The Dictionary of Failed Relationships

by Meredith Broussard

  So Sarah? This sort of bitchy waitress? She said she thought he looked like that movie star dog Benji. And then Michael, this bus-boy who’s always totally greedy for any kind of gossip, was all, “Who’s Benji?” but he was trying to make it sound like it was just a simple question? Like he didn’t really care? But really he probably thought it was some cute guy who’d been in the restaurant? Or someone we all knew and so he should know, too?

  So I told him, “Benji’s a dog.” It’s so cool when I can say things, totally knowing what I’m saying. I mean, I know what I’m saying, but, like, when someone says, “He looks like so and so,” or something like that, and I know right away what they’re talking about and can, like, get it right away. It’s so cool.

  Then Michael asked me, “Whose dog, Bernice?” He thought there, like, might be some gossip on the dog?

  I told him, “You know, that dog in the movies? Benji?”

  “Oh, that Benji,” said Michael, all disappointed-like and bummed.

  “You mean like Lassie?” asked Tammy. Tammy was over at the staff table, marrying the ketchups. She goes off talking to herself a lot, practically, Tammy. She does it a lot. “There was that Lassie movie,” she was saying, going on, “with the guy who was looking for the Heart of the Ocean in Titanic. He played the dad. That is, I think he played the dad. Does anyone know what I’m talking about?” Tammy says that a lot—does anyone know what I’m talking about?—then rolls her eyes up at the ceiling, then laughs. “It’s just Titanic, you know, you guys,” Tammy said. “Not The Titanic. ” Tammy moved from Ohio with her husband? To try to be a dancer? She’s, like, my age! And totally married! Her husband’s really hot, too! Why would a guy that hot get married so young? It’s weird, but I guess kind of cool!

  So, Sarah came back from the guy with the little dog’s table and told us all that the dog’s name was Boob. We were all, like, “Excuse me? Boob?”

  Denise, my manager, said that wasn’t a very nice name, like it was a mean name? Denise was all busy erasing and fixing up the reservations book. All it is is, like, these pages in a binder with big black circles in different sizes that we write the parties’ names on and then the different times. Denise was whispering so that the dog’s owner couldn’t hear her. She was whispering, what does he say to it? Sit, Boob? Fetch, Boob? Here, Boobie, Boobie!

  Sarah told us that the guy—his name’s Gene?—that when Gene got the dog? It was already named. But Denise said you could still change a dog’s name. Right? As long as it rhymes? And Michael said, yeah, you could call him Tube! Or . . . Lube! Or Doob! And Denise was saying, like, sure, Michael, those are a lot better. I said, what about Scoob and was, like, so proud of my suggestion.

  But anyway—ohmigod! I’m, like, talking about dogs! So me and Tad. We were just sitting there on the bench? Me, like, freezing my little butt off, and then Tad was, like, yo, wait a minute, what’s going on? I looked, okay, and there was this guy down at the edge of the river, like, getting ready to walk on it or something? He was, like, bent over? He was wearing one of those furry Russian hats and a black coat that came down to his knees. He looked, like, dark and creepy, sort of, against all the white snow everywhere, like in some movie? I love movies! But he was right on the edge of the river, on the ice. So he was, like, bent over there, and we were all, “What is he doing?” We couldn’t tell if he was, like, hurt? Or thinking? He was sort of far away, so we couldn’t tell? Tad was all freaked about it, like the guy was about to walk out onto the ice and the ice wasn’t strong enough, and I was telling him that the guy wouldn’t do that, just walk out on it. But Tad started calling to him, Hello! Hello! And then the guy— I don’t think he heard Tad yelling or anything, but it didn’t matter, right? Because then? Then, the guy started walking out. He did. He started walking out onto the totally thin ice. We were like, “What?”

