| i have a �special� friend. he is very much in love. i am very much not. he thinks it�s cute when stomachs growl. he loves the smell of cool whip. he spends his hours playing pick-up sticks with his kids. after our weekend, we drive to the train station. we exchange our looks; his of admiration, mine of disgust. he says he�ll call me when he gets back in town. i tell him to kiss his children for me and remember their �mummy.� he is silent for a moment then says, ��right�.i wish you had just given me a second more of silence.� my stomach growls. on the way back, i listen to the radio and decide to change stations. my mom bought us all a candy once. i chose a reese�s peanut butter cup. i opened this particular treat to find a tiny spider web strewn across the top of one of them. i carefully removed the piece and broke it open. inside was a dead maggot. i screamed and dropped it. i picked up the other and broke it in half. there were no insects but i took it to my mother and asked her to buy me another since the treat was clearly rancid. she said, �just eat the good one, it�s fine! there�s no bugs in it!� i change the station� he tossed and turned the night before. i lay awake smoking. i watched the shadows shift and change on the ceiling as he rolled over me. trapped in a tangle of sheets, i did not move. inside, a clock slowly counts down to the moment when he will awaken and prepare for departure. i study his fluttering eyelashes, the sharp drop of his nose, the thick lips parted as he breathes deeply. he is a boy here, an innocent child. i kiss his forehead. he wakes and sleepily, still dreaming, begins to kiss blindly. his words are spinning in my head. his touches rake across me like brittle slices of glass. i feel a rush of panic, missing him quite suddenly while he�s in my arms. i close my eyes and tighten the muscles in my neck. i change the station again. when i was younger still, my mother set a huge bowl of spaghetti in front of me. this was my favorite food besides the rare and treasured trips to mcdonald�s. as i watched my brother and sister wind noodles and sauce around their forks , i had a premonition. i heard with absolute certainty a voice not my own. this is what it said: �there�s a fly in that spaghetti. don�t eat it.� i began to cry. my mom asked me what was wrong. i told her there was a fly in my food. she picked through it and told me to stop crying, there was no bug, my food was fine. i reluctantly began to eat. three bites in, my noodles drag up the carcass of a fat, dead fly. i screamed and dropped my fork. my mom picked it out. when i refused to continue eating, she said, �the fly�s gone! it�s fine! eat it or you don�t get any dinner!!� my stomach growls. i change the channel. he says he loves me. i roll my eyes and smash out my cigarette. he says he wants to live with me. live �wild and free�. be spontaneous and young. he says he�s decided there isn�t anything he won�t do as he began kissing my ears. i push him away and tell him it�s time to catch his train. he asks me what�s wrong. i tell him 'nothing' as i tug on a robe. he hesitates and then asks what he did to make me so angry so suddenly. i slam my bedroom door and wander out into the kitchen. he follows, a towel wrapped around his waist. he demands to know why i�m angry. i push past him and light another cigarette, flopping down in a chair. i tell him nothing is wrong, get dressed. he kneels down besides me and i can see his genitals through an opening in the folds of the towel. he says very softly and without shame that he meant it. he does really love me. he's never been brave enough to say it before. i roll my eyes again. he asks me in that very polite way to take him seriously, that he wants me to understand how hard it is to be honest. he tells me that this is the first time he has admitted it and it should be a beautiful moment. i lean forward, blowing smoke out my nostrils, staring at the floor, and say, ��.every time you come here, i am filled with self-loathing. i hate you, i hate me, i hate this. i don�t want �i love yous�. nothing could be worse than promising to abandon anyone else because of me. it use to be simple and nothing�a weekend here and there without any attachments or feelings or any bullshit. but now�you just keep on. you have to have love and guilt and games. it�s not necessary. you insist on constantly reminding me that what we�re doing is wrong by trying to make it right. it�s not necessary. you come here with that look of guilt and pity because you think it�s exciting and you know better. why? why is it really so different than your wife? how am i different from anyone else? because i�m mexican? because i�m poor? because i�m young? because even with all these truths, i still don�t need you?" he says nothing. i say, �you don�t love me, you love the temporary possesion i have of you and every time you confuse the two, you remind me how truly disgusted i am with you�and with myself.� he slowly rises to his feet, suddenly towering and dominant, staring hard at me without warmth or vulnerability. his eyes are fierce, fixed and challenging. there are no tears. he says, �you�re not such a hard ass� no matter what you want me or anyone else to believe. you do need me, probably more than i need you. lord knows you need something. get dressed, i have to catch my train.� i smash my fist through the radio. i scream and hit the horn. i stop the car and get out barefoot as the rain becomes hail. ice pelts me as i began cursing and stomping in a foreign language, tearing at my clothes. i pound on the roof again and again, choking and slowly sliding to the cold concrete. as i slump against the tire, i close my eyes and listen. the hail gives way to rain again, soft and somber. i sit and wait, watching and counting, knowing it�s only a matter of time. a police man pulls over and makes his way to me. he stands cautiously eyeing my bloody fists. one hand rests on his gun, the other on his baton. i look up at him and smile. �what took you so long?� |
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