Chapter Thirty-Three

-Push Me Pull You -

She hurt me and I hurt her back. That should have been the end of it.

Should have.

Could have.

Wasn’t.

We were apart, yet spent eight hours a day, five days a week in the same building. I couldn’t even use my job to distract me. There was no separation to help get over the loss. Though we worked on different floors and for different departments, it was a relatively small place and you bumped into everyone pretty much every day. Chance encounters were inevitable.

Whoa -- sodium pentothal kicking in. Must... tell... truth...

My feeble attempts at opening a dialogue earned me little more than annoyed glares. On the days she deigned to speak to me, comments ranged all the way from curt and distant to mean and direct. But nothing dissuaded me. But I always came bounding back for more injury from her bitter eyes and cutting tongue.

Stupid in love and for the life of me unable to let go.

And one night, as my apartment walls closed in on me, I was thinking that very thought when the phone rang.

“Hello.” All I heard was a few seconds of static.

“Hel-lo?” I tried again, but there was just more dead air. Whoever it was on the other end let me dangle and hung up without saying a word. Great. I couldn’t even hold the attention of an obscene phone caller. It rang again almost immediately after I hung up.

“Now what?”

“Hey, it’s me.” 4’s voice sounded normal, disturbingly comforting.

“Did you just call a second ago?”

“No.”

“Hmm.” I didn’t buy it but I moved on. “What’s up?”

“Not much. How are you?”

“What do you mean?” Keep on your guard. This could be a trap.

“I don’t mean anything. Can we talk?”

“I guess. What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know. I just...” She left enough space that I could tell by the sound of nothing that she really hadn’t been my obscene caller. The ambience of her line had its own signature. I studied each burst of hiss, every tiny crackle, as if these ephemeral noises could be read like tealeaves. They might have telegraphed a code I could use to translate what she was saying into what she really meant. But the message was undecipherable, a series of random letters and partial syllables. My attention span petered out, and I fell back on the old reliable direct approach that had served me so well.

“You could start by telling me what’s been going on.”

“It’s all pretty confusing.”

“Seems pretty clear on my end. You dumped me.”

“I didn’t d-”

I could feel her shutting down. Maybe I could tone down the confrontational attitude a skosh. Wouldn’t my shrink be proud. Again, it was up to me to put my feelings aside if I wanted to get anywhere. As much as I wanted to rip into her for what she’d done to me (to us), I wanted to move forward more. The sound of her voice was still healing and the longer I could keep her engaged, the better I felt.

Pride really doesn’t taste that bad once you get used to a mouth full of bitter. Especially if you get what you want once you swallow. I suppose that’s how women rationalize sucking a dick. At least they have the option of spitting.

“How have you been?” I made my voice sound as sincere as I could, banking that she was too inside her own head to tell otherwise.

“Kind of all over the place.”

“I know what you mean.” I knew exactly what she meant. I’d been bouncing off the walls non-stop. Discovering she was confused made me feel better.

“Do you think we could...?” Her voice trailed off. The reception on the line revealed no clearer a message than before; still just garbled code.

“Could what?”

“Maybe do this in person? Could we get together one night and really talk?”

“I’d like that.”

“You would?” Why she sounded surprised at my reaction was beyond me. “Are you free tomorrow?” I was free forever, except...

“I have tickets for Elvis Costello tomorrow.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed and hadn’t caught my drift.

“I got them a few weeks ago. It was going to be a surprise.”

“Oh.” The guilt in her recognition of the ruined plans made me feel better still.

“Why don’t we go together and talk after?”

That lifted her spirits. That she agreed lifted mine. At work the next day everything was normal to the point of unreal. She confounded TSA by joking around when she arrived at my office at six. My chest reacted by opening up and allowing oxygen in and out. All this aside, the ride to the concert was slightly tense, our conversation minimal.

•••

Accidents will happen. They’re only hit and run.

Elvis’s lyrics shot like lead cannonballs through my heart as we stood in the pit directly in front of the stage. The warmth of her body close behind sent a gust of confused feelings whipping around my heart and head. I wanted to believe what I felt was real, but I didn’t trust anything anymore. A few more cannonballs, my back went suddenly cool. She had stepped back a little. Maybe things were too chaotic in the pit for her, so I stepped back to be closer to her. Again, she backed away. This dance repeated itself several times till she was almost in the aisle.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Her voice was dead.

“I’m sorry. I got the impression you wanted to be with me tonight.” She gave no response. I cut my losses up the stairs of the concert hall and out the front door.

To murder my love is a crime. But will you still love a man out of time?

“Wait! Where are you going?” She finally caught up to me in the parking lot. I stopped, gathered as much composure as I could in one breath, and spun around to face her.

“Home.”

“What?”

“You obviously don’t want to do this.”

“Yes I do.”

“Then why did you keep backing away from me in there?”

“I was just a little uncomfortable.”

“It seemed like you were a lot uncomfortable being near me.”

