How I Met My Soulmate

Read Time:36 Minute, 59 Second

I apologize for putting you all through my last bit of relationship trauma. I didn’t really want to write that piece, but I kept my promise and put it out for your consumption- whether you enjoyed it or not.

Having said that, since you all know the gist of what happened, I thought I’d share the prologue of my book, THE OXFORD CONFIDENTIAL, with you so that you could see how the story began, and that it wasn’t quite as dramatic as I made it out to be. What happened between K and I was a lot more than what I was was able to cram into, and in truth, the story is more funny than it is tragic. But don’t take my word for it, feel free to decide for yourself.

PROLOGUE: THE NIGHT BEFORE

California is truly the closest thing I have ever known to paradise. I never realized how lucky I am just to be able to live in this part of the country. I’ve lived here my whole life, and though I’ve traveled to other places, nowhere I’ve been comes close to this. Despite the psychotic drivers, earthquakes, and race riots, (to say nothing of the unhealthy quality of our local air supply) I love this cesspool. I honestly have no idea how anyone would want to live anywhere else.

My absolute favorite spot is the beach. There’s something hypnotic about looking into the ocean, seeing the waves crashing into the shore. Whenever there’s an emptiness in my life, I’ll come here to reinvigorate my spirit. The sight of the fading sun in the distance makes this moment feel even more inspirational. Looking out into the endless horizon makes me feel as though the possibilities in front of me are almost as infinite.

A sharp breeze cut through my body, kicking in the realization that it will be a long time before I see the California shore again.

I’m going to miss this place.

The sun’s fading light made me feel as though I were ending a chapter in my life. I have to wonder, what new beginning would dawn bring when I wake up tomorrow?

“Can I ask you a question?” A deep, husky voice from behind me asked, derailing my train of thought.

Needless to say, I didn’t enjoy the interruption. I sighed, and said, “Yeah?”

“If you had the opportunity, would you fuck Bette Midler?”

Here I am, in front of one of nature’s most beautiful spectacles, and I’m being asked what is probably the stupidest question that could be asked under the circumstances. I think a sillier question would have been the captain of the Titanic turning to his first officer and asking, “Did we just hit something?”

I turned to my best friend, Chris, and asked, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

With a sheepish grin, he reiterated, “Well, would you?”

Chris has all the tact of a horny gorilla on Spanish fly. When I think about it, I’m surprised we’ve been friends as long as we have. We’re almost complete opposites. I’m Hispanic, and he’s white. In fact, his family is so whitebread I thought they were mental patients at first. Norman Rockwell would’ve loved them.

One time we were hanging out at his house, and Chris was kind of bummed out because he dinged his Father’s precious red Porsche on the way home from where they both work. Not only was his father not pissed at him, his Mom and Dad actually came up, hugged him, and said, “Hey, you wipe that frown off of your face. We’re the happy police and if you’re not smiling in ten seconds, we’re placing you under arrest!”

I was like, “Oh my God. Are you people for real?” If that had happened to me, not only would my Father turn me into a gelding, my mother would’ve bitched me out relentlessly until I reached the point where I’d rather poke my eardrums out with an ice pick than have to listen to her.

Chris is truly the epitome of the ‘All-American Boy’ archetype. Along with the libido and mentality that goes along with it.

“Aside from the fact that she reminds me of my Mom- which raises a whole bag of issues I never want to confront, the answer is no. Why, would you?” As if I had to ask. Chris would sleep with anything that gurgled ‘yes.’ Lock up your grandmothers, sisters, nieces, cousins, pets, and assorted invalids.

Chris proudly proclaimed, “Oh, HELL yeah!” If the feminists had a top-ten most wanted list, I honestly believe Chris would be #1 with a bullet- aimed right at his crotch.

“The size of her boobs wouldn’t have anything to do with it, would it?”

“Of course not.” He said, trying to look as innocent as a death row inmate ten seconds before the execution. “I find her attractive because of her immense talent and good looks.”

“Oh, please. You are so full of shit. If you owned one of her movies or records, I’d seriously have to call into question your sexual preferences. Lord knows I question your musical tastes as it is. You’re the only straight guy I know in his early 20’s who actually owns a Kenny G CD.”

