*In the clinical sense of the word
Another Memorial Day, another drama. That’s my life. For the past two months, I was seeing this guy “Billy,” an electrician with peroxided hair. I thought that I knew the real him.
Our passionate connection made me feel like we were sheltered under the sunny boardwalks of Venice Beach in 1994 with nothing to kill our buzz. I was wrapped up in his bubble. Billy skateboards all the time, and lives out in the country actually. He was kind of like an obscure record I discovered in a beat-up barn out in Cambria.
We met in a strange twist of fate and turns out, we both read Hustler for the articles. Our romance was meant to be. Billy took me out to eat and to the park all the time, brought pinot grigio and PBR for us, held my hand and gazed into my eyes… He was just so romantic.
But then the record totally scratched. Billy flipped the script. Everything changed.
One week ago, Billy told me that he was too broke to take me out to eat anymore.
“I’ve been saving for a house,” Billy texted me. “I can’t spend any money.”
“But it’s impossible not to spend money when there’s a woman in your life,” I said.
Honestly, I was hurt. Why would Billy take me out on dates for two months straight and then suddenly say he can’t anymore? I figured it meant he wanted to do his own thing, and that I should break up with him as soon as possible, before I’m the one left in the dust.
“Look, Billy…” I said. “If you’re trying to be rude and passive aggressive, than just leave me alone.”
“What are you talking about?” He texted me about five hours later. “I’m not mad about anything.”
So I’m a crazy bitch then, apparently. It was all in my head. Ugh!!
But the situation didn’t go away. For the entirety of this past week, Billy turned into a withdrawn and depressed goon who didn’t want to do anything, despite the fact I told him I would be an emotional support and wear a schoolgirl outfit to his house.
“I don’t want to bring you down when I’m in a depressed mood,” Billy said.
“It’s okay to be in a depressed mood,” I said. “Everyone gets in depressed moods, you don’t have to totally ignore me because you’re in a depressed mood.”
But that’s basically what Billy did. His personality changed. Emotionally, he disappeared. He hid away in an emotionless purgatory, and he didn’t care how I felt about it. I suppose you could say he left me high and dry, feeling abandoned, vulnerable enough to join the Church of Scientology…I mean, right when I thought that I met someone honest, it turned out to be an act.
“I actually don’t even like going out to dinner,” Billy said. “I hate going out to eat. I hate going out downtown.”
“What?” I said. “You could have fooled me.”
“I don’t know how to show my emotions,” Billy continued.
“You are a sociopath, I think,” I told him. “American Psycho!” I hung up the phone, and then I went out for the night.
Saturday night, Allentown was pop, lock, and droppin’ from Wadsworth to Main. I decided to forego stilettos and wear pointy ankle boots which said “Girl’s Night – Not Trying to Talk to or Be With Any Men.” Except that is, the men who were in Q. and supplying me with dollars to pick out songs by Nicki Minaj and Demi Lovato, (what can I say, I’m a great DJ at Q. late at night, when the THC and pinot grigio and Adderall are coursing through my veins and I think that 1:30 a.m. is still early and that I should call a bunch of people right away).
“Eddie!” Eddie is my somewhat nocturnal ex-bf/BFF who is definitely an emotional support. I thought maybe, just maybe, he might be awake. “I’m tipsy and I can’t get home!” But did I really have any intentions of going home?
“I’ll be right there, where you at?”
By the time Eddie’s olive-green Honda pulled to the curb, I had already twisted my ankle while crossing the street. Damn ankle boots…I muttered, flicking the ash of a cigarette whose origins were unknown. Stupid little Billy boy…I paced the corner of Allen and Delaware amidst taxi beeps. If only he could see me now!
“Eddie!” I hopped in the passenger side of his olive-green Honda. “Hi!’’
“So, you, like, needed a ride home?”
“Meh, I guess. But I don’t really feel like going home yet!”
Eddie drove around to a quieter street, and we sat in the car and talked awhile. I hadn’t seen Eddie for several months; but it doesn’t really matter, because we’ve known each other a super long time and there just aren’t certain pretenses between us. Except now, Eddie has a girlfriend who would chase me away with a broom if I were to ever show up at his place.
“It’s just all gone to shit,” a tear rolled down my cheek under the glow of a crescent moon. “This dork Billy, I never should have given my heart away. He’s too busy saving for a house, apparently…”
“He’s an electrician, he should already have a house,” Eddie lit another cig. “They make good money.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“What an asshole,” Eddie said, and I realized he was wearing finely-striped silky pajama pants the whole time.
“I like your pants,” I said.
“Thanks,” Eddie said, and I leaned over to give him a kiss.