Somewhere Between A and B Read online

me up. I didn’t want that right now. So I sat up, letting other memories take my mind hostage.

  He had told me that he didn’t want to fight to prove he was worthy of my time. But that’s just what he did. I finally caved and agreed to see him outside of my apartment. He was going to take me to dinner. But I did what I had to. I stood him up, so that he would know just how wrong we were for each other.

  At least that’s why I thought I had done it. He was supposed to pick me up at six. So I left my place, making sure I wasn’t home when he got here. Better that he think I’m the kind of bitch that would forget about plans than anything else. And I really believed that all of this, that his stupid crush, that the few things I felt about him, would be over after that.

  He left the roses he had bought resting on my doorstep. I assumed he would have gotten pissed and just walked away. But he made a point of letting me know he had stopped and gotten me flowers. I placed them in a glass of water because I didn’t own a vase and let them sit on my counter for weeks. I couldn’t bear to throw them away.

  That’s when I knew that I found him more than just physically attractive. That’s when I began to see him as something more than just some love sick little fuck.

  My couch felt so lonely as I listened to the rain beat upon the windows.

  I got to my feet as the rain pelted me. My chin rested on my forearms, which rested on the balcony wall, as I let my eyes wander the clouds. It was all I could do to not think about the first time I got to take her out.

  She called me. Out of the blue, weeks after I had left a dozen roses rest on her doorstep. I was shocked, surprised, elated that she would call. We made plans for the following weekend. A sad smile had stretched across my face when finally she agreed to let me take her out.

  She was stunning when I picked her up. Jeans and a t-shirt, her blonde hair flowing freely down her back. Her green eyes peered into my soul when she opened the door. She just giggled as I tried to express how beautiful she looked.

  We hopped onto my bike, my beat up old Suzuki. And drove until we reached this shitty little steak joint. The bill came out to like forty five dollars. She didn’t seem to mind.

  We talked the entire evening. One of us would have a mouthful of food, the other would be telling some crazy story. We laughed. We got sad (thank god neither of us actually cried). We smiled. And we actually listened to one another. Instead of just waiting for our turn to talk.

  She told me how her dad had died when she was only twelve, hit by a semi on his way to work. I told her how my mom had died when I was six, lost her fight with cancer. She explained how her high school sweetheart had knocked her up, that she still wondered what the child would have been like had she not gotten an abortion. I let her know that my high school sweetheart passed away our senior year, overdosing on heroin at some asshole’s party. We shared a laugh at the kind of pain we have both endured, surprised that the other is still alive.

  A flash of lightning brings me back to the present. I am so cold standing on this porch. But the memories won’t allow me to leave just yet.

  I left the couch. Pacing seemed like a better idea than just lying there, letting the memories batter me. My eyes turn back to the couch and tears finally begin to spill as I remember what else happened on that sofa.

  We had sex. Only once. And it was on this couch. We had been out several times, just getting to know one another. And I had wanted him sexually since the first time we had kissed. But he had this stupid fucking rule regarding sex: he would only sleep with someone that he was in love with. Which made the night we shared together all the more special.

  He had taken me to a bar. And we had gotten really philosophical. He hadn’t dropped any dead guys’ names, only what they had had to say. And I had argued against what most of them wrote about. The smile never left his face as we talked. He really seemed to be enjoying himself. When the conversation seemed to be over, we jumped onto his motorcycle and rode back to my place.

  I figured he would kiss me good night at the door, the way he had always done. But his lips lingered on mine much longer than they had before. When finally I had to breathe, I asked if he wanted to come inside. He agreed.

  Very quickly, our clothes came off. He was very gentle at first, laying me on the couch, tenderly beginning the act of making love. But it wasn’t long before he was being as forceful as I generally liked, making sure I knew who was in charge. I moaned his name, only once. And that set him off. Nobody had ever fucked me like that before.

  My eyes lingered on the couch as I remembered the only time he had ever been inside of me.

  The rain began to lighten up as I stood there. The sky began to clear way. Stars became visible. The moon shone brightly as I stood on her porch. Memories were all gone; reality was all that was left.

