Psycho Bitch: A Love Story

by AJ Rico

  In-house Internet allowed me to source new projects and even do some tech writing. I wasn't sitting pretty, but at least some of the pressure had eased up. I also enjoyed having the opportunity to interact with my blog in private.

  It was something I'd never told anyone in my life about, not even Adam. If pressed for an answer, I'm not sure I could tell you why. I just wanted a place to put my thoughts down with complete privacy.

  Ironic, I know, considering the fact that it was a public site. I was anonymous though. I could say whatever I thought without fearing the repercussions to my person or business. As someone for whom each day is about molding myself and my behavior to conform to social norms, it was a form of freedom.

  When online, I wasn't cruel and I never trolled, but it was like having a steam release valve on the anger that hovers just under my skin. Rather than biting the hand that fed me, I converted those inappropriate thoughts and feelings into bytes and purged them from my system.

  I'd had very few followers and that suited me just fine. However, since my post about feeling like an outsider, I'd begun to attract more and more accepting, and strangely loving people.

  I was even developing friendships. It was as if the veil of anonymity allowed me to be something I'd never been—open and compassionate.

  Previously, my writing had always been sporadic. It was now a necessity. I rarely wrote in my journal and now blogged my innermost thoughts and feelings. And, in so doing, found likeminded souls I connected with.

  I knew more about the lives and mental inner workings of several of my blog followers than I did about people I'd known for decades. More than even some family members.

  Shaking off a feeling of disreality, I settled myself cross-legged with my laptop in my lap and patted the cushion next to me.

  Hugo heaved himself up from his bed with a huge doggy yawn and padded over. He leapt onto the couch and settled in next to me, his large, block head resting on my thigh.

  He and I had reached a form of equilibrium. It was as if by respecting him, I'd earned his respect. Though, I have to admit, that he went to his bed with no argument now made me want to scream when I thought about how hard he fought me. The irony was that it was now me calling him into the bed nightly or onto the couch as I'd just done.

  We were bonding in a way that I hadn't experienced since Corky and wasn't comfortable with. The idea of losing Hugo alternately filled me with pained fear or made me want to return him to the shelter to control when those feelings occurred. As a way of channeling my growing attachment and managing my fear of losing him, I'd become obsessive about his grooming and diet. He even had a regular exercise regimen.

  If I was going to live every day fearful that something would happen to him, I would use every tool at my disposal to keep him healthy and whole. In fact, I was getting him health insurance the moment I could. How crazy that my dog would have health insurance when I had to get Medicaid because I couldn't afford the same for myself?

  That would make a great blog post. Giving Hugo a big kiss on top of that anvil he called a head, I began to read the new comments.

  Several were from my regular visitors and I saved those for last to give them the attention they deserved. The rest were from first timers and I thanked them all for commenting and responded if warranted.

  With the niceties out of the way, I contemplated a response from DontTieMeUp. I'd figured out she was about my age, a single mom, and in an open relationship with a man she was in love with, but who made it clear he had no intention of settling down with her.

  I found a strange kinship with her having been on the other side of the situation. I was something of a sounding board for her because I understood what it was to be wholly unavailable emotionally.

  TellingIt - I don't even know where to begin. It was like you stepped into my brain and poured my soul out on your screen. The only time in my life that I feel valued is when a man is inside me. It is as if the thrust of his sex and the hot brand of his ejaculate fills in the cracks in my psyche. I spend my life in pursuit of the feeling of completion a man gives me. And, yet, as soon as that man leaves, the void grows.

  I scratched Hugo's ear, eliciting a contented sigh as I contemplated my response. As it so often did when I interacted with the visitors to my blog, it felt as if we vibrated in perfectly-tuned pitch.

  I understood exactly what she was trying to say. I too spent my life in the vain pursuit of external validation.

  TieMeUp - There is nothing I can say other than I understand where you are at. For me, I am fighting each day to learn to live in my own skin without a male mirror by which to judge myself. It's not easy. I rarely like what I see in the reflection of my own, unfiltered glass. But, I am learning to take solace in knowing whatever I see is real.

