On retreat
So I go to my grandfather’s house, collect my gift certificates and 20s and saunter off to Breezy Point. Of course it has to rain. Of course it has to be cold, and of course I didn’t bring my hoody.
And of course, of course, of course I’m the only guy I know that would be stupid enough to show up to a girls house after she casually throws threats of castration around.
With no direct bus, I get off at the closest possible stop. Pull my jacket around tighter, and I’m keeping myself warm thinking about the mental work out I’m gonna get by sucker punching her psyche into paste.
You see maybe I realize I’m not being clear on the actual why I feel this compulsion to why destroy this beautiful creature.
We’re all soldiers. All of us. We slaughter, we kill, we march, and follow the orders of our screwed up hormones. This one here (me), had enough of being the relative pacifist and running to switzerland and praying that it’ll all end. I’ve had enough of being the good guy, while you opportunistic bitches decide to run off to abusing assholes.
If you realize it or not, you rung me dry of sympathy and I’m starting to hit back. Because if this what you want, I’m more than game. I really don’t care what the fuck you think, because chances are (and I know there is a few ex girlfriends, and others I dated that are reading this) you put the final few nails in nice guy mylo’s coffin.
As I walked through the streets of this neighborhood that used to bring me childhood joy, I’m trying to figure out what I’m going to say. Where can I verbally cut to open up her rib cage.
I got to the front of her place. It’s really old, it has a wraparound deck and actual wood siding. I remember her telling me it was once a great-aunt’s house that remained in the family. The lights that were on inside, weren’t from lightbulbs. They were flickery. She still had power because I can see the shape of a christmas tree in a window.
I wipe the soaked hair from my eyes, and I walk up the stairs feeling the steps bend a little. She had a note pinned to the door, “Peter come in” the ink streaked all over the paper.
So I open the door, she had candles set up all over the place. Up the stairs to the bedrooms, around the fireplace, and down the hallways. Quietly I closed the door, I heard the rain rattle against the windows.
It was warm, and besides the smell of wax I could almost smell that cottony smell of fresh warm linen, and homecooked food. I walked down the hallway to the dining room. “yeah I know daddy, no he’s coming…No I’m sure of it. He’s a good man. He has a really neat job, and he’s putting himself through school…Yeah he’s better than Jason. (deep sigh, followed by silence) I don’t know where he is…It’s just hard being away…I miss you and mom, and grandpa, and…(laughs) daddy c’mon that’s not funny. It’s just… (another sigh, it sounds soblike.) I…
Amberleigh turned around, and saw me dripping wet at the door way. She sat at the head of the table where there was a small turkey with trimmings. Candles were set all around the table, two long ones were on both sides of the table.
Her long brown hair was pinned up with two long strands framing her pretty face. Tears were beginning to cut through the light touches of foundation.
“hi.”
“hey.”
“Merry Christmas Peter.”
“Merry Christmas Amberleigh.”
She then smiled. I can’t explain what happened next, but when I realized she was crying though ten seconds before. I just couldn’t do anything mean. I know chicagoPerv, will call me weak. I know I felt disgusted with myself, and I hated her for crying. But I just couldn’t go through with it, not on christmas.
She dabbed her eyes with a napkin, being careful of her mascara. “I cooked.”
“I know it looks great, thank you.”
“Let me get you a towel though.” She took the phone with her before she scampered off, she stopped briefly to peck me on the cheek.
She may have won this battle, but there is always next week.