  Then Tad, like, turned and looked at me with this look on his face, like it was my fault or something that this guy was going out there. Maybe he was just surprised? But always, these guys, these jerks look at me like that? I mean, I was still getting used to not having to look all over the place all the time for this guy Jed who I thought seemed really nice at first—he was cute! He was this cute little guy, but he ended up being a total freak and had a lot of things wrong with him. I mean, he was really needy and said he never liked a girl before? Ohmigod! Like, never? He ended up following me around to my decorating classes and everything? He always looked, like, so tired, and I felt really bad for him, you know? So I helped him sort of, I guess? Just by being nice? And then he, like, broke in through the fire escape and stole my CD player! I had to change the locks, and it was, like, so stupid! Like, a big waste of my time. I mean, me and Tad we had dramas, too, but you know, I keep things relative. He never, like, stalked. At least not yet anyway! Ha ha!

  But, yeah, we had our, like, drama, me and Tad. It’s gloomy I guess. Sometimes he’d scare me. Sometimes I’d feel like throwing up practically or sometimes I’d just be, I don’t know . . . scared? I, like, wouldn’t know what to say? He had a bad temper. Ohmigod, he could go, like, totally mental! Sarah at work says, “Bad temper? Read my lips: how about asshole,” and she says asshole really long and loud. Even though Sarah’s sort of a bitch? Still, she’s pretty funny. She says all the guys that like me are total jerks. That I’m, like, a magnet for them? I don’t get mad, because she’s usually right! It’s like they’re losers and, I don’t know, I feel sorry for them? Or just I’m a loser, too? I don’t know what my problem is! What’s my problem? But Sarah, like, named it after me! When she somehow has to deal with a real jerk? Like if she goes on a date and it turns out badly, she’ll say, “I got completely Berniced.” Or, “It turned into a total Bernice job.” Even, like, when someone in the restaurant ends up with an asshole table somehow? Like a really jerky table or a table that barely leaves a tip? They’ll say, “I’m completely being Berniced.” Or, “That was a classic Bernice situation.” I mean, I laugh, too. They all don’t mean it, like, mean?

  But right. The Tad drama. It was nothing that’s, like, really bad. I mean, I know about the really bad stuff that goes on out in the world? I mean, I guess I do? I, like, read the paper. Believe it or not! The other day I read about this young guy? Like, practically a boy still? He was stripped by some group, and then they, like, cut off his ears and shot him in the knees. He had, like, cigarette burns all over him! Then just yesterday, I read about this woman who was, like, partly retarded? And this ex-con became her friend so he could collect her government money? They found her in a bathtub with jumper cables on her nipples! I could kill that guy! And, oh! This one’s so totally sad! I read about this old man? Like, a minister? From the Caribbean? He came up to retire to, like, Boston or somewhere to be near his daughter? He came all the way from the Caribbean, right? Then the local police came busting into his apartment! They came just busting in on a drug raid or something? And scared him so badly he had a heart attack! But they had the wrong apartment! They, like, read the floor plans wrong!

  I remember once looking at a book? It was, like, a big picture book that my brother had at his girlfriend’s? Why am I thinking of this? But it was weird. There was a picture? Of these people on the beach? Somewhere like Italy or someplace? The photo showed this really hot guy. He was, like, lying in the little waves on the beach? Lying there, like, practically drowned? There were lifeguard people all around him, trying to help him, like, all over the place. Then, like, right in the middle? Right in the middle of the picture with all this stuff going on? There’s this girl. She’s, like, crouched over, too, like the lifeguards? She’s the guy’s girlfriend, probably, or wife, or fiancée or something. She’s really pretty, but anyway, she’s, like, right there in the middle of everything? Like, looking right at the camera? She’s looking, like, right at the camera and, like, smiling! Her husband’s, like, dying and she’s smiling! And underneath the picture? The caption thingy? It said, Why is this woman smiling? It is the effect of cameras and media on our
culture today. Or something like that. Weird, right? I read about weird, bad stuff all the time. But you, like, hear about stuff, and you can only sort of take in a certain amount, right? Like, where do you begin to, like, really figure out what’s wrong? It’s, like, so totally crazy, everything that goes on.