  I turned around once, my eyes staring intently at the door. Hoping beyond hope that she would open it, telling me to get my ass inside. After several agonizing minutes, I knew that she wasn’t going to. That I was again alone. I sighed, a silent prayer escaping my thoughts that she would be ok, before my feet began to descend the stairs.

  My motorcycle started underneath me as I sped out of her parking lot.

  “I love you,” I whispered to the open road, as tears spilled down my face.

  I heard the bike roar to life as I stared at my door. Hoping beyond hope that he would open it, walk right into my house, and take me the only way he could. But the door stayed closed and the echo of the engine died away into the night. He was long gone by the time I ascended the staircase.

  “I love you,” I practically screamed to my dark apartment.

  It’s Better to be Right than have Peace

  Ricky grabbed another beer, his cock sure smile mocking me from the kitchen. He was on number eight, but it was hard to tell how inebriated he was. I had only seen him sober on a small number of occasions. His drunken state was his default setting as far as I was concerned.

  That toothy grin of his haunted me from the fridge. The little shit really though he had beaten me. ME! He sauntered back into the living room, smugly holding his beer.

  “So what you think, man?” he asked before he took a healthy swig. I grabbed my sweet tea from the coffee table, draining the glass as I tried to get my thoughts in order. What do I think, Ricky? I think it was an unfair debate, that your arguments were all based solely on opinion, that you must be fucking insane if you think you won this. Sweet tea cascaded down my throat, soothing my frayed nerves. My glass drained, I set it back on the table and cleared my throat, my eyes twinkling mischievously.

  My next move was too quick for any of them to notice. In less than a second I was on my feet, throwing my blazer off of me, and taking a leap over the coffee table. Ricky was far from ready to take my weight, and to the floor we went. Fist connects with face almost immediately. And I didn’t relent. Teeth are flying from his mouth, blood is running from his nose, eyes are beginning to swell shut. The others finally understand what had just taken place.

  But I’m still too fucking fast for them. Anthony tried to kick me off of Ricky. Too bad for him, I had already rolled to my left. So his foot just smashed into Ricky’s ribs. If there had been time to take for a laugh, I would have. But Micah was upon me. He was kind enough to let me get to my feet. Stupid boy.

  He threw a left. Not the tightest punch I had ever encountered, but it had the effect Micah was looking for: it put me on the defensive. Whereas Ricky and Anthony had no shot in hell, Micah knew what he was doing. Moreover, he knew me. He knew how I operated. For the most part. And he was a true friend. Which made throwing that elbow all the harder on me. It connected solidly, turning his head to the right. I decided to end this quickly.

  A fist to the gut. A knee to the face. A foot in the chest. Micah was down. Ricky could barely move. And Anthony wasn’t that dumb. Or was he? The shattering of glass over my head told me that he was. I can’t say properly what happened next, due to that blow, but I
do know that Anthony ended up on his back on the coffee table, which broke under his weight.

  “And that, gentlemen,” I said as I seated myself back on the couch, “is what I think.” Ricky’s mouth was agape. Micah shook his head. And Anthony just stared at me. Only a fucking moron tried to debate with me.

  Limbo

  (or Somewhere Between A and B)

  It’s dark. Really fucking dark. But only where I am standing. Only in this particular spot, only on this stretch of broken ground. I take a drag from the cigarette in my hand as I look around, from left to right. Tall trees on either side of the path that I stand on. Darkness around me. And light-fucking bright light-in either direction of the path.

  Smoke curls around my face, drips from my open mouth, oozes out of my nostrils. The light from my burning cigarette casts strange shadows on the ground at my feet, on the trees around me. I look up, to the canopy of this forest, and see only black. There is nothing there. No tree tops. No stars. No nothing.

  The butt of my smoke hits the ground. Fuck you; I littered. Sue me. With nothing taking up my time, I slowly turn my head to the left, to the pale light radiating from seemingly nowhere. Not nowhere. It’s a light from the past, from who I was. I can see moments in the whiteness, memories of the man-no