conclusive proof: boys and booze dont mix
last night, i went to a show. i must have taken a wrong turn in albuquerque and gone to a play, cause all i got was drama. admittedly, it was my fault; tipsy girls and the boys they want but cant have are never a good combination. it was the sort of night you knew was going to end badly, though even cynical me could have never predicted how badly it would end.
things with dewey decimal have never run smoothly. starting in november it went from dinners and movies and phone calls and emails to crickets. there was never a fight or a specific incident i can point to, but suddenly i was lucky if he returned a phone call and we averaged seeing each other more than once every six weeks. last night, i saw him on the street outside black cat. his band was playing and he asked if i was coming inside. mistake number one.
we talked and we talk-talked and then we left to talk some more at his house. the night ended in tears (mine) and with one of us making a spectacle out of themself (i'll let you guess which one...). sadly, this was not the ladylike type of crying which would qualify as delicate or dainty. nope. this was hysterical, sobbing, body-shaking, convulsive crying. this was a year of pent up anger, sadness, frustration and misguided hope coming out all at once with an unstoppable force.
after walking me out of his room, he turned and walked back into his apartment. its 2 am, and dewey has many times told me his neighborhood is marginal and cabs are scarce. does he offer to walk me through columbia heights to the metro, or help me flag a cab? no. he left me crying on his front stoop and went back to bed. my cabbie pitied me enough to offer me a cigarette and offer to come upstairs with me, because he "could make me feel better."
once home, i proceeded to call several people who had been involved in various parts of the night. apparently i left a message for a.h. where i was so distraught it lead her to believe i was the victim of or witness to a violent crime.
that said, heartbreak doesnt feel like i remember it. in place of the sharp pains of insecurity and unrequited adoration that plagued the last 9 months, im left feeling dull and empty.
thankfully, i have great friends. friends who call me worried at 5 a.m. telling me to call them at any hour. friends who bring me mcdonalds picnics complete with 4 different sundaes so i dont have to choose between caramel or chocolate. friends who bring me books since i cant go back to the library. friends who call to share exciting news about having something published or call to invite me to celebrate their "weekend of love" commemorating their first anniversary as a married couple, who switch immediately into support mode as soon as they hear my voice.