by Annette Fix
Ryan's expression turned serious. His blue eyes locked onto mine. “I know,” he said.
Mike stepped out onto the patio, carrying a plate of vegetable kebobs and foil packets of fish.
Saved. Now I didn't have to find a way out of the tattoo madness.
“Mike. Here, take our picture.” Ryan pulled a disposable camera from the pocket of his board shorts.
Mike set the plate on the sideboard of the grill and crouched like he was trying to fit the bulk of his body behind the little box camera. “Okay, smile and say sexxxx.”
The smile on my face felt like a pose for a dental x-ray.
As Mike tended the grill, more people arrived. Soon the house and patio were filled with San Clemente surfers and their cherry-ChapStick girlfriends. The beer keg was flowing. Ryan introduced me around as his girlfriend. Each time, I winced inside. I was Kevin's girlfriend.
Was.
At nine, everyone walked across the street to the cliff-top to watch the fireworks launched from San Clemente Pier below. The night was clear and warm. Looking up the coast, I could see tiny pinpoints of colored light shooting into the darkness from Dana Point Harbor, Laguna Beach, and very faintly from Newport.
I leaned back against Ryan's chest and watched the reds and blues pop in the night sky above us, the greens and yellows bursting and falling in a shower of crackling light. Ryan's arms circled around me and pulled me close against him. I felt his kiss brush the top of my hair.
Kevin was gone and Ryan was here. And I guess that's what mattered: someone tangible.
reception slip
Friday, July 19
It must feel weird watching your father marry someone younger than you. Ryan wasn't dealing with it very well. He tried to be supportive, but I could see the strain in his face when he thought no one was looking.
“I feel like I'm betraying my Mom.” Ryan fussed with the bowtie of his tux. “But when my dad asked me to be his best man, what was I supposed to say?”
Ryan had been battling his thoughts from the time we boarded the plane at John Wayne Airport. I sat quietly on the edge of the bed in a standard room, Luxor Hotel, Las Vegas. I wondered if Elvis would be at the ceremony, but I didn't want to upset Ryan by asking. So, I left my sarcasm packed neatly in my suitcase.
To me, the whole thing looked like the cliché of a mid-life crisis. If it were a newspaper story, the headline would say it all: Man Leaves Wife of 35 Years for 20 Year-Old Stripper, Starts Producing Techno Music Featuring Homosexual DJ from Miami.
The evening didn't get any less bizarre. By the time the skinny, Cuban transvestite in the cheerleading outfit, high-heeled pumps, and oversized rhinestone sunglasses, finished singing “I Will Survive” at the reception, I was pretty sure there wouldn't be anything to top that. Ever.
I moved around the hotel banquet room with a disposable camera, taking pictures of Ryan's relatives. It gave me something to do. Something normal. I looked across the room and caught Ryan's stare. He watched me from the bar and smiled. When I reached the last table at the edge of the dance floor, I turned the camera to Ryan's grandparents.
They looked sweet, frail, and ever so slightly shell-shocked. They leaned their heads together and grasped gently at each other's quavering hands. That beat in time overpowered all the craziness in life. Enduring love. That's what life was all about. That's what we all wanted.
I finished the roll in the camera and walked up an aisle between the tables, ratcheting the plastic dial to rewind the film.
Ryan came up behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed my neck. “I love you,” he said.
I turned around and wasn't sure whose face registered more shock: his or mine.
“I mean…thank you,” he mumbled, trying to recover his composure.
I'm sure I still looked like I'd been clocked upside the head with a frying pan.
“I wanted to say thank you…for being here with me…and for taking the pictures of my family… Let's dance.” Ryan pulled me by the hand toward the dance floor. Then he stopped abruptly and changed directions. “Nevermind. Let's talk.” He pulled me at a half-run out into the hallway.
A hotel chandelier twinkled overhead. I noticed it when I looked up to see where Ryan was staring.
“I didn't mean to say that. I mean, not now. I mean, I feel it, but it just came out.”
