"Jesus, Brit. You're really going to have to snap out of this Elliott Smith shit. I'm losing wood here."
James turned the lights on, locked the door behind him and threw his keys on the couch.
"How long have you been sitting here like this?"
"I searched for 'kids playing piano' on YouTube earlier. Pages and pages it gave me.
Prodigies left and right." I said, turning the music down.
"As it turns out, if you want to watch kids play poorly, you have to type 'not asian' after the search."
James wasn't listening. He started the shower and got out of his work clothes. I turned my music back up.
"Do you need in the restroom at all?"
He stood in the hallway entrance with his arms on either side of the hall.
The light from the bathroom outlined his bare frame
and as I stared at the correctness of his initial statement,
all I could do was shake my head.
He turned and shut the bathroom door behind him.
I turned my music off.
I can never be sure if I'm losing my mind.
As I listened to the muffled splats of water being wrung out
from his long, dirty blonde hair,
I wondered if he had ever loved anything
more than himself.
The 1999 Dallas Stars, maybe...
I resumed my online festerval.
I found a fellow named Peter Pringle
who was a master of miscellaneous instruments.
He played the theremin with stunning precision, but even then,
it sounded like a drunk and heartbroken cello.
Twenty minutes into his third silver lyre video,
I heard James drop his bar of soap.
How lucky for him, I thought, to be able to wash his dick
and achieve orgasm all at the same time.
The water turned off and he reappeared in the hallway entrance
with his towel wrapped around his torso and a q-tip
shoved about an inch further into his ear
than recommended.
"I'm going to have a few beers with the guys," he said,
twisting the q-tip even deeper, "is that cool?"
"Let me ask you, James and, please, try and be honest here."
"Oookay...."
"Why do you ask my permission?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean if I were to tell you, 'no, I'd really like you to stay home tonight',
what would you do?"
He walked back to the restroom and reemerged wearing his nice jeans.
"What would you do?" I repeated.
"What?" he asked in an annoyed tone as he pulled a clean white shirt over his head.
"I'm asking a simple question, man."
He pulled his belt through his pant loops
and sat down on the couch to put on his socks.
"Well, I'd tell you that I'd only be gone for a while
and that you shouldn't worry about it."
"Right. You'd do it anyways.
So why ask if it's cool if I have no say whatsoever?"
He tightened his boot laces and muttered, "I don't know..."
He grabbed his keys, put his beanie on and stood at the door.
"I'll be back in a bit. Love you."
"No, you don't," I said, turning my music back on,
"but thanks for saying so."
He shook his head and walked out for the night.
I laid my head on my desk
and let the vibrations of my speakers
tickle my teeth.
[ A LITTLE BITTA MONICA IN MY LIFE
A LITTLE BITTA ERICA BY MY SIDE
A LITTLE BITTA RITA IS ALL I NEED
A LITTLE BITTA TINA IS ALL I SEE ]
I looked over at my flashing phone and hoped I had at least
drunkenly downloaded that shitty song for free.
I answered it without picking up my head
or turning down my music. "Hello?"
"Hey lady, whatchu up to tonight?"
"About 5'2...who is this?"
"Ben," he said laughing, "from the show, remember?
You played after me.... I was the tall guy with the tattoo you liked..."
I picked my head up and turned my music off.
"Ooooh. Yeah. Ben. Sorry, I've been on a theremin kick tonight.
You understand. What's up?"
"Nothing. I was just driving around and you popped in my head.
Wanted to know if you wanted to hang out tonight or something."
Oh, Ben.
I remembered him.
I had been at the bar drinking the stage fright out of myself
when a trio appeared on stage,
cool as fucking cucumbers.
A guitar, a bass and a voice.
The tallest of them, the vocalist, tore into the uninterested crowd
with an alarmingly sexy cover of Chris Isaak's "Wicked Game".
"Great," I'd thought, "I'm going to have to follow these assholes."
I'd ordered several more shots before they finished their set.
I was just sober enough to be able to sit on the stool
without tipping over,
but I could feel Stage Brit was in full effect.
She was funny and confident
and drunk. Mostly she was just drunk.
My set had gone well enough and the guys who had played before me
all came up to me afterward.
"Hey, that was awesome!" the little guitar player said.
"Thanks, man. You guys were badass.
I even considered changing my pants."
We exchanged small talk and the tall one spoke up.
"So do you play here often?"
"Once a month." I said, noticing something yellow on his hand.
Without asking, I took his hand and inspected it.
It was Atlas with the Triforce on his shoulders.
"Dude, that's awesome."
While the other two resumed their networking throughout the bar,
he and I talked the rest of the night.
We'd exchanged a few Facebook messages since then
but that was about all.
"Heeelloo....?" Ben said, snapping me back to reality.
"Hey, sorry. Yeah, man.
Hanging out sounds swell. What do you have in mind?"
He laughed. He had a good, strong laugh. "Well,
I was thinking we might check out something local, if you're into it.
These guys called 'The Dakota Fanningpacks' are playing at The Keys and they're supposed to be really good."
"Well with a name like that, I'd certainly hope so.
Sounds good, man. What time?"
"They don't go on until 10,
but if we get there early enough, we won't have to pay a cover charge."
"I like your style, kid."
I gave him directions to my apartment and started getting dressed.
I put my best booty jeans on
and favorite Gorillaz t-shirt
with a black Dickies work shirt over it.
As I began putting my power tube necklace on,
I caught myself feeling giddy and said aloud,
"What the fuck am I doing?"
I looked at myself in the bedroom mirror,
like I was going on a goddamned date or something.
"What the fuck am I doing..." I kept saying to myself.
I called Ben back.
"Hey! I'm about to head your way!", he said.
My boss was right, I Can hear his fucking smile...
"Hey, man. I can't go out tonight, after all."
"Oh..." "Yeah, I'm sorry...but rain check for sure."
"Cool. Well, goodnight then." Geez, I felt like such a bum.
"Night."
I sat down on the bed and looked over at James' side.
Empty. Always empty.
He was out right now
surrounded by giggly waitresses
and guys who hated their wives.
But he loved me, he said.
He always said he loved me.
I got undressed and laid down for the night,
holding James' pillow like a fucking teddy bear.
I thought about how he and I had gotten together in the first place
and wondered who was making him laugh now.
I cried softly into the pillow and wiped my snotty nose all over it.
Sleep on that, prick...
I can never be sure if I'm losing my mind.