bryan nally
'or'
I called it sex. You said we were fucking.
"The guy was being a dick. I don't recall asking to him join us." He rolled his shoulder and winced. "You come across so rude to all my friends. What would you do if I acted like that to one of your freak friends?" She took a hard drag of the thin menthol cigarette and hoisted herself up to the corner seat of the converging slate.
"I doubt you'd get the chance if you wanted to. They at least know how to conduct themselves. Jesus. It's not very often that they have the gall to come up on two people, obviously involved," he emphasized, "and talk about shit that makes no difference to anyone." He crossed his arms and stared hard at her eyes. "I didn't realize you were friends with everyone in the world." He uncrossed one arm and picked at a ragged nail with his thumb.
"You can be such an asshole."
"Asshole?"
"What the hell is it that is really wrong with you," he thrust his head forward, "I mean really wrong?" He turned and gripped the metal bar, leaning his weight on it, and stood at an angle. He could see his reflection, shiny and hazy with no definitive boundaries, on the metallic surface. It reminded him of an oil slick in a parking lot after a light rain.
"I just make's no sense to me that, earlier today, everything was fine and it continued long into the night just that way. And it seemed like we might actually make it for once. But suddenly Jimmy shows up and runs his fucking mouth about God knows what, and I think that you were actually enjoying what I had to say to that point - anyway it all goes to shit just like that." He reached out and put his hand next to her face and snapped his fingers. She quickly smacked it away.
"His name is Joe." She jumped down, pushed him out of her way, and walked to her purse on the other side of the room.
"Jason… Jimmy… Who gives a fuck, the kid. You know who I am talking about." He leaned back. "Look how upset you are just about that. A perfect example of how intolerant you have become with me."
"This is just what I am talking about. Things that don't fit inside your little bubble, things that don't have to do with you or your immediate friends, you don't care anything about it." She lit another cigarette and tossed her hair back over her shoulder with a quick jerk of the head. A thin trail of smoke extended out towards his eyes. He tried to stare through it.
"You can say that again and again," he brushed away the smoke with a sweeping of the hand, "and I can explain this to you ten thousand fucking times but you won't listen to what I am saying. Better yet you hear it but just refuse to acknowledge that there is rationale thought there. What's worse? Me not listening to some ass you could give a shit about any other time, or you, not ever listening to me unless it is what you want to hear."
"That's it just be more of a dick."
He shook his head, walked to the slightly ajar door and kicked it open causing it to bang loudly into the rail. He walked out into the cool night, unzipped his pants, and pissed onto the damp grass. Looking up at the stars, he swayed lightly on his feet, and blew as much air as he could up at the distant moon. Inside she dug through her purse and found an emery board that she used to shape the curvature of her glossy nails.
He remained on the porch and smoked a cigarette down to the butt. During and after each drag he watched intently the smoldering coal of a tip. He blew off the gray each time there was enough to blow. Finally it was gone.
She worked the curves and habitually held out her hand after every ten strokes to admire the shape. Not quite satisfied she would sand at the irregularities, blow off the dust, and admire again.
When he walked back through the door to address her, she was standing as she had been, smoking, and waiting for anything. He walked up close and laid his hand on her upper arm. He stroked it gently. Her eyes had lowered and she turned to look over the back of her shoulder. His hips softly met hers and he applied light pressure. "Listen, I'm sorry. I don't want to fight."
"Maybe I was rude - I - I just was having a such good time talking to you. I mean I felt like we were connecting, you know like really, for the first time in what seems like forever." He giggled awkwardly and slid his finger under her chin doing his best to make it feel like a touch as opposed to the persuasion it really was. She pushed his hand away.
"Jesus, baby - what?" He grabbed her other arm and leaned sideways to engage her eyes. She refused to look at him. He released her and walked to the other side of the room and looked out the window. "Now you can't talk to me at all. Look at me. Look at me." His voice grew louder with each annunciation. He watched her reflection in the glass.
"What?" She kicked her hair back and stood leaning her arms and legs both crossed.
"What?" He threw his arms up in the air. "What? What I want is to talk about this, resolve it, get to the heart of the matter. Christ."
"Why so you can just do your little bit, get all deep, and talk your way out of another quick fix with big confusing words that mean nothing." She made chomping motions with her hands and talked to them in a high-pitched voice, mocking him. "It's all in the way you look at it baby. What you perceive is what is real, it's only what you make it, ta de ta da…"
"At least I try to be understanding. Fucking do my best to give things a chance. What are you so afraid of? That I might be right, that things really are the way they seem, and become only what you let them. That there is no archetypical good life where you get everything that you want. Well there is not. Not until you allow your self to have what you have."
"Yea, that makes sense. I'll just like everything no matter what and it'll be just fine. See that's just what I'm saying, you do nothing to better this relationship. Everything is just the way it is!"
"Why are you attacking me like this?" He begged, palms extended forward, elbow bent and sagging. "It was just some dude for God's sake and now we're here?"
She forcefully snuffed out her cigarette and grabbed her purse, "I don't need this right now," and left the room. He gave her a few minutes to herself and then followed.
"Really baby, is there something else wrong here? Maybe I can help. But you've got to tell me what is wrong." He said in a gentle voice. "Please just tell me what to do here to make this better - for you." His hands extended forward as though he were passing a globe.
"There is nothing you can do right now." She pulled a long stroke down her hair.
"What the hell does that mean? I'm here asking. Surely there is something, consolation - a drink - just go away - something." He leaned on the door jam and crossed his arms.
She leaned forward and looked at herself in the mirror. "You just don't see things until it's too late. You - you - don't get it. I mean it's not all you but you can't tell when I need you to be nice to me."
"Oh but…"
"No but's. It's just the way it is there is nothing we can do about it and today you are just unlucky. I'm sick and tired of being the support for everybody. Everybody needs something. When is my turn? And it's time's like these when I need you to be there for me, and well, you're just not." She raised the brush and sank it deep into her hair.
"How could I possibly have known something was wrong? I like to assume everything is OK unless you say something. Jesus, otherwise I'd be nagging you. That's what it would come down to. Why do I feel like I can't win here?" He turned in circle, locked his hands on top of his head, and gently kicked at the door jam. "I think there is fundamental misunderstanding here, a deeply rooted lack of communication, some very - I don't know - fundamental."
"You're probably right."
"That's great. Be generic about it. Now I'll really be able to figure out what the hell is the matter here. See - fuck." He disappeared around the corner and quickly came back. "This is the way it always happens. You let something get to you, bottle it up, it explodes, and then you refuse to talk about it because it's too late or something like that. How I am ever supposed to know what happened - ever," he smacked himself loudly on the forehead, "why can't you just tell me when something starts to bother you. Maybe then we can take care of it before it becomes anything at all."
"I shouldn't have to." She put down the brush and walked not looking at him as severely as possible. He placed his hands on his hips. His chin lowered. His head shook slowly from side to side.
"Is there somebody else?" He said looking down at her.
"Please!"
"Well I have to ask. I can't figure out any other reason you be so resistant to fixing this shit. Christ, I'm standing here asking you what I need to do." He clutched his hands into his chest then threw them forward. She crossed her legs and looked the other way. Her foot kicked rapidly.
"You know what," he turned and walked away, "fuck it."
"What?" She abruptly sat up. "What did you say?" He kept walking. She stood and yelled after him, "Well fuck you too!"
He walked outside and sat down on the steps. He looked up at the stars while fishing in his pocket for cigarettes and wondered what his friends were up to at that very moment.