“Hey, I know what sets the mood with women.” He winked. “Light a few candles, break out the wine, and play some of that mellow Kenny G. They love it.”

I said, “How many times do I have to tell you that a hooker will put up with anything as long as you pay up front?”

Stunned into silence for a moment, Chris shot back, “Fuck you.”

Laughing, I went on, “What do you do when your parents come into the family room? Do they cheer you on, or are they fighting for space on the couch while you’re making out in front of the TV?”

Chris’s face turned an ugly shade of crimson and snapped, “Shut the fuck up already! God, you’re such an asshole!”

“As long as you say that with a smile on your face and a song in your heart.” I said.

My ribs were hurting by the time we reached Chris’s car. That’s what you get for ruining my moment of inner reflection.

I dunno what’s wrong with me today. Instead of spending my last day in town with my girlfriend, Erika, I’m out here at the beach with the human erection. Most guys would probably choose to be with the one they love, but my problem is that I’m not completely sure if the one I’m with is truly the one I love. I’m like every other guy, I guess. Most of the male persuasion doesn’t really grasp the concept of true love. I’d even go so far as to say most men couldn’t define it if they were asked.

I remember the first time I told Erika I loved her. At the time, I thought I meant it, but she returned my declaration with an indifferent response consisting of, “Umm.. that’s nice.” You will understand if I say it wasn’t in my best interests to pontificate my feelings too much after that. I probably would have gotten a better response if I handed her a 12-inch dildo, bent over, and said, “Do  you mind?”

Most of my friends and family regard Erika as something of a cold fish, and sometimes, I have a hard time denying the possibility that they might be right.

“So what time are you meeting the ball & chain?” Chris asked as we got into his car.

I wish he wouldn’t refer to her as my ‘ball and chain’. It’s bad enough we act like an old married couple as it is. Having no passion in a relationship is almost as bad as being impotent. Not like I have first-hand knowledge of that malady, thankfully.

I told him, “Around seven, I think. We’d better get moving, we’re gonna get stuck in traffic as it is.”

Riding home, I stared at the fading blue sky through the windows. Even though I wanted to see Erika tonight, I sort of dreaded it at the same time. Can I make it for three months without a girlfriend? I’ve always prided myself on being a self-contained unit. Guys who can’t live without a woman in their lives are completely needy.

My brother, Gary, is like that. He’s been with the same girl since high school, which I consider somewhat silly. After all, who wants to be tied down with the same woman until the day they die? I think the only reason my parents have lasted as long as they have is because they don’t spend every waking minute together. I enjoy being with Erika because we both know when to back off and give each other some space. I can’t imagine being so enamored with someone to the point where I’d be willing to give up a part of my life to be with them.

Let’s get serious- true love doesn’t exist. And if it ever did, I’m sure it doesn’t exist in the modern world. Just look at the divorce rate. It’s over fifty percent. What’s even sadder is most of those percentages were made up of people who believed in ‘true love’.

There is no such thing.

Come on now, the whole notion of true love is something you see in movies. Even then, the lovers who are supposedly ‘meant’ to be together NEVER stay together. They are always driven apart by circumstance. Nobody gets a ‘happily ever after’. I think most people are either miserable or blindly content- NOT in love.

There is nothing to the fantasy that there is someone in the world who is meant for you alone. I seriously doubt there’s a single woman on Earth willing to put up with me for five seconds, let alone a lifetime. God knows the only reason Erika sticks around is because our relationship is a comfortable one. There’s no fire in it, and no matter how much we want to pretend otherwise, I really don’t think there ever will be.

After he pulled up to my house, Chris and I got out of the car, and I said my final goodbye to my best bud.

“Thanks for helping me get my stuff together for England.” I said.

“Dude, I still can’t believe you’re gonna be so far away.” Chris isn’t an emotional guy, and I think this is the closest he’ll ever come to showing it.

I smiled and slapped him in the gut. “It ain’t my fault, Cupcake. I told you to come with me. I won’t be surprised if you end up kicking yourself because you decided not to go.”

“Maybe, but you know me, I never regret anything.”