  Have you ever thought about stopping for a while and seeing what happened? It's not easy, but satisfaction, I've recently found, is much more lasting than gratification.

  I tend to be wary when I respond to comments because I am stumbling my way through this myself. I was also more than a little freaked out by the love and acceptance I found online. It was something I didn't even realized I needed and now it was like a lifeline.

  I found myself trying to sabotage it in my own way. I was writing more and more brutally intimate pieces to see where the lines were. I wanted to see how honest I could be before they rejected me. It had grown to the point where my blog was more confessional than I'd ever intended.

  So far, they'd only embraced me. For the first time in my life, I felt a part of something and had begun to fear losing it. I even contemplated deleting the blog and shoring up the cracks that were snaking through the glass that had always surrounded me.

  My interactions were bittersweet. For each moment of acceptance, I also felt their pain and took it into myself and I had no idea how to deal with those moments. I'd cried into Hugo's neck after reading many of their stories.

  We were the invisible, disenfranchised souls of humanity. The people who sublimated our pain and poured it back out either by destroying ourselves or those around us.

  Babe, I am so happy to hear about Hugo. I've spent my life with dogs and know how healing they can be. Given your past, I can understand how hard it must be to let him in, but if you accept his love, you'll find it's the easiest thing in the world to love him in return.

  This was from JustASmallTownGirl. I was closest to her. She seemed to see between the lines of my prose to all the things I left unsaid. She'd become my best friend—if it were possible to be best friends with someone you'd never met and had no idea what they looked like.

  We had transitioned to chatting and emailing with one another off blog and connected almost daily. As a result, she didn't always comment on my posts. It had made seeing her handle on the blog almost like getting an early birthday present.

  J.A.S - Thanks for that. He happens to be sprawled next to me snoring as I respond. I daresay he's definitely burrowed into my heart. BTW, check your email.

  Reaching for my phone, I snapped a photo of the snoring Hugo and emailed it to her before pressing submit on the response. Which brought me to my last regular; a man who went by AloneTogether. He and I had begun exchanging comments when, after reading a post about the treatment he received from his wife, I'd been shocked to see so many parallels between me and her.

  It had not been a pleasant feeling, but safe in the comfort of my anonymity, I'd found myself being very honest with him and giving him a peek into what his wife might be thinking. He had come back to me in email rather than on blog and we'd begun a very pleasant correspondence as he struggled with the idea of divorcing his wife.

  TellingIt - as a guy, I can't say I truly relate to "using a hole to fill another", but I can say that guys do something very similar. I think men who are womanizers are mowing down women in an attempt to deal with something emotional. But, then again, aren't they then using a hole to fill one of their own?

  I've always been the nice guy
, but I can tell you a confident woman is the sexiest thing on earth. And, like a classic car (forgive my analogy, but I'm still male) extra mileage is not a good thing for the car's health.

  He had a point. I hadn't considered the male side of things when I posted. I told him so.

  With my comments taken care of, I roused a reluctant Hugo to move to the bed. I snuggled myself around him and fell into a peaceful sleep.

  3. Rainbows and Tabby Cats

  I WOKE TO RAINBOW MAIL from Henry. He'd been busy lately and we didn't always see each other at Kona, but had begun to email often. It had begun innocuously enough. Henry asked for my business card saying he had a client looking for some design services and could he pass along my info? I said sure and gave him my card, not expecting anything to come of it. But, a week later, I'd received a Request for Information from Henry's client and an email from Henry.

  I opened the email expecting it to be nothing more than a notification about his client or some such. Instead, he'd sent me a link to an article about a coffee shop that was refusing to allow patrons to work in the shop. He signed off with the quip, "How would I be able to thwart your entrenched biases regarding British wardrobe if Kona ever did this?"