  So, anyway, back to the river with Tad and the freezing cold. So Tad was basically just wondering what the guy in the long jacket was doing? He was only a little ways out? On the ice kind of? But it didn’t look like he was stopping? So Tad said we should go down there, and then he ran down through the trees. When we got down there? The guy was off to our left? Walking away from us? Totally walking out! And the middle of the river was totally water! There was no ice! And he wasn’t really that far from it! I turned around and looked up to where we came from? To see if there were any people up there watching? But the park was all empty. Then Tad, like, pulled at my arm saying, “We’ve got to get closer to him, he needs help,” or something like that. It was really weird, because all of this was happening, right? And for me, it was like . . . like I didn’t really care? I mean, this guy was walking out onto some ice that he’d totally crash through, and I, like, didn’t care. It kind of felt like a drag? Instead of an emergency?

  So Tad went running along the bank and I ran after him—I, like, killed my knee! It did this thing, it went, pop! So I kind of stumbled along. Tad was calling to the guy still? Trying to talk to him or at least get his attention? He wasn’t answering or anything, so I called, like, “Hello?” As loud as I could but sort of sarcastic like? And Tad was really mad and sort of pinched me and he said, “This isn’t funny, Bernice!” Or, “This is serious, Bernice!” Or something. Then he told me to run back up to the street to go get help, and I was like, “Excuse me? I don’t want to go all the way back up there! Plus, my knee!” And then Tad was like, “What is wrong with you?” and I said, “What is wrong with you?” and he told me I was acting idiotic? That we really needed to try to help the guy? I told him not to call me an idiot, and then he started to get really upset, telling me I was missing the point, and he started running away to get help. Then, like, right as he ran away along the bank we heard this, like, dull crack, like, muffled. From the river? It was the ice? And we both yelled, No! Then before I really realized what was going on, Tad was running up the hill, yelling about getting help. So then I just stood there for a second? My knee kind of hurt? I looked out over the ice again. It was totally empty. The water out in the middle was sort of twinkly in the sun. It looked like no one was ever there.

  When I finally got up to the street? I looked to my right and the promenade was completely empty? I looked to my left, and I could see Tad in the distance, talking to a cop. Tad was waving his arms all over the place. The cop had his hand raised up in the air? Like he was saying, settle down? When I got to where they were? Tad was telling the cop, “Like, you’ve got to call someone, you’ve got to get down there!”

  The cop was going, “Easy, slow down,” to Tad, then he turned and asked me if I saw anything. And I said something like, “Excuse me, sir?” And Tad was all mad saying, “What is with you, Bernice?” Talking really fast and saying, “We’ve got to go down there now,” to the cop, saying, “You think I’m lying? Someone’s drowning!” And then the cop, like, very slowly started to get out his radio, and he radioed someone else, going, “Yeah . . . yeah . . .” really slowly, like he had all the time in the world? And then Tad started saying, “What’s wrong with you people?” Really loudly, and it really bugged me, because to me it was like he was showing off how worried he was or something. Like he was being melodramatic for attention? But still, I knew something serious had happened? But I, like, didn’t feel it? It was like I was lifted away? Like I was gone or, like, not really there practically? I never used to feel that way. Like stare off with nothing to think about?

  So the cop was radioing and Tad was all upset. Tad was looking at me, so I said to him, “What?” For something to say I guess. Then he looked really weird, so I said it again. “What?” And he said something like, there’s nothing that, or, there’s no, or, well, I can’t remember what he said, but he said something, and then he just turned away. And started to walk away! Then he, like, sped up! So I called, “Wait!” Or, “Don’t worry!” Or something. But his head just kept on going, like, bouncy down the path toward the underpass. And that was that!

  I don’t even know what happened to the guy who fell in. But I can guess? He probably killed himself? Right? And as for Tad, good riddance! I mean, it was good riddance from the start? That was obvious? I mean it was like I was waiting for him to somehow make it all end the whole time? But did I do something wrong? What am I doing wrong? I mean, not just with stupid guys or, like, helping drowning people, but, like, with everything? With, like, me? I mean, I know I was wrong to not care about the poor guy on the ice. Would it be better to fake it?