We leaned up against his car, hanging out in my driveway. I try not to get too sentimental about anything, but being the sensitive guy that I am, I couldn’t help but feel a slight lump in my throat.

“What does Erika think of you going to Oxford, anyway?”

“She says it’s something I’ve needed to do for a long time. She thinks I don’t have enough ‘worldly experience’, whatever that means.”

It’s funny, I’ve been with this girl on & off for three years, and she still thinks I’m a naive fool. It bothers me, but I never make it a point to say anything about it. What would it solve? Maybe I’m being too hard on her. I couldn’t believe how excited she got when I told her I was accepted into the Oxford program at school. She started jumping and screaming so loud, you’d have thought she were the one going instead of me.

I said, “She says she won’t miss me, but I know she’s lying. After all, who’s she gonna drag with her when she wants to go shopping?”

A chuckle escaped from Chris’s breath. “Good point.”

The truth is, I’m the one who’s lying to himself. Erika will pretend I don’t exist for the next three months. Sometimes I wonder why we’re still together.

In his best sarcastic voice, Chris goes, “Yeah, man, I’m sure she’ll be writing you everyday and pledging her undying love until you come back.”

That’s one of the things you have to love about Chris- he’s a realist. We both know my relationship with Erika is a sham, but at least he’s got the good sense to remind me of the fact when I start treating it like the real thing.

Then he says, “Why don’t you try hooking up with someone in Oxford? If I were you, I’d be scamming the ladies hand over fist!”

I find it funny he would put it that way. The phrase ‘hand over fist’ leaves open a certain implication most men never admit to, me included.

Hmm… that brings to mind a conversation Chris and I had a few weeks ago. Despite his wholesome looks, Chris is addicted to strippers. He goes to the local clubs at least once a week and will make a special out of the way trip to a new joint he’ll have heard of through our other friends. One time, just for the Hell of it, he came by my house and dragged to some club out by the airport. Now, I don’t make a habit of frequenting such places very often, but when the opportunity arises, I take full advantage. Over the course of three hours, we were exposed to more flesh than a tanning booth in winter, and one girl in particular gave us a private show that I’m sure she only reserved for pelvic exams. God only knows what she would have done if either one of us had been carrying a rectal thermometer at the time.

The thing I hate about strip clubs is that when you leave, you have no outlet for all of the sexual tension you build up. The first thing on your mind is, ‘where’s something wet and moist when I really need it?!’ And the answer is- outside of being in a relationship, paying a prostitute, just jumping some random stranger, or cranking with your hand, you’re shit out of luck. Yep, there it is- the quick and easy answer, jerking off.

At dinner later that night, Chris and I got on the subject of masturbation. It started out as a joke, and then I went on and on at length about the benefits and drawbacks. Now normally, I don’t discuss my personal habits, and I gave out the least amount of details possible. The most I put out there was my frequency, which is two or three times a week, maybe less if I have other things on my mind. I figure anymore than that will lead to early arthritis. I don’t ascribe to the blindness theory.

Then I asked Chris his frequency, and he stunned me with his answer.

“I never have.”

Yeah, right. Like I said, I don’t go to strip clubs very often, but when I get home from one, you better believe my knuckles are gonna be turning white at some point during the evening. If I didn’t do it, I’d lose my mind. I’m talking going postal. I mean, who knows? Maybe that’s why the Menendez brothers killed their parents. If you’ve ever seen pictures of those two losers, they look like they’ve NEVER been laid.

Maybe prison life has changed all that. But I digress…

Anyway, my point is that we all have to relieve ourselves to some degree. I asked Chris again, and he  denied it. He went on to say that the reason he never did it is because his Father told him it was wrong and a sin against God. My next question was, “Well, what do you do to relieve yourself?”

To which he answered, “I lift weights.”

Ok, the jury has come back on this one, and they declare this defendant guilty of masturbation in the  first degree. There is NO way lifting weights can take the place of a nice good yank. There’s just no way. Even if that were the truth, with as much strip club hopping as Chris has done in the time I’ve known him, this lying sack of shit would be looking like Arnold Schwartzenegger by now. Sorry, not buying it.

Musings aside, I told him, “Like I told you before, Chris, you had your chance to come with me.”