“No. Maybe. I didn’t know what it was going to be like and I really wanted to talk.”

“So talk.”

•••

There was plenty of conversation on the way home. A hundred ways, I asked her what the fuck was going on with her and with us. A hundred ways, she deflected the question. Asking her simply what she was feeling produced somewhat better results. Her answers were open, tender and confused as hell. She detailed the uncertainty and emotional ups and downs she’d been going through; Was the anger and frustration real, was she risking something worthwhile? It was a giant step forward, but nothing conclusive. I needed solid ground.

“So where is this all heading?” I asked once she’d pulled into my parking spot and killed the engine. God, I sounded like a chick. “I mean -- do you want to get back together?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do or you don’t. Which is it?”

She bristled at my ultimatum. Her hand twitched at the key dangling in the ignition, a quick getaway. Remembering something my shrink told me, I made an abrupt turn.

“Did I hurt your feelings when we got back from Mexico?”

That took her around a corner she wasn’t expecting. The entire language of her body relaxed and her defenses melted, as if we were suddenly and finally having the same conversation. I’d broken the code.

“Yes. You did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you want me to stay?” She really thought I hadn’t.

“I can’t begin to tell you how much I wanted you to stay.”

“All you had to do was ask.”

I just shook my head, not believing it would have really been that simple. All I had to lose now was my faith in the improbable.

“Will you stay tonight?”

•••

“I hate to admit it, but you were right.”

“Right about what?”

“Well, I was trying -- again -- to get her to tell me what happened, but it was getting me nowhere, so I did what you said.”

“And?”

“It sort of, well... worked. Oh, don’t look so smug. Shrinks are supposed to be objective.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“I was pressing her for an answer and I could see the time bomb inside her about to go off. Then I asked her if I hurt her feelings in Mexico, like you suggested, and she admitted that I had. It was amazing, completely defused her. Her whole demeanor changed.”

“Then what?”

“I asked her to come in and it was as if the past three weeks never happened. And then, after we -- you know...”

“Made love?” She smiled at me.

“You know, it’s really not so easy saying these things to a nun. Even if you don’t wear the getup while I’m here.”

“Trust me, I’ve heard it all.”

“Anyway, afterward, we sat up in bed talking forever -- I mean really talking. I told her about all the shit, pardon my French, I’ve been going through -- you know, especially with the parents. And I really dove into the darker side of the divorce and how she helped lift me out of it.”

“And how did she take that?”

“Great. She opened up to me more than she ever had before. It was like we reached a plateau above all our little defensive walls and there was a completely unfettered dialogue between us.”

“So you’re back together.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You’re not sure?”

“It’s not like we made an official statement or anything.”

“But you’re sure she feels the same way.”

“Everything was fine this morning. She went to work and I came here. I’ll find out for sure the next time I see her, I suppose.”

I found out, all right. The instant I arrived at the office, I went up to her cubicle and found a block of ice.

•••

“I need a blonde barometer. We can hang it right here behind my desk so I can check her moods before I make an ass out of myself.”

“Last night didn’t go so well, huh?” TSA was Johnny-On-The-Spot, almost.

“No, last night was great. But I just went up to see her and she did a complete flip on me.”

“What happened?”

“Hell if I know. Do you think I should ask some of the other girls up there if they know what’s going on?”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You’re right. I’ve got to keep it professional around here.”

And that’s exactly what I did. No matter how poorly she treated me, I kept my cool. It seemed like a really smart choice, except that the cooler I stayed, the bitchier she got. I called her a few times after work to try to iron out a working relationship, but she got even more pissed off. She ended one particularly bad conversation screaming at me to stop bothering her. That gave me a really nervous feeling. I shuttered at the thought of what I knew I had to do. The Skin itched like crazy while I formulated the words in my head.

•••

“Come in.” Human Resources Witch offered me a chair.

“May I?” I closed her office door before she could answer.

“What can I do for you?”

I took a long, deep breath.

“I’ve been having a, uh, personal relationship with someone in the office.”

She couldn’t conceal her delight at the gift I’d just bestowed her. Her thin, cracked lips curled into something I’m sure she intended as knowing, but it was really more a look of salacious delight as I relayed the sordid generalities of the rise and fall of my relationship with 4.

“Listen, I don’t want to make a formal complaint or anything, but I’m concerned that she might accuse me of harassment, and I want you to know in advance that it’s just not happening that way. I do not, under any circumstances, discuss our personal relationship with her at the office.”

“I’m glad you came to me.” Oh, she really didn’t need to point that out. The puddle of drool on her desk made that crystal clear. God, how I hated bringing her into this mess, but I was trapped.

Please don’t let this backfire on me.

•••

I went to a club in the valley to see a country punk band that played every Wednesday. I needed something, anything to take her off my mind. My second Budweiser was half gone when God the unmerciful, God the unrelenting, and God the unforgiving punched me in the gut. Of all the places in the world, in she walked.

Increase the dosage... Ah -- there we go, back to the truth.