  The thing is, I’m, like, tired every day. I know it’s important to stay cheery. Yay! But it’s, like, I feel like I don’t do anything? Like I don’t do anything that’s, like, good or special somehow? It’s so bizarre, like, I forget what I’m supposed to do? What I do usually? Like, what have I been doing all along? I don’t know how to, like, stay still? But it’s also, like, I don’t know how to, you know . . . move. It’s like I know where I am, but it’s crazy, because a lot of the time I feel like I totally don’t? Like I’m here, but I’m not here? That sounds so stupid, right? So totally dumb? But it’s like I think all the time lately that other people would do it so much better. Other people would know how to be me way better. They’d live my life really well.

  Back at home? I can’t sit still. My roommate, Julia, went to the Adirondacks. I walk from the kitchen past the front door? Then through the living room into the bedroom? Then I turn around and walk back through to the kitchen again. I try to stand still to look out the window. The guys in the parking lot on the corner never stop parking and reparking cars. In the apartment? I keep on, like, smelling gas? But every time I go to the stove to make sure it’s not on? It’s not? And then I’m, like, afraid to open the oven and stick my head in to check, because it’s like it might turn out to be the actual second it explodes. I, like, walk around clop-clop-clop, waiting for something to happen. What am I doing? What am I waiting for? It’s not like I want something to happen? It’s not like I even know? I don’t know! And all these jerky guys like Tad. What a jerk! He hit me! Hard! I don’t care about them! I don’t know really what I care about? I don’t care about having a boyfriend or anything? It’s not marriage I care about? Or being alone? It’s love, I guess? Just, like, feeling it? Like not just for some guy, but for anything. Sometimes I feel like I can pretend I know how it feels? But it’s like I’m not sure, like I haven’t felt it, like, since I was little? Or, like, I don’t remember?

  Ohmigod! What am I saying? This is like, what? I’m such a freak! Am I? Why am I telling you this, like, blabbing my head off? Right? Ohmigod! But I think about it! I try to think about stuff! I try to think about me as a person, like, making my little tiptoey way through the world? And how I’m doing? And I end up thinking about love and what it would be like. To have it. And what I’m doing wrong to not feel it? I think about the feeling of it? I think about having love in a little bubble, like a glass one. Like hope, if it was a thing? Like air?

  CALL-HELL

  By Amy Sohn

  call·hell ’kl-hel noun [insp. by Dorothy Parker]: the state of severe anxiety following a date or sexual interlude, when the woman wonders desperately if the man will call, and the man does nothing to eliminate this severe anxiety. Symptoms of call-hell include: obsessive checking of telephone messages; calling oneself to make sure that voice mail/machine/phone service is functional; refusal to take out trash or do laundry lest one miss the all-important phone call; telling friends that the line can’t be tied up; disappointment/frustration at perfectly ordinary phone calls, simply because the ordinary people are not The Man. See also: DELAYED GRATIFICATION, AWKWARD
PARTINGS, AFTERMATH OF A DATE. Also: consult Appendix A, Eternal Questions. Specifically: Question 547: “Does he like me?” and Question 548: “Does he like me, or does he like like me?”

  Every Valentine’s Day, Rose Brody went to a party at a bar in the East Village, and every year she left more despondent than when she had entered. The party was held at a huge hot spot with high ceilings and was hosted by three entrepreneurial promoters who gave each guest one hundred dollars’ worth of funny money upon entry. Over the course of the evening, as the revelers drank more and more Stoli tonics and found negligibly attractive strangers more and more appealing, they would begin to take out the fake cash and dare each other to do illicit things: “I’ll give you five bucks to French-kiss me for five Mississippi seconds,” or “I’ll give you a hundred to leave with me now.”

  If the daree were interested, she would accept the dare and the money; if not, she would give the darer the same amount of money instead—and he would walk away with his tail between his legs. If a darer felt timid, she could have a friend make the entreaty for her, and then act as though she herself had no idea why she was being asked to lick the chest of a Greek god–like stranger. Whoever had the most money at the end of the night won dinner for two at an expensive restaurant, which Rose thought was a silly prize, given that anyone attending a Valentine’s party to begin with probably felt uneasy at the notion of dinner for two.