxers and a too-small tank top, “requires quite a lot of exercise, uh-huh.”
I lift my coffee at her in a one-sided toast and walk towards the bathroom, my ears perked for her response. As my hand finds the doorknob, I hear it.
“Not bad, Davies.”
I close the door behind me.
“Fuck her, get it out of your system, and then move on. It’s simple, but you’ve got to do it. Yeah, you’ve got to do it or else you’re screwed.”
“I think you’re missing my point, here…”
“Jan Matthews is doing your class today, right? Not mine?”
“Yeah, I have her in the three o’clock, I think. Woman’s a goddamn nightmare.”
“Isn’t she terrible?! It’s like, fool, if you’ve been taking these classes for two years and still can’t touch your toes, something is wrong with you. Stop wasting your money and go to see a doctor or whatever,” Kyla says, holding the door open as we walk into the first open room,” anyway, you’ve got to fuck this roommate.”
“It’s never going to happen. I just…”
“Why are you saying that? You can get it if you want it.”
“Please, don’t talk about her like that. She’s not just some girl at a bar, okay? Like, she’s a really good person.”
She stares at me with narrowed eyes for a few seconds before I grow nervous under her obvious scrutiny, “What?”
“What do you mean, ‘what?’” she asks, rolling her bright pink mat out and sitting down.
“I don’t get what the big deal is.”
“A lot of those girls you take home are probably good people too, Ashley. But I don’t hear you asking me to be all respectful and shit toward them, do I? No, just this girl. Just this roommate who apparently, you’re not even trying to sleep with. She’s a girl, right? Since when do you not sleep with girls?”
“You act like I sleep with every girl I encounter.”
“No, I know that’s not the case because you and I haven’t hooked up.”
“You’re straight, remember?” I ask, raising an eyebrow as I sit down beside her.
“Yeah, that’s really stopped you in the past.”
“Look, what I was trying to say is that she said some things to me today that made me think about all this pointless sex I have all the time.”
“Oh, so now sex is pointless? Yeah, I don’t like this girl. What’s her name again?”
“Spencer, but…”
“Yeah, I don’t like, Spencer.”
“I’m not saying that sex is pointless. I just wonder if maybe it’s time to simply try dating. Or at least, if it’s time to be open to the idea of seeing someone more than once and for more than one reason.”
“You’ll be a sad, pathetic housewife by the time the year is up. I’ll have to explain to people that you’re not dead when they ask about you. It’s going to be tragic, Ash. This is the end of your legacy. Kiss it goodbye,” she says, holding out her open palm to me, “like, if this was your legacy in this hand?”
She brings her other hand down in a loud clap, “Oh no, look! No more legacy.”
I shake my head, “This is out of control. I’m talking to Kat.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“What? Kat knows the situation. She gets it.”
“The only thing Kat gets is weirder over time.”
She’s wearing a black skirt, a black turtleneck, a black beret, and thick lines of black mascara. It makes me feel like I’m trying to have a serious conversation with a cartoon villain.
“Buy me more coffee, or else.”
“Or else what, Kat?” I ask, sighing in frustration.
“Nothing. I just want more coffee.”
“I’m trying to be serious right now, okay? I need help.”
“You’re still into her, you’re jealous of this new mystery woman, you sleep with a lot of people because you’ve never met your emotions before, and your life is pretty much a pornographic lie with even worse acting,” she says, finishing it off with a tight-lipped smile, “now, get me a fucking cappuccino-dry.”
“Thanks, Kat. Thanks for being the worse friend ever.”
“Ashley, you know I hate pretense. So what do you want me to say? She’s all you’ve ever wanted. Some people grow out of that motherfucking bullshit. You didn’t. Not like it’s your fault, exactly. But still, you don’t think the fucking universe has failed to notice that over half of the girls you fuck look like they could be her fucking cousins?”
“Why do you use so much profanity? Some of that wasn’t even necessary,” I say, sipping chai unenthusiastically from my paper cup.
“I use profanity because I don’t know how to express myself. Just like you use women because you don’t know how to express yourself.”
“Here we go…”
“So what now? You’re telling me you want to start taking women seriously because Spencer called you out in her well-intentioned way. I heard you loud and clear, my friend. I’m hearing you. I just don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Do you think it’s a good idea? How about that? How about you tell me whether or not you think it’s a good idea.”
“In theory. It’s just being done for all the wrong reasons so it’s essentially the same thing as what you were doing before this brilliant idea popped into that brilliant thought factory you call your head.”
“I don’t even know her, Kat. I didn’t know her then and I don’t know her now. I’m getting to know her and so yeah, we’ll hopefully be friends this time around.”
“Oh, little Ashley. This is just so not in your hands. Imagine a world where you don’t feel completely comfortable and you don’t get to call the shots and you’re more intimidated by someone than they are by you…oh, wait. I know,” she says, clearing her throat and frowning at a child sitting next to us in the coffee shop where she spends seven days-a-week, “that was high school. So just pretend you’re back in high school and your roommate is Spencer Car-oh wait…”
“I get it, I get it.”
“But, if I’m wrong and you honestly feel like it’s time to get off the merry-go-round and find yourself a lovely look-alike, then go for it, Zack Morris.”
“You know how I feel about that nickname.”
“But you’re so pretty and mischievous.”
“Do you want me to bring back your old nickname?” I ask, tapping my empty cup against the table.
“You swore you’d never!” she says, bringing a pale hand-complete with black nail polish-to where her heart should be.
“It’s a promise I plan to keep, unless…”
“Fine, I’ll stop.”
“Now, do you want another?” I ask, gesturing at her cup.
“Yes, please.”
“Okay then.”
I stand up and she smiles again, “Thanks, Preppy.”
“Kat!”
At 8:27 the next morning, I swear I’m still dreaming. I had fallen asleep early after coming home to an empty apartment and a note from Spencer that read: Be back soon if you get this before I am.
“Soon” meant longer than two hours because it took me that long before passing out with an open issue of “The Yogi” spread across my chest. I woke up once at 4 am and the apartment was silent. I remember stumbling to the bathroom and noticing that Spencer’s bedroom door had been closed and her purse now rested on the kitchen floor.
But now, I could hear two distinctly different voices drifting into my room through the door and I pulled on a hoodie before heading into the living room to investigate.
“Ashley!”
I hear her call my name with an apparent smile, but my eyes are on the stranger that sits beside her on what’s now my barstool. She’s tall-much taller than me-with blonde hair. Older, yes. But still very attractive with that sort of confidence that age brings. A more enlightened sort of “know it all” confidence that seems to trump these days.
It’s no longer a living room. It’s a high school class room. My very first spin class. I feel like an intruder.
“Hey,” I manage.
The stranger waves like she’s the one that belongs.
“Ashley, I want you to meet someone.”
It’s right then that I decide to ignore Kyla and Kat. It’s my life, anyway. And it’s time to get serious.