“Can’t do it, G. With school and working for my Dad, I’ve got too much going on. When are you coming back?”

“In three months.” I answered.

“That’s more than enough time to score with a couple of chicks. I don’t know why you want to stay with Erika. You should break it off and play around.”

It’s not like the thought hadn’t already crossed my mind. During the orientation meeting for Oxford, I sat at a table with a girl who had a passing resemblance to Kathy Ireland. I must have stared at her throughout the entire meeting. If she noticed me, she must have thought I was some sort of drooling lunatic. After the meeting, I spoke to the girl’s mother, finding out that her daughter’s name was Karie. When Karie went out of earshot, her Mom pulled me aside and confided to me how afraid she was for her little girl because she didn’t have anyone to look after her. After putting on a veneer of sweetness, I built up a level of trust. My manipulations paid off as Karie’s Mom asked if I wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on her precious daughter. I said sure. It was like asking a vampire to guard the blood bank.

But the more I think about it, the more I doubt I could cheat on my girlfriend. I’m not wired that way.

“Maybe some other time.” I said.

As if on cue, Erika’s truck came rolling down my street. Her timing is always impeccable. It wouldn’t surprise me if she read my mind on the way here. So much for the thought of screwing around.

“I guess I’d better blow so you two lovebirds can have your moment.” Chris said.

We hugged and I patted him on the back. “Take care of yourself, you big ape. Try not to get into any trouble while I’m gone. After all, I won’t be around to bail you out.”

“Will do.” With that, he stopped to say hello to Erika, then hopped into his car and left. I stood there for a moment wondering how I was gonna get through the next three months without my best friend.

Basically, my relationship with Erika isn’t much of a relationship at all. It’s just, sort of… there… I guess. Point of fact, its more or less one-sided, because I’m the only one who puts any emotional investment in it. Maybe things between us aren’t perfect, but it certainly beats being alone. Chris once said that I would eat a mile of Erika’s shit just to kiss her ass- a rather colorful assessment of my part in the relationship. When I work up the nerve to defend myself, he ends up telling me that I’m in a classic state of denial.

As much as I hate to admit it, he may be right.

There have probably been at least a hundred people I know of who have told me that Erika and I are not made for each other, but I usually blow off their criticism. I use the time honored excuse that goes, “you don’t know what it’s like when it’s just us.” Good Lord, I sound like a battered housewife.

The one person who objects the loudest to my relationship with Erika is my Mom. She can’t stand her.  “You can do so much better!” she’ll shriek on occasion. Then there’s my other favorite, “When are you going to give me some grandchildren?!” I always tell her if she’s not choosy, all I need is some liquor and a few hours to knock up some random girl. Mom shudders at the thought and gets real quiet after that.

On the other hand, my Father absolutely adores Erika, and his displays of affection towards her border on the pornographic. Whenever I bring her to the house, my Dad slobbers all over her. The fact that he stops short of humping her leg amazes me. It probably explains why Mom doesn’t like her that much. I once joked that he kissed her more than I do, and he said, “That’s a damned shame, son.”

I swear, with the family I have, sometimes I am amazed that I’m not in a padded room somewhere hopped up on Thorazine.

One last romantic dinner between the two of us. It’s supposed to be our swan song, but I just can’t seem to get into it. I’m not feeling sentimental and romantic at the moment. I guess it would be hard for anyone to feel romantic when their significant other is arguing with the waitress about having a vegetarian lasagna without cheese. Is there any reason she can’t have a salad for Christ’s sake?

I feel horrible for our server. There isn’t much I can do for her without incurring Erika’s wrath myself. I can only sit here, quiet as a mouse and try to convey my silent apologies with a strained look of gratitude. Just watching Erika go to work on someone else is painful. Lord knows I hate to be on the receiving end. The whole time I observed the exchange, my eyesight shifted between them and my worn butterknife. I figured if this went on for much longer, I can always slit my wrists. With my luck, by the time I actually managed to break skin, Erika will have finished ordering and turned her attention to me. I think if I could have gotten away with climbing under the table, I would have.

I’m glad I have more than enough money for dinner. Nothing says ‘I’m sorry’ better than a big tip. It seems like every time I take Erika out to a nice restaurant, I spend more on the tip than I do on the actual meal.

