Here's a short story I've written:
...She’s angry with me. But why, what did I do? Or is it something I said. I know we’re at work but everything looks distorted. Everything looks longer or something...
It’s funny. Or more accurately it’s sad. Because I was aware the very second I woke up this morning, that last night in its entire drunken splendor wasn’t going to be kind to me. And no, it wasn’t the headache or the mushy feeling in my stomach that I worried about. What I worried about were the completely idiotic things my intoxicated brain had decided to do. Damn, what did I do?
I called her didn’t I. I did. And she didn’t pick up. But in my alcohol impaired judgment I decided to leave a message. Well what did I say? Of course I can’t be sure but here’s what I think I said.
“I’m fucked up.” A pause as my cerebrum searched for something to say next. “I’m fucked up.” I said again hoping I hadn’t already said that.
“No but Kelly, listen to me. I want you to know. I want you to know something. When I asked you to hang out the other day, the other day after work. I wasn’t asking out. No, no, I wasn’t asking you out. I know you don’t feel that way about me. But I still think you’re cool. I like you. And I want to hang out. I’m sorry. But really what I want you to know…”
But wait what did I really want her to know?
“I’m fucked up. I’m so fucked up.”
Great. I’m the dumbest human being alive. But there must be some way to fix this. And at the same time I guess there really wasn’t anything to fix. I can’t account for everything I said but if I said what I thought I did, then I pretty much told her exactly what I wanted her to know. This situation wasn’t funny or sad. If only one word could be used to describe my predicament that word would be ironic. It’s ironic that the only times I’m uninhibited enough to tell people how I honestly feel about them I’m too messed up to get my thoughts in order. Jesus, I’m an idiot.
But I do need to fix this. I need to talk to her. I need to tell her I didn’t mean to be such a drunken fool. And may be, just may be we could laugh about this whole episode. Hell in an ideal world (and by ideal I mean a world where everything I did didn’t end up in a social catastrophe) she would think the awkwardness of the situation was as hilarious as I did. Who knows this might actually bring us closer together.
No. Even in my ideal world I can’t hope for that much. If I could then she would already be by my side. Let me explain.
It was a cold day in February. We were both leaving work. I had decided to go ahead with my plan despite everything. Not that I had a “real” plan beyond the knowledge that I was going to ask her out. Beyond me telling her how I felt. I wanted her to know. I breathed in. I breathed out. I feigned courage. Weakly I said her name. Ahead of me she turned with a confused look across her brow. We stood in the parking lot.
“Hey, I don’t know how people usually go about this but I’ll just say it.”
She stood silently, the confused look starting to abate as if she knew where I was going.
“I like you, Kelly.”
She was smiling. I was panic incarnate.
“Like, I like you like you. You know what I mean? That’s I why I really want to take you out to eat. We don’t even have to eat in the dining hall either; we can go up into town together. We can…”
I stopped. She was still smiling but to be honest I didn’t know what to make of her expression. At the time only two possible explanations ran through my head: She was either really happy I was asking her out or she thought this was really funny.
I said. “This doesn’t make you feel awkward right? Because the last thing I’d want is awkwardness. Ok?”
She didn’t really say anything to my self-conscious questions. Her responses were more a combination of nods and mutterings that sounded kind of like “yeah.”
But this moment of uncertain confession wasn’t the happy ending my ideal world would have had it be. She walked away without actually committing to any of my divulgences and I walked away convinced that she had.
The rest of this thread is really not that interesting or consequential only the conclusion is worth noting. The part where she let me know that she didn’t share my interest and was sorry that she led me to believe differently.
Two sleepless nights later I had convinced myself that I was over it. I wasn’t of course because if I were I wouldn’t be drunkenly calling her five months later at two in the morning. Slurring words into my cell phone about how “I like you and I’m so fucked up.”
But even I could recognize that those two statements could only exist together.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
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