  I couldn't contain my smile as I responded:

  I think you do it to mess with my head. I'm betting you have at least one piece of tweed in your closet. Besides, you never work at Kona, the only one affected would be me.

  My email client changed the color to blue. He had responded, embedding his response into mine, saying in bright purple text:

  I'd take you up on that bet. Who doesn't love a sure winner?

  And

  It's effected, my dear. Affected is to influence and effected is a result. Grammar Girl has a lovely explanation online.

  Of course, I had to respond after that bit of grammar Nazism, changing my text to bright orange. The email became a ribbon of color flowing through the spectrum. When he replied—with clear intent to get the last word—his text was red. Rainbow mail was born. All our exchanges were now multi-colored and a mix of prosaic sparring and good natured one-upmanship.

  It was clear that he enjoyed flexing his vocabulary. It was a rare email that didn't cause me to look up at least one word. For my part, I enjoyed using American idioms and street slang that confounded him. I might have become a frequent flier at Dictionary.com but he was becoming acquainted with the Urban Dictionary.

  His last email (in putrid orange) about my neighborhood had forced me to look up "parlous" only to learn it meant "full of danger or uncertainty."

  Color me surprised—pun, definitely intended—when my first response (in kelly green) was to defend my neighborhood.

  Putting my laptop aside, I looked out the window. The streets were full. The businesses were open. Single women jogged alone and moms pushed strollers.

  Talk about judging a book by its cover. Aside from the size of my studio and the lack of spit polish on the buildings in my particular corner of D.C., it wasn't bad. I'd even socialized with my neighbors.

  Both G and I had become acquainted with Rosa Hernandez, who lived in the ground floor unit right by the door. The meeting had been accidental. The scruffy tabby cat she shared her home with had escaped just as G and I walked in trailed by Hugo.

  The cat had jerked to a stop only to skid before leaping to his feet and puffing himself up porcupine style. There had been a moment of standoff when I wasn't quite sure what Hugo was going to do.

  I was just about to tell G to get the cat when two things happened simultaneously: First, Hugo pawed at the cat. I think he wasn't sure what it was, but with the canine lack of mobility, it came off more like an awkward attempt at petting cum shoving. The cat tipped over with a dumbfounded look on his face. Second, Rosa flung open her door hollering in Spanish. I made out something along the lines of madre de dios before she tried to pick up the cat who scrambled away only to end up standing on Hugo's back!

  Hugo remained still, shifting his gaze between me and the verbose Mrs. Hernandez as if to say, "Can one of you help a canine out?"

  Rosa gripped the lapels of the scarlet robe she wore. She seemed refined with an ageless face, long cascading curls shot through with grey, and a softly rounded shape. Her feet were bare and, were it not for her alarmed Spanish, she would have looked quite cozy and motherish.

  "Ma'am, just a moment!" I raised my voice trying to get her to stop talking. To G I said, "Can you get the cat?"

  He widened his eyes and shook his head saying, "Cats give me the creeps."

  "Seriously?" I didn't need more complications here.

  He just shrugged. I dropped the leash and reached for the cat only to notice as I lifted him that his claws were out and latched into Hugo. I was going to need help.

  "Ma'am, can you get your cat to release my dog?" She stood transfixed, staring at Hugo. "Ma'am?" I tried again.

  As if snapping back, she said, "¿Que?"

  At this point, I as standing in our foyer holding a cat that was growing heavier while physically attached to my dog. As grateful as I was for the famed pit bull stoicism, I was no Pit and my patience was disintegrating.

  "G," I said, "Do you speak Spanish?"

  "Nope," he shook his head, trying and failing to hide the mirth in his face at my predicament.

  "I speak English," she said in a soft, tremble.

  "Thank God," I said and meant it. "You need to get your cat's claws out of my dog's back."

  Her chocolate eyes flew to mine. "But, your dog. That's a fighter. He'll hurt me."

  I sighed heavily. God save me from the propaganda surrounding pit bulls. I didn't have time to debunk her, my arms were burning.

