Boys and Girls in America Have Such a Sad Time Together
#1
Whatever would propel me forward, move me through the kiss, the clasp, and the shudder. I jacked the volume and smoothed on the runny face game.
These online women are either unimportant, worthy of no more treatment than guesswork; somewhat important, but still burdened by unimportant elements that makes them unworthy of thorough treatment; or so precociously important that one can do no more than nurse high hopes sobered with caution.
I can smell her Gardenia perfume, a scent I love. Personal scent is extremely compelling on a woman.
#2
He’s nervous as a turkey, and I want him slurring.
My sister is like, “you need to date.”
She’s like, “get a gym membership, pull it together.”
I’m too hung-over.
I am drinking alone at home, with the computer in my lap, and I find this message board, and this guy "BigHeadRob" starts in, "hey working girl, did u make it to the gym last night?"
He’s an archivist for the Smithsonian. He’s got a dog.
He wears ties in all of his photos. He’s got a lot of photos online. He takes a picture of his outfit every single day and puts it online. He writes a little caption describing where each item of clothing comes from, “vintage Store in Phoenix.”
Every afternoon I go to the handicapped bathroom on the 4th floor and lock the door. It is the only private place in the office, and it has a big window. Every afternoon I floss my teeth for a long time with the sun on my face. Then I go back to my desk.
#3
We have spirits and ghosts and witches and downright devils among us and they will make you suffer. But when I look into the littleness of her fond eyes, I see that no harm is meant. She actually does want to take me dancing!
We’re sweating.
My sincerity as a love maker comes from my belief in the truth-potential of any relationship.
When we wake up, she goes into the bathroom and I follow her in there and she is naked before the sink, washing her face. I squeeze her.
“I have to get a picture of you like this,” I say.
“Why do you take pictures of your outfits every day?”
“Someone has been doing a little Rob research.”
“But why?”
“It’s just a thing we do.”
She watches me in this delightful and not delighted way.
#4
I was drunk.
He was an archivist for the Smithsonian.
He knew how to make basil ice-cream.
#5
The dog and I walked her home. Her corduroy pants were covered in dog hair and lint. She had to walk home in her high heels.
“Do you want to hold the leash?” I asked.
“I don’t feel good.”
“Come on.”
She took the leash and walked the dog. The sun was shining. We passed a Salvadoran outdoor market. Things had been hard for me in Washington D.C.
We arrived at her apartment building. “Can I have your number?” I produced a pen and paper from my satchel. She wrote her number on the paper. Then I produced my camera and said, “I am going to take a picture of you.”
“No,” she said.
“You can keep your sunglasses on.”
I called after her, "Let’s get a beer sometime." Then I sat on a bench outside her building and programmed her number into my phone.
#6
Whatever.
I’m done trying to seem witty or pathetic or ingenious or naive or dull.
#7
She was the last one to say my name, unless you count the women of the Grooming lounge. They scream, “It’s Rob!” every time I come in for a haircut.
Is thirty-seven a lot?
I’d say I’ve done a lot of work on thirty-seven women in my life, but no more work than was necessary to establish myself. The meaning of relationship is always different for any two people.
Posted 09/05/09
From the 2009 Mississippi Review summer fiction issue