When the waitress left and a few more of my hairs stopped turning white, Erika said, “Greg, what’s wrong?”

Shaking off my suicidal reverie, I answered, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, did you say something?”

“I asked if you were all right.”

“Fine, I guess. I just drifted off for a second.”

“Thinking about your trip to England?”

No, I’m wondering how you can be so beautiful, yet so psychotic. “Something like that.”

We clasped hands. “So, what did you and Chris do today?”

I recounted my day with all the verve of a wet dishrag. I have to hand it to Erika, though. Whenever we talk, she always pays attention as though I were speaking the lord’s gospel. “… and then, Chris asked me if I would bang Bette Midler. Do you believe him? Just the thought of hearing ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ is enough to curdle my milk.”

She chuckled at my lame joke and took a sip of her wine. It was my turn to feign interest. “So what have you been up to all day?”

“I went to Cal State Long Beach to turn in a paper and then I went shopping with my sister. Can you believe the little bitch had the nerve to tell me that I have a big butt?”

“Yeah, I can believe it.” Erika’s sister, Christine, has all the tact of a drunken longshoreman. I’ll be the first one to admit I hate her. She is the essence of the words, ‘spoiled brat’. God forbid Erika and I ever get married one day, ‘cause then I’ll actually have to call her family. Ugh.

Then I got asked the dreaded question no man can safely answer without serious consequence.

“Do you think I have a big butt?”

Have you ever had one of those moments of potential embarrassment where time seemed to come to a virtual standstill? All of the background noise in the restaurant had stopped at once. I felt like everyone turned and stared in our direction. I cast my eyes down to see if I still had clothes on. Yup, still dressed. At least I know I’m not having a nightmare. Lucky me.

I hate it when I’m with a woman and she asks me something about her physical appearance. It’s a gambit you just can’t win. If you tell her what she wants to hear, she thinks you’re lying. If you tell her the truth, you’re an insensitive bastard. I swear, along with banning chemical and bacterial weapons in the Geneva Convention, they should add answering questions like this to the list. I think I’d rather have my fingernails pulled out.

Seconds passed. My life flashed before my eyes. Think, dammit! Think! What can I say that would get me out of this? Dear God, if I ever needed divine intervention, NOW would be a good time! Where’s a burning bush when I need one?!

Erika got impatient. “Well?”

I suddenly had an epiphany. God parted the gates of Heaven and showered me with the wisdom of the ages. I said, “Honey, she’s got some nerve. Christine has a bigger ass than you’ll ever have. You know that song called, ‘Baby Got Back’? Well, let’s just say that your sister has got back and a half!”

Let’s hear it for deflection!

I couldn’t help being amazed with myself. The silence that engrossed the room was lifted and again buzzing with conversation. A few of the men stared at me with expressions of respect, and the women glared at me like a bunch of wolves whose prey just escaped.

There was only one exception…

With sound and fury, Erika shrieked, “YOU THINK MY SISTER HAS A BIG ASS?!”

I sighed and slunk in my seat. I just can’t win sometimes.

The remainder of our romantic evening, if you want to call it that, went mercifully by without incident. I’m pretty sure Erika is seething inside, but for some reason, she’s letting it go. On the way home, I didn’t feel the need to talk much. Neither of us did. So much for a tearful goodbye.

Erika tried to break the silence with small talk. “Did I tell you I bought a step-aerobics set?”

“Why?” I asked.

“So I can work out on it, stupid.”

She buys a staircase to nowhere and I’m the stupid one in this scenario?

I said, “Wouldn’t walking up and down the front steps on the porch of your house accomplish the same thing?” Ok, maybe I’m being dense, but I don’t get it.

“It’s not the same!”

I’m sure. I would love to be the guy who invented step-aerobics. It’s probably some reject from weight watchers who was walking up a flight of stairs and thought, ‘You know, I could create a new exercise craze and charge people tons of cash just for jumping up and down stairs!’ I’d bet money this guy is sitting in a lounge chair somewhere, eating bonbons and laughing his ass off. I rank step-aerobics right up there with pet rocks and dog psychiatry.

“Give me a fucking break.” I said.

