by J. R. Rogue
She nods, her eyes encouraging me to go on.
"We bite down on our tongue, shift our eyes. Hide the shame we feel when someone old enough to be our grandfather lets it slide that we look good in our jeans. That they never made them like us in his days. I rarely dated guys my age, and it was even rarer for me to date someone older. If anything, it was someone a couple years senior. Barely countable. I liked young men. They were nonthreatening. They felt safe. Or as close to it as I was going to find."
6
Catch Their Secrets
I hate my job. I know that is not an original statement, but I do. I hate serving others. Helping others. Because those others are normally ungrateful, and unappreciative. What is it about old people that makes them so hateful? What is it about old men that makes them creepy? Why do they have to stare? Call me darling, sweetie, hun? They hide behind the lie that it’s just because they are old-fashioned, but I think a lot of them get off on calling young girls by nicknames like that. Pet names. I’ll never win employee of the month. Not with the scowl I can’t keep off my face. It's becoming a permanent feature. I like that I can’t hide my emotions, sometimes. Mostly it hurts me. Just like that place hurts me. I can’t believe I’ve been there for seven years. My first real job out of high school and I’m still there. Everyone else is moving on, climbing the ladder, and I’m just standing still. A god damn loser. Will I ever get out?
“GWEN TO THE FRONT COUNTER FOR CUSTOMER ASSISTANCE!”
I dropped the ceramic duck I had been pricing and cursed behind my counter. Was it necessary to page that loud? I pushed the broken novelty item into a pile and rushed from my counter. “I’ll pick that up when I get back,” I called over my shoulder to my coworker who hadn’t been paged. Lucky ass.
I loved working in the back of the store. Away from customers. Away from people in general. It was rare for me to find humans I liked. And very rare to find any I liked at work.
Working retail meant being a slave. Excuse me, ma’am? Can you help me? Hey doll, little help here?
I hated it. Their voices grated on me. The needy. The disrespectful. But my job offered forty hours a week guaranteed. No layoffs. Overtime as I needed it. No hours past 8 p.m. It wasn’t amazing but it wasn’t complete shit.
I had taken the position right out of high school. I was always trying to leave. But when I finally found a good job to take me away, I turned it down for my new boyfriend, Avery, to stay close to his job. I was drunk on his love. An idiot.
Now, years later, here I was still holding this shitty job I had almost escaped. With no Avery. With no house in the suburbs. With none of the dreams I was promised.
I made it to the front counter and eyed the line of customers waiting to be checked out. I forced a smile and yelled, “I can take someone on this register!”
I glanced at my watch before I rang the first item up. Half an hour to go. A half hour until I could race home and get ready to drink with my friends.
Wednesday nights were the cure. The cure for the disease inside of me. 6 p.m. would roll around and I would race home. I would fix my hair, I would change into fewer clothes. I would paint my face.
Some days Danielle would pick me up. Most days Blane would. I lived on the way to Paul's, our spot.
Wednesday was wing night. Just me and the guys. Sometimes Danielle. Sometimes Lesley, my coworker, and former best friend.
Things were up in the air between us. She was the one who had introduced me to Avery. Her boyfriend was his best friend. Now, she was friends with Wendy, Avery’s new fiancée, the woman he left me for. And it stung. Where was the loyalty?
I always prided myself on reading people. Unless I had a couple of drinks in my system, you wouldn’t catch me talking a lot. Talking means you aren’t listening. Talking means revealing and I like to let others do that. I like to catch their secrets in my palm.
I had been listening to Lesley a lot since the breakup. We were a lot alike. She didn’t talk much either, but when she did, it was often to people who had no issues betraying her to me.
My best friend thought I should find new friends when Avery dumped me. She thought I should fade away. But I didn’t. And I wouldn’t.
I liked games and I liked to win. On the outside, it appeared I was losing the breakup game to Avery. And yeah, I really was. If you could crack open my skin, pull my insides out, you would see I was the obvious loser. But it wasn’t over.
I was playing nice with Lesley. We worked together and it became necessary for both of us to patch the holes in our friendship.
But I wouldn’t play nice with anyone else. I would take what I wanted.
The day after blues night, I texted Connor trying to get my purse back. It had my keys in it and I had to break into my trailer when Joe dropped me off the next morning.
He let me know he hung my belongings on Blane’s doorknob, having no way to get ahold of me.
I thanked him and apologized for bailing on everyone. He said it was no big deal. I felt guilty for a while for even having his number in my phone.
But then Danielle called to tell me all about her new crush two weeks later, exactly two days ago. It wasn’t Connor; he was old news now. Like I said, her infatuations were often short-lived and I was grateful this one had already flown out of her head.
I didn’t ask her if she cared if I hung out with Connor. I just texted him. He was a friend of my friends and I wanted to know him better. I wanted to see him smile at me.
Besides, he had been texting me off and on since I tracked down his number. It was light conversation, and I engaged minimally, my lame version of loyalty making me mute-ish.