  "G," I said, "show her the trick." To her, I said, "I promise my dog won't hurt you."

  G knelt in front of Hugo and said, "Hugo, bite me."

  I barely contained my laughter when Hugo looked up at me as if to say, "Really? You want me to do tricks now?" G repeated the command and I heard her gasp as Hugo opened his jaws wide and G put his fist inside his mouth. They stayed that way for several seconds. Hugo never closed his jaws until G removed his fist.

  "See," I said, "he won’t hurt you." She hesitated until I said, "Ma'am, I'm about to drop your cat."

  With a last, nervous glance at Hugo, she rushed in and gripped the cat's paws pressing on its toes to get the claws to retract. As the last one released, I shoved the cat at her. She grabbed him and leaped into her apartment, slamming the door behind her.

  G and I looked at each other before we began laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation. He followed me back to my apartment where I'd promised him cannoli from Viareggios, the local Italian bakery.

  Just as I pulled the box from the refrigerator, there was a knock on my door. I opened it to see the cat woman. She'd discarded the robe in favor of jeans, a blouse, and bright red boots. Her hair had been secured in a loose knot. She held a plate covered in foil from which emanated the most savory of scents. My mouth watered.

  "Hi?" I said unsure what brought her to my door.

  She smiled and replied, "I wanted to both thank you and apologize." Her accent while noticeable, only served to layer her English with an exoticism that made you want to stop and listen. She could have made the dictionary sound exhilarating.

  I waved her into the apartment, noting how her eyes sought out and locked on Hugo who laid at G's feet. The dog was never far from food.

  She handed me the plate. "Homemade tamales," she said. "I'm Rosa Hernandez. Señor and I—the cat," she added at our confused looks. "We just moved in. He belongs to Graciela, my daughter, but he's not used to city life. He likes to roam."

  "Would you like to join us?" I asked indicating the free seat at the dinette. Courtesy of my as yet undiagnosed brain tumor, I was feeling charitable.

  She shook her head and her café au lait skin paled. "El perro," she said before switching to English. "Your dog scares me."

  "All dogs or just him?" I'd become quite the
evangelist when it came to debunking pit bull bias.

  "Big dogs," she said and had the grace to look apologetic.

  "Hugo's just a big baby," G said before biting into a tamale. I swear the boy ate enough to feed a small city. "Oh. My. God. Lady C, you have to try these." He scarfed down the rest in a few bites.

  Rosa puffed up at the compliment.

  "Will you meet him?" I pressed on. "If he was going to hurt anything, I think that would have happened when your cat treated him like a pin cushion."

  She grimaced, but said, "Okay."

  I called Hugo over and had to place a steadying hand on her arm when she trembled.

  "Just be still and let him sniff you. When you're ready, kneel and let him sniff your hand."

  As Hugo snuffled around her ankles and, as all dogs are wont to do, shoved his face in her crotch. To her credit, she didn't react. When he did nothing more than sniff she began to relax. When he bumped her hand with his head, a clear indication he wanted her to pet him, she even managed a laugh. After a few false starts, she knelt and let him sniff her hand before scratching him between the ears. An hour later, Hugo lay sprawled across her feet while we finished her tamales, my cannoli, and the coffee I brewed for us.

  Ever since, Rosa had become the unofficial den mother to both G and I. Our fourth neighbor, who lived all the way at the top of the stairs, was an enigma. He or she was never seen or heard.

  So, no one was more surprised than me at the territorial nature of my feelings as I responded to Henry. I clicked send and it hit me, I no longer thought of this place as The Closet. It was home.

  At that thought, a feeling of calm washed through me. I'd always felt restless no matter where I was. Even in my old condo, I had to get out of the house. Now, rather than leaving to escape, I left to see people. I felt no impetus to escape, no claustrophobic sense of the walls closing in around me. I'd come to love my home. It was unique and personal to me. And, for the first time in my life, I was no longer alone.