“What are you so mad about? It’s not like I spent your money on it!”

As much as I hate to admit it, she’s got a point. It isn’t my money. I just hate it when she does something like this without telling me first. I’m not a controlling boyfriend, but a lot of times I don’t think Erika takes the time to consider what she might be getting into.

What the Hell am I doing? This is the last time I’ll see her for three months, and I’m ruining it fighting over semantics? I must be an idiot. I don’t want our last few hours together to be filled with anger.

The rest of the way back to my house, I didn’t say anything more because I didn’t want to set off another fight. I pulled into my driveway and parked. Erika jumped out of the car and bolted for her truck. I followed before she could get very far.

“Erika!” I called out. “Wait a minute!”

She didn’t stop, and didn’t even look back at me. “Come on, Erika, please?” I hate this.

She opened her truck door. Before she could get in, I shoved it back in and closed it.

“Goodbye, have fun in Oxford, NOW FUCK OFF!” Her face was red with anger. “Get off my door! I want to go home!”

I swear, every time we go through this crap, I feel like I’m living in a soap opera.

“Not until you hear me out.” I tried to keep my voice even. I didn’t want her to think I was going to go off again.

“NO!” She yelled.

I put my body between her and the door. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

“Fine! I’ll walk!”

Erika stomped her way past me and began to walk up the street. By now, I was sure all the neighbors had turned their TV sets off to tune into the human drama being played out on their front windows. Nothing beats reality.

I grabbed her arm. “LET ME GO!” She screamed. If she had pepper spray, I’m sure she would have used it.

“You know, you’re making it extremely hard for me to apologize for being an ass.”

My admission of guilt calmed her down, if only slightly. She didn’t say anything. Her body language suggested that if I wanted to heal this wound, I’d better make it quick.

I made sure the tone of voice I used was as humble and forgiving as I could make it. “Ok, I went too far and I’m sorry. What you spend your money on is none of my business.”

“And?”

“And?” I wondered. What more does she want? My blood, my life, my fucking soul?! What?!

“Listen,” I said, “the bottom line here is that I screwed up. This should have been a night where I made it a point to tell you how much you mean to me, instead of bitching at you. Believe me when I say that this is the last thing I wanted tonight to be. I don’t want to leave things between us this way. “

Her mood softened a little. “Well, that’s a little better.” She smiled.

“So, am I forgiven?” I asked.

Erika’s token of forgiveness was a hug. “Yes, I could never stay mad at you.”

Finally in each other’s arms, I asked, “Are you gonna miss me?”

“Only when I don’t have anyone to shop with.” She said.

I knew she’d say that. “Gee, thanks a lot.”

“I’m kidding, Greg. You know I’ll miss you.”

Erika gently pulled herself away from me. “I have to go.”

“Wait.”

“Why?”

“There was something… I wanted to tell you…”

“Yes?”

“…I love you.” I garbled the words out.

A part of me hoped she’d be swept up enough to say it back, but I knew she wouldn’t. She simply doesn’t feel the same way. I know saying the words is a total waste of breath, but I needed to say them one last time, even if I don’t completely mean it. When I see her brown eyes glisten in the light of the moon, she is, quite honestly, the girl I want in my life at this moment.

“You don’t love me, you only think you do.”

It wasn’t the response I was hoping for.

“Isn’t that the way it usually works? If I ‘think’ I’m in love with you, then I must be in love with you.” I felt myself getting defensive.

“I know you want to think you love me, but the truth is, you really don’t know what love is.”

“How can you say that? I can think of a million reasons why I feel this way.”

“I know, you’ve told me.”

I do so enjoy the sting of rejection. “Then why won’t you believe me?”

Erika cupped my face in her hands. “Because, to be in love with someone, you need to have real passion in your heart for them. I don’t think you honestly feel that way about me.”

My hands clasped her wrists and brought them down between us. I considered her words. The only passion I ever feel when we’re together is one part anger and one part frustration. But the truth is, there’s never going to be anyone I can ever be happy with. I may be miserable, but it’s a fate I’ve already consigned myself to. I gave up a lot to be with Erika. I realized a long time ago that happiness is something beyond my grasp.