“It's okay. Just forget it,” I said. The last thing I wanted was a conversation about love.
“No. I'm glad I said it, so now I don't have to worry about it anymore.” Ryan leaned down and brushed his lips across mine. “I love you and now I can say it whenever I want.”
He kissed me deeply and I returned his kiss. There was no way I could return his sentiment of love. The kiss was the best I could do. And it kept me from saying anything that would hurt his feelings.
i've got my saddle on my horse
Saturday, July 20
The Walgreen's on Las Vegas Boulevard was packed. Out-of-towners browsed aisles lined with tacky souvenirs and postcards. Ryan and I were on a different mission. Our cab idled in the parking lot as we stood in front of a wall of condoms.
Ryan hadn't brought condoms for the weekend and I certainly hadn't packed any. I hadn't planned to sleep with him. I wasn't sure I was ready.
The thought of having someone—someone other than Kevin—inside of me made me shudder. I didn't know if I could go through with it.
I looked around and was pretty sure that it was obvious to everyone. I'm standing here staring at a buffet of rubbers. And yes, people, I'm preparing to get fucked.
Ryan turned to me. He looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure how.
I prompted him with a raised eyebrow. God, I hope he doesn't expect me to choose a box.
“I don't want you to think I'm bragging or anything, but these are the only kind that fit.”
My eyes followed his hand as it plucked a green box of Trojans from the hanger. Size Large. A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Inside, I was doing the Snoopy dance in the end zone. Woo-hoo! Jackpot!
Finding a guy with a big dick was like twisting the cap off a soda bottle and checking to see if you're a winner. In my life, I'd always found the guys who should have Thank You For Playing, Please Try Again stamped on their underwear.
It had finally come down to it. Ten months had passed since Kevin turned my life upside down and erased our future. Ten months without sex—that's got to be some sort of world record for a thirty-five-year-old woman. Ten months and still I wanted only Kevin, but it was painfully clear he wasn't coming back.
I needed to let go. Really let go.
And if I was going to fuck to get over Kevin, it may as well be with a guy who has a big dick.
At the register, Ryan pulled out a fifty-dollar bill for the Trojans and tossed a pack of gum on the counter. I buried my face between the pages of a People magazine and tried not to make eye contact with the smirking male clerk. It wasn't until the cab ride back to the hotel that the reality of what I was about to do kicked in. The passing casinos were a blur.
In the elevator ride up to the room, I almost chickened out. The ascending floor numbers flashed on the display: a reverse countdown to sex launch. I felt a fluttering of anxiety in my chest. If I went through with it and Kevin ever found out, he'd never come back.
With the curtains drawn in the dim hotel room, I looked at Ryan between my parted legs. It was almost surreal. I watched as he practically strangled himself with a condom; it was like watching someone try to sausage a boa constrictor into a wetsuit. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Ryan moved above me. His rubber erection skipped along the bare skin of my thigh and when he pressed himself inside, he groaned from the tight fit. It was a bad cliché of the born-again virgin, but I felt more like an impaled fish.
Even if I were wearing ruby slippers, with my ankles pinned behind my head, there wouldn't have been a way to click them together. Which was too bad, because all I really want
ed to do was go home.
It was just sex and was as good as it can be, when you wish it was with someone else. Tears trickled from the corner of my eyes. Ryan didn't notice; he was too busy rocking in orgasm.
In the quiet of the darkness, Ryan stretched out beside me, trailing his fingertips along my bare stomach. “I do love you, you know.” He propped himself on an elbow. “I've waited five years to be with you and it's everything I thought it would be.” A pained, bitter laugh died in my throat. Clearly, we just had two completely different experiences.
Ryan was my symbolic step: my way of acknowledging Kevin would never come back, my attempt to move on. And it failed. I only succeeded in feeling like I betrayed the man who still owned my heart.
I pretended to doze off. Ryan spooned against my back and my last thought was of Kevin. If he hadn't left me, my life would never have come to this.
a life of beavis and butthead?