But now, he was fair game. I asked him to come to Paul’s to hang out with us, and he said he might. I liked him more for not seeming too eager. We always wanted what we couldn’t have.
7
Forget My Home
“I searched for new crushes. They were like a drug to me. Something to help me forget Avery. Connor was just supposed to be a distraction. A way to forget my home."
"Your house with Avery?"
I scrunch up my face, pinch the napkin in front of me between my thumb and index finger. "Not just that. The security. The warmth of sleeping next to him. When someone takes your home from you, you make a new one. Out of other people. In new places. Anywhere you can manage." I flip through the beginning of the notebook. The beginning of the story is a small heartbreak. Back then, I was sure it was one that would kill me. I had no idea what was in store.
"My home was gone. The only way I could see it," I tilted my head in her direction, "the physical house, was Facebook stalking Wendy. I saw her on my floor, on my carpet. I recognized the fibers. I saw her holding my dog, the one I had to leave behind. Calling her ‘my girl’. Even though I was her dog mom." I would never see my dog again. I would hear of her death, old age would take her, and I would mourn her. "My new home was a trailer. My bed was a pullout couch in the middle of the living room because I couldn't afford a real bed yet. I went back to all I left behind. I returned to living like the trash they often thought I was."
"Who?"
"The kind of men I always loved."
8
I Love Playing
I drove by the Alexander trailer park every day for two weeks after my grandma told me I could rent my uncle's old trailer. I had to take the long way, but I needed to see it. I needed to pretend I was making a decision to live there. I needed to pretend it wasn't my only option. I needed to stretch out my last moments at home with Avery. Maybe I thought if I stuck around for a little while, he would change his mind. I was so pathetic last summer. I'm a little less pathetic now. Or maybe I just hide it better.
Life in my tiny trailer with my cat, the one Avery brought home to me two short years ago, had been an adjustment.
I was living on my own for the first time, at twenty-five. Straight out of my parents’ house I moved a state away, in with my high school boyfriend. After he cheated on me, I moved in with a
friend from work in the city. When I met Avery, I couldn’t stand waking up every morning without him. So I jumped at the chance to share a home with him.
Here in my trailer, I didn’t have Avery’s rules, Avery’s chores. I could watch Friends on repeat and bring home any boy I liked, but it got lonely.
Finding my tribe of friends, post Avery, was what I needed to survive. I lived for Wednesday nights at Paul's Wingstop.
It was another home I had made. With friends who gave me shit, who laughed off my own barbs.
I had never asked a boy I liked to come join me there. Blane was there, and I had gone home with him a few times, but that didn’t count. I didn’t like him that way. We had fun, that was it.
The first night Connor walked in, past nine, straight from work at the 24 hour bakery two blocks away, my stomach did a little flip.
He sat diagonal from me, smiled once, and then started chatting with someone else.
Though my heart was still stuck to Avery’s shoe, I had been single for about seven months and I knew how to play things.
Desperation was never my style. I was not a throw-myself-at-him kind of girl.
I kept my cool. I laughed and I carried on with my friends. Okay, maybe I was putting on a bit of a show, but I liked to catch Connor’s eye. They were large and brown, almost black. There was no doubt he had braces as a child. I liked his smile. It hid nothing.
His little texts, the way he smiled at the floor when I stared at him from across the table, he liked me. It was obvious, and I needed that.
We barely talked that night. He offered me a ride home and I accepted, not thinking it through. My trailer was a good twenty minutes from Paul's and I wasn't ready for him to see where I lived. I lied and told him to drop me off at my work, which wasn't far. I said my car was there. It was not. I ended up calling a cab after he pulled away.
When he dropped me off, we both said bye lowly. I liked his silence, his quiet. So many boys loved to put on a show, to strut and preen. Avery was a strutter. He was loud, in your face, cocky. I pretended to hate it when we met, calling him out on his arrogance, denying him of my affections. It’s always a game. I love playing.
Connor’s black to Avery’s white drew me in. He had a nice-guy vibe and it made me like him more but a seed was taking root in my belly. He was a nice guy and nice guys were not my thing.
I wanted them to be my thing, like most girls did, but they bored me. I wanted to chase, I wanted the ones that pushed me away. It was pretty sad, when I thought about it, so I tried not to. My life was a fictional tale, in my head, I wrote myself in a way that I could respect. But the truth was less pretty.
When Connor's car was no longer in sight, I dropped my purse on the curb and sat down. My phone beeped and I ran my fingers through my hair down to my neck. My buzz had me warm and dizzy. I pulled my phone from the side pocket of my purse and squinted at the screen.
Connor: We should go on a date.
Me: I’m not sure that’s a good idea.
Connor: Why?
Me: I still feel guilty for having your number, for talking to you. I probably shouldn’t have invited you to Paul's.
Connor: Why?
Me: My friend Danielle had a thing for you pretty recently.
Connor: So? I don’t have a thing for her. I never have and I never will. I have a thing for you.
I couldn’t keep the heat from rushing to my cheeks, between my legs. My fingers tingled.