“Greg, we’ll always be friends, but you know we can’t be together. It just wouldn’t work.”

This really sucks. I’m not mad, I’m really not. We’ve gone through this before. I just have to keep wearing down her resistance. The next thing she said really caught my attention.

“Don’t be surprised if you meet someone else in England.”

“Fat chance.”

“Why are you ignoring the possibility?”

My earlier conversation with Chris is starting to come back to me. I was beginning to wonder if maybe he hadn’t driven home his point a little better than I thought he had. The thought of being with someone else was attractive, but I really do care about Erika. I may not know if what I feel for her truly is love, but it’s close, and if tonight has taught me anything, it’s that I have to stay true to my feelings.

“Maybe I don’t want anyone else but you.” I said.

“Trust me, I think you’ll find someone else. I have a sixth sense about these things.”

Erika opened the door to her truck and climbed inside.

“Wait!” I yelped.

The next thing I knew, I was kissing her with a passion I’d never felt before.

After our lips parted, she said, “Maybe I was wrong.”

For some reason, I started to laugh. “Well, I would hope that if I do fall in love with someone over there, I love her just as much, if not more, than I love you.”

A second of hesitation, and then Erika started the engine. “Goodbye, Greg. Have a good trip. I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Count on it.” I said.

As her headlights faded into the distance, I said to myself, “Yeah, sweetheart, I won’t let anything come between us. No matter what I have to do.”

Three hours later, I was literally waist up in clothes, books, cassette tapes, and whatever other junk I planned to take with me. Point of fact, I couldn’t even see the floor. I could barely move. Like the rest of my family, I’m a born procrastinator.

“How’s it going?” The tone was sarcastic and somewhat indifferent. I didn’t have to look up to see who stood at my door. It was my brother, Gary, who probably wanted to take a minute to irritate me one last time before I left.

“How’s it going? Look around. I’m leaving on a trip abroad in eighteen hours, and I don’t have a damned thing packed yet! How the hell do you think it’s going?”

“Bad time to talk?”

“What do you think?” Ok, maybe I shouldn’t be so defensive. Maybe he just wanted to wish me luck or something.

“What’s with you? Did you have a bad night, or are you pissed for packing at the last minute?”

I placed my duffel full of clothes on the bed. “Yeah. I can’t do this stuff early. I’d be paranoid that I left something important behind. At least this way it’s controlled chaos. Is there something you wanted?”

“I thought maybe we could hang out for a while.”

The surprise on my face was unmistakable. I muttered, “Uh, ok.”

Gary and I have rarely gotten along. For being brothers, we might as well be total strangers. In the last couple of years, we’ve tried to form some kind of bond though it hasn’t been easy. I think we butt heads more than we’ll ever really talk. As the next couple of hours passed, we played a few video games and joked around. It was cool, and for once I didn’t feel as though I wanted to be somewhere else.

It was getting on to three in the morning by the time I was even halfway finished, and my eyes felt so heavy from being sleepy. I took a second to stretch out on the floor to take a catnap in order to gather enough strength to change and go to bed, but as soon as my eyes were closed, I passed out.

I opened my eyes, the sunlight shining brightly in my face. A few minutes later, I heard my Mother screaming for me to wake up. I felt two odd sensations as the drowsiness cleared away from my mind- my arms were freezing and I had a scratchy pain in my throat as I swallowed. I guess my catnap lasted a little longer than I intended. Great. I must be on the verge of a cold.

And here I’m gonna be on a ten-hour flight to England. If I were to take being ill as some sort of omen for the trip, then it’s safe to say I’m in serious trouble.

I’d hoped a nice, long, hot shower would make me feel better, yet all it did was make me feel worse. I spent most of the morning stuffing all my things wherever I had room and hearing my Mother complain in regard to my packing at the last minute. I’d always wondered why a slight patch of my black hair turned white in the front. Now I know why.

My Mother’s got the temper of a rabid wolverine and is a master at the fine art of laying down a guilt-trip. It astounds me simply for the fact that, as far as I know, we have no Jewish blood in my family whatsoever. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a wonderful person and I love her to death, but sometimes I wish I had the foresight to carry earplugs with me when she gets upset. The house has a tendency to rattle when she starts to yell at the top of her lungs. The only consolation is that her bark is worse than her bite.