Saturday, August 10
Ryan set the styrofoam boxes of sushi on my kitchen table and pulled plates and bowls from the cupboard. Josh peeled the lid from his miso soup cup and took a sip.
I slid the DVD into the player. “American Beauty is such a great film,” I said. “I love the symbolism. And Kevin Spacey does a phenomenal job. I think he's completely underrated as an actor.” I pressed the remote key to start the movie.
“I heard about it, but never saw it.” Ryan tore open a small foil packet of soy sauce and mixed it with a lump of wasabi.
Halfway into the movie, I glanced over at Ryan and saw his face hanging slack. “Don't you like it?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don't get it.”
Alan Ball was one of the best screenwriters in Hollywood and his script was so well crafted. How could Ryan not understand it?
“It's about how we try to keep up appearances and try to pretend that everything is perfect when we are really just masking the silent desperation of a soul that's dying inside.”
Ryan stared at me blankly.
“I know a movie you'll like better.” Josh ran to his room and returned with one of his DVDs. He popped it in and clicked past the set up. Ryan sat beside Josh on the couch.
The sophomoric antics of Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back filled the screen. Fart jokes. Boner jokes. Josh and Ryan doubled over with laughter.
I moved from the table to the kitchen and crunched the take-out boxes into the trash.
“Annette, quick, you have to see this.” Ryan's laugh echoed in the room.
“You guys go ahead, I'll clean up.” I turned on the faucet to rinse the plates.
Okay, so maybe we don't have the same taste in movies. We like the same music. The warm water turned my hands pink. He's great with Josh.
For the last three weeks, they'd devoured truck magazines, talked about engines and rims, went to a car show, built my Ikea pantry and shelves, and had quiet conversations about “boy stuff.” Josh needed someone like that.
I switched the water to cold and let it run through my fingers. Ryan had been persistent. Completely attentive. And extremely affectionate. It felt good to be wanted. He would never leave like Kevin did. I turned off the water and dried my hands on a towel. Leaning against the doorway, I watched the guys together.
“Watch this part, watch this part.” Josh's elbow nudged Ryan's side.
Ryan's arm slung across the back of the couch put his tattoos on display. A California edition of Billy Idol. I had to admit, he had a certain magnetism. After the false start, the sexual chemistry between us was definitely there.
Ryan's bad-boy toughness softened when he looked at me. He mouthed the words “I love you” and turned his attention back to the television.
Maybe that was all that really mattered: someone who would love us.
grocery store pony sex
Sunday, August 11
The Summer Jam concert ended early, hours before sunset. The Crips and the Bloods, two rival black gangs, traveled from Los Angeles to Irvine to spent the day throwing their colors around, along with whatever else they could find. I saw someone two rows below us get pegged in the head with a flying Nike.
Ryan and I ducked to avoid the randomly launched food and full water bottles, and positioned ourselves near people wearing clothing colors other than blue or red. It was safer to just enjoy the hip-hop music and stay out of the conflicts.
I was glad we hadn't brought Josh along. He would've liked the music, but I didn't want him exposed to the environment. He'd groused about not going, until I offered to drive him over to our old neighborhood to spend the night with Adam.
LL Cool J was in the middle of his set, singing “Phenomenon,” when the scuffles accelerated into a full riot. LL chastised the crowd for their behavior and for interrupting the show, but his protests were swallowed in the sounds of girls screaming and fists connecting with flesh. A police helicopter circled overhead and uniformed officers in protective gear entered the amphitheater, filing the people one at a time through the exit gate. The fighting continued, deep within the press of the crowd.
The anarchy of the day echoed in my head. I stared at the ceiling and tried to dissect the social motivations of such destructive behavior—it just didn't make sense. In the darkness of the bedroom, I could hear Ryan's rhythmic breath of deep sleep. The blue glow of the digital clock read: 1:57 a.m.