Me: Okay.
Connor: Next Friday. I’ll pick you up at 7.
9
Play The Game
Connor
I’ve never believed in letting friends or family dictate who you dated. And to be honest, the more I was discouraged from something, or someone, the more I wanted it. The more I wanted to see what the fuss was about. To see why I was being told to stay away. And often, when someone was pulling you from something, it was because they wanted it for themselves.
Now, none of my friends were telling me not to pursue Gwen. Not outright. But the hints were there. Guys are rarely subtle. In the short time that had passed since I met Gwen, I had mentioned her to friends.
I didn’t care what anyone thought of her; I just liked to say I knew her. To say we had been talking. One date didn’t equal “dating” but I saw it going there. I wanted it to.
I already knew Blane had slept with her. And I knew her ex, Avery, always a fucking prick.
I wasn’t expecting to find out two other friends of mine had tumbled between the sheets with her. Even cities like St. Louis could feel like a small town sometimes.
But her past didn’t matter to me. I didn’t care that she had slept with a few of my high school friends. What I cared about was the fact that she obviously had a thing for morons. I hadn’t considered myself a dumbass for quite a while, and she seemed to be targeting the biggest assholes I went to school with. Or maybe they were targeting her. Either way, it didn’t really matter, but it made me question my strategy with her.
I liked this girl. I liked her a lot. But she seemed like she could take me or leave me. If I texted her consistently, she seemed to be half there. Maybe she was busy; I didn’t know.
But if I was hard to reach, she seemed more eager to talk to me. Most humans, especially when it comes to the opposite sex, want what they can’t have.
I didn’t want to play games with her. I wanted her to know I was into her. That I wasn’t talking to any other girls. That she had my full attention. But I could already tell that may not get me far.
My desire to win told me to play the game with her. My gut told me to just be upfront with her. Why did dating have to be such bullshit? Why couldn’t we just be openly into someone without fear of scaring them off?
10
You’re Something Else
As far as first dates go, it was really nice, my date with Connor. I haven’t spoken to Danielle in a while, and I know it’s all my fault, but he was just a passing fancy to her. She’ll get over it, I hope. Maybe Connor will be just a passing fancy for me and I've ruined a friendship over a nice smile. Time will tell I guess. I don’t put too much stock in my feelings for men anymore. I don’t trust myself. You hear that, self? I don’t trust you. I’m fickle and forgetful. I like the boys who are mean, throw away the boys who have kind hearts. I’m twenty-five; why am I not over this shit? Maybe it’s my dad. I don’t remember the last time he called. But I don’t call either. My mom is always on me about it. I wish she wouldn’t stick up for him. He doesn’t deserve it. He cheated on her. Lied to her. I don’t understand the loyalty but maybe that's the best kind of loyalty. Unconditional. Mine is completely conditional. Treat me like shit and I want to write you off. We don’t share blood, so why do I continue to call him Dad? He’s never been a decent one. I wonder if my brother feels the same way. I don't think they talk that much either. We never text and ask “have you talked to Dad this week?” It’s normally “yeah, I haven’t heard from him in ages either”. The hurt he does to others hurts me more than the hurt he does to me. I can guard my heart. I guard it by not speaking to him. I could tell on our date that Connor would be a good dad. It was the way he talked about his niece. I know it’s a stupid thing to think about on the first date with a guy you may not end up involved with, but that's what women do. We analyze everything. We ask ourselves, “would I marry this guy?” We draw hearts around their names and fantasize. We would make beautiful children. I wanted some with Avery. But he has his own on the way now. I promised myself his name wouldn’t make its way into this journal again. I think his memory is slowly killing me. I wish he would go away. Get deployed. Just move away or something.
It’s been a few days since I've seen him. Connor and I have been texting more. Little good mornings and goodnights. When his name flashes on my phone, I’m at ease. He wants to see me again, and I feel the same. We sat in front of my work for twenty minutes talking when he brought me there last weekend. I rambled on about my favorite TV show until half past 1 a.
m. I remember the look on his face. I think about it sometimes when his name pops up on my phone. It’s a nice face. His jawline is beautiful. When I think of his eyes, and the way they looked at me, I can convince myself that my heart isn’t still mangled. I can convince myself I am a little bit whole.
I didn’t want Connor to pick me up at my place. The guys knew where I lived now, and that was fine. We had established a trust. There was no intimidation, and no desire to impress them. The knowledge that Connor came from money, something I now knew, was a tally mark for him. Some women chased money, found it to be a desirable trait in a man. I did not. It made me uneasy. Traditionally, those with money treated me like dirt. Avery didn’t come from money, but his family had more than mine, and he was skilled at reminding me just how beneath him he thought I was.
I texted Connor early in the day to let him know I would meet him for our date. I picked a gas station far enough from my trailer that the scent would be thrown off. I told him my place was confusing to get to. But he didn’t text back until a half hour before our date. And it was to say he would pick me up, that he knew where I lived.