Desperation’s a sad, sad thing. She once told me in passing that she knew the guitar player in the band. That innocuous tidbit paid off handsomely on this third Wednesday in a row that I stalked the club, hoping she’d be there. I hid behind the guy next to me and peeked with one eye as she entered alone. I swore she looked right at me, but if she’d seen me, she didn’t acknowledge my existence. She took a seat by herself, but that wouldn’t last: Some North Hollywood Cowboy who couldn’t take no for an answer dragged her onto the dance floor.

Man, she wasn’t lying when she said she couldn’t dance. She was utterly without grace or rhythm. I’d never seen her look so uncomfortable or self-conscious. She was really suffering. Sadly, that made me feel joy for the first time in I didn’t know how long. She wrangled away from the Cowboy and plopped back into her chair. The Cowboy shuffled up next to her and whispered something in her ear. She made a beeline for the bar, right in my direction. I spun around on my barstool. She actually brushed against me when she squeezed in to get a beer. My heart sank when she asked the bartender for a pen.

“Nice moves out there,” I said. She tried to look surprised to see me, but more surprising was that she didn’t seem angry that I was there. She even laughed at her lack of dance talent and stayed to chat. I obliged her for a few minutes, but I couldn’t take it for long.

“Look, I can’t make small talk with you like this.”

“Why not?”

“First you slide into the bar right next to me-” She cut me off.

“I didn’t know you were here.”

“Right.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“Then you make a point of making sure I see you’re giving that guy your number.” She held up the napkin for me to see it was a totally bogus number she’d written down. I felt petty and stupid. We left the crowded bar and found a quiet spot in back.

“So why is it can’t you make small talk with me?” She asked. “Why can’t we be friendly?”

“You know why. Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?” She wasn’t kidding -- she didn’t know. I was still new to taking chances, but the time was right. I reached down into my gut and pushed the Balls out where they belonged.

“I still love you.”

That knocked the wind out of her. She went silent and looked away. Then something completely out of our control happened, something she couldn’t stop and couldn’t stop me from seeing: A charcoal thread, spilt from a pool of diluted mascara quick-dried halfway down her cheek like candle wax. I didn’t give it more than a half a second of my attention before returning to her eyes. The sadness between us was brutal.

“Sorry,” was all I said. She put her arms around me and kissed my face tenderly.

“That was a low blow,” she whispered.

Now what? What the fuck was I supposed to make out of all this? Her behavior had been so erratic, anything I did could end in disaster.

I found out the hard way that you really do need algebra in life, as my math skills failed me. If I asked her to leave with me, the chances were fifty-fifty she would have said yes. But when I averaged all the times that these moments had previously blown up in my face, my chances didn’t look so good. However, I neglected to multiply by the sum of the two things in my favor: x, she was holding onto me, crying, which left her vulnerable and y, she was crying in response to something I said that was a direct result of me dusting off my balls. I finally didn’t appear weak to her. She was attracted to strength.

“I think I’m going to go now.” I hated myself before the sentence was complete. Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, fucking, fucking pussy! Her perfume lingered on me into the next morning.

•••

NEXT DAY: She blew a fuse on me at the office.

“I can’t be responsible for your sanity.”

“Hey -- I don’t hold the patent on crazy. You’re so scattered, I never know from minute to minute if you’re going to kiss me or rip my head off.”

“You ran away.”

“What -- you’re hurt because I wouldn’t be your lap dog last night?”

“I want fun in my life. I don’t have time for this.”

“Got to hurry out and find your next boyfriend for life?”

“Fuck you.”

“So if I run into you ten years from now, you’ll be on what, number fifty past me? That sounds about right, one every three months.” Simple math I could do on the spot.

“At least I know to get out when it’s not right.”

“How could you possibly know when it’s right? You don’t stick around long enough to find out.”

“I know.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I know it’s not you. And I know you’re mad because you know that you’re not the one.”

She was right. I was mad because I wasn’t The One. I was really mad because I wasn’t The One for her, but she was The One for me and I wasn’t going to get my way. I was also mad because now 3a was getting even more revenge on me for breaking her heart, without even trying. 4 stepped in and kicked my ass on her behalf.

So what was I supposed to take away from all this? What life lesson was I supposed to learn? In the butterfly-shaking-off-a-water-drop-resulting-in-a-hurricane world, if she hadn’t dumped me the day before my parents’ visit, I might not have been receptive to my dad’s behavior. Had I not seen my dad’s negative way and then recognized it in myself, I would probably never have felt the need to change. She might have left me eventually anyway, but I wouldn’t have the tools to find the correlation between my behavior and the failure of my relationships. I could have gone on destroying relationships for the rest of my life and never known why I died alone. One could argue that 4 dumping me was, in the long run, the best thing that ever happened to me because of the positive effect the whole ordeal would ultimately have on me.

But what did it matter if I didn’t get the girl?

Depression descended on me like a massive theater curtain closing on act two, separating me from all the beautiful magic going on behind the proscenium.

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