I slid my hand under the sheet to rub him up while he slept. When Ryan was fully erect, I climbed on top of him and rocked back and forth, my body weight pressing him inside of me. I could feel his thickness and pushed hard against it, forcing it deeper, trying to fill the void.
Ryan awoke just before he climaxed. “Hi…” his voice low and groggy, greeted me. His hands reached out to grasp my hips, stopping their motion as he shuddered in orgasm. In the faint light of the room, I could see a smile curving his lips.
“Go back to sleep,” I whispered as I climbed off and moved under the covers.
I did it because he was there. And because I could. But I still felt hollow.
a south american rat fuck parable
Monday, August 12
The cursor on my computer blinked. The glaring white page felt like a black hole. No, not a black hole. It was more like an impenetrable wall that was blocking anything creative. I couldn't figure out how to fill the page with words. Not just any words, that was easy. The right words. Infinitely harder.
It was easier to avoid writing completely than to work through it, so I picked up the phone and called Valerie. “Let's do lunch today,” I said.
“Okay. Meet me at the sandwich place by my office, I have something funny to tell you about.”
I stepped down the short hall to Josh's room. With the loss of a homeschool zone, his bedroom became tight quarters. His computer desk sat wedged in the corner between his bed and the wall.
When I walked into the room, Buddy jumped off the bed, lowered his head, and left the room quickly.
Josh sat at his computer playing Tomb Raider. I moved behind him and pressed my palms on each side of his head, tilting it back so he could see me. “How many times have I told you dogs don't belong on the bed?”
Josh crossed his eyes. “At least a hundred million.”
“Well, now it's a hundred and one million.”
“Um, Mom…isn't that a hundred million and one?” he said, still looking at me upside down.
“Thanks for the math lesson, Mr. Smarty Pants.” I let go of his head and sat on the edge of the bed. “I came to tell you I'm going to meet up with Valerie for lunch. And I'm swinging by the grocery store on my way back. Do you need anything?”
Josh thought for a moment. “Double A batteries and microwave popcorn.” He turned back to his computer game. “Is Ryan coming over tonight?”
“I don't know. Do you want him to?” I said.
Maybe it was the tone of my voice that made Josh turn the question around on me. “Do you want him to?” He swiveled in his chair and studied my face.
Since the conversation felt like
it was going in that direction, it was the perfect time to nudge it along. “We haven't really talked about it and I was just wondering, what do you think about me being in a relationship with Ryan?”
Josh seemed to consider how to respond. “He's nice. But I think he's just your get-away guy.”
“What do you mean?” I felt a twitch in my stomach, like the feeling of being caught in a white lie.
“It's like you like him because he helps you get away from being sad.”
Get-away guy? Talk about out of the mouths of babes. Was it really that transparent, even to a child?
Once I made it to lunch, I sat across from Valerie in a daze.
She bit into her sandwich, a piece of lettuce wiggled outside her mouth as she chewed. “So, check this out.” She finished chewing and swallowed. “I was watching the Discovery Channel the other night. It was soooo funny.”
My mind wandered, only half listening to another one of her endless TV stories. My sandwich sat untouched.
Am I just settling satisfactorily like my fortune cookie predicted? And like my son so clearly pointed out?
Valerie took a sip of her iced tea then pulled off the plastic lid. “The show was about this South American rat…” She plucked out an ice cube and popped it into her mouth, crunching noisily.
I always swore I'd never settle for less than exactly what I wanted. That was the whole purpose for The List. But is staying with Ryan only because he loves me the same thing as settling? Can I stay in the relationship even if I know I'll never be in-love with him? I pulled a limp slice of tomato out of my sandwich and abandoned it on the side of the wrapper.
Valerie punched the air with the straw. “And you're not going to believe what the rat does,” she paused for effect. “During mating season, it literally fucks itself to death.”
“What?” The absurdity of her statement snapped me back to attention.
“Yeah, can you believe that? I was watching it and thinking, what stupid animal fucks for no reason until it finally dies? And then I had this total epiphany. My ex-boyfriend was exactly like that rat.”