I think I’d rather suffer the physical abuse, though. After all, bruises fade. The ringing in the ears tends to stick around for a while.

When I finally had a quiet moment, I pulled out my journal to write an entry in its last few pages. I stared at the blank lines, trying to think of the perfect words to say. I was at the end of this particular volume, and I wanted to think of something prolific to say. The worst thing a writer can do is gaze at a blank piece of paper. In a way, it’s torturous, because it has to be right the first time. I started with the date, and then I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and wrote my final entry.

Jan. 24,1994-
This is so hard, trying to find the best way to say goodbye to everything I know. I realize I’m not going away forever, but who knows what could happen when I get on the plane? I’m scared, but exhilarated at the same time. The thing frightening me the most is that I’m heading into this all alone. Am I going to meet any new people? Who am I gonna talk to when I get bored? And will things be the same at home when I get back? I hope so. I don’t think I could take it if things were different than they are now.

So why am I leaving? It isn’t like things here at home are so lousy that I have to run away from them. If anything, things are so great here that I shouldn’t be going anywhere. But it’s weird, ever since the Oxford program was first announced, I had this little voice in my head telling me I had to go.

In spite of the changes in my life, I still feel this void that I can’t seem to fill. I’ve made new friends, settled the issues I have with my family, and built up a good relationship with my girlfriend. Why isn’t it enough? Maybe Erika is right, maybe I don’t have enough life-experience. I want to write, but what have I really done that anybody would want to read about?

There’s something calling out to me, like a part of my soul that I didn’t know was lost. It’s something I’ve been looking for my whole life. I just wish I had a clue what it was. I haven’t told any of this to Mom & Dad, because they would think I’m nuts. To be honest, I’m not so sure they’d be wrong.

I have to do this. If I don’t, I know I’ll be regretting it for the rest of my life. What is there in Oxford that I can’t find here?

I guess I’ll find out.

The one thing I’ll miss above all else is Erika. We’ve gotten so close in the last few months, especially after my break-up with Heather. I think maybe it’s time I start to think about taking this relationship to a more permanent level. It will probably take some doing on my part, but hopefully, it will be worth it. After last night, I realized that she may be the one. God knows there aren’t too many women who’d be willing to put up with me.

I love you, Erika.

See you in the funny papers, all!

-G.

Before I knew it, the time had come for me to leave. I gathered all my belongings and took my last look around the house. I held my breath for a moment and closed my eyes. I prayed silently to myself, “If there is a God in the heavens, please let everything be as it was as when I left, and may the Lord watch over my family and friends. Amen.”

I’ll be back.

Follow MadMike’sAmerica on Facebook and Twitter, and don’t forget to visit our HOME PAGE.

About Post Author

Gregory B. Gonzalez

Gregory B. Gonzalez is an angry black man who isn't actually black. No, really- he told us to say that! His parents once had him tested for Tourette's, but when the doctor came back with his results, he said, "No, he's fine. Your son is just an a**hole!" It's been downhill ever since. He lives like the Unabomber, only without the explosives. Feel free to contact him provided you can actually locate him. Just keep in mind that he'll probably make fun of you to your face. We here at MMA can't stand him, so if you want him, he's all yours!
Happy
Happy
0 %
Sad
Sad
0 %
Excited
Excited
0 %
Sleepy
Sleepy
0 %
Angry
Angry
0 %
Surprise
Surprise
0 %
0 0 votes
Article Rating
Subscribe
Notify of

2 Comments
Newest
Oldest Most Voted
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments
Jess
10 years ago

Ok, you got it all out and it’s in the ether. Now you need to let it go with the wind and try not to make the same mistake of falling for someone that hard, before you know what they are all about. Remember what I said about needy clingy people, not attractive at all and they boil bunnies sometimes.

Bill Formby
10 years ago

Greg, I sure you have heard of something called “A Bridge To Far.” You passed it Bro. Just sayin’.

Previous post Government should get out of the marriage business
Next post Perception: Bad owners give pit bulls bad reputations
2
0
Would love your thoughts, please comment.x
()
x