Freewrite #5

I didn't want to have the keys to his place, nor do I think he was completely ready to make that commitment. When I locked up with his spare I walked into the bodega on the corner. I'm always so thirsty in the morning.

SmartWater.

In Brooklyn, there's a bodega on every other corner. You'll find yours. I prefer for mine to have a decent beer selection, with a late night walk-up window that I can see-thru and doesn't feel like a robbery waiting to happen. In time the deli clerk will know your sandwich. His 12 year old son at the register will know your smokes. They'll see your slippers and your heels. Bodega men watch girls become women, boys become men and certain people disappear.

"I'm sure this is going to seem really strange, but may I leave these with you? My... friend will be in to pick them up later..." The keys had imprinted my palms, as I'd clenched my fist on the walk over.

My friend? Are we friends? I mean of course we're friends but, "friends?" I looked back up and his hand was extended. I placed them on the counter next to his hand. My mind was somewhere else. Maybe with Him.

And so it began. The pick-up spot.

When I got off work late he dropped them off there for me. Tali never asked me any questions. Actually he never really said much to me anymore. Our relationship had become a series of six packs, smirks, smiles and SmartWater.

We still never talked about what we were doing with each other. I left my panties on the bathroom floor. My favorite juice was in fridge, soup in cupboards, and snacks in the pantry. I had stopped wearing socks in front of him. It was a big deal.

On my way home, well not home, but I guess it was starting to feel that way- I picked up some unwinding wine and headed to Tali's.

"They're not here," he said as soon as I walked in. He wasn't one for jest; I pulled out my phone. He said we needed to talk. I told Tali goodnight, but I didn't promise that I'd see him in the morning. I might only be seeing myself by that time.

His apartment was a fourth floor walk-up and when I approached the building, I found him with his legs-dangling off the fire escape. "I'll throw them down!" he called out to me. The rubber key-covers felt weird to my fingers. The keys were cheetah print; one cover was a black cat, the other a siamese. These were not the spares.

My palms had gotten clammy on the ascent. I exhaled and opened the front door. This artificial sea scent greeted me. I smiled because that meant he found my bath candles. I felt the tension roll off my shoulders as I extended my leg out of his bedroom window to meet him.

It had been over a year since our first casual friends-to-lovers greeting kisses began. Yet, somehow he captured that feeling in his lips and in the way he cradled the sides of my face, my neckline, every time we met. "What's all this about? There's no way you forgot to leave the keys at Tali's for me. And what on earth are you still doing up??"

"Hey Motormouth, pipedown." (He always knew how to be just rude enough to make me smile. I was talking to much. As usual.) "By the way, they're yours." Looking down, I realized that I had come straight to the fire escape and he was glancing at the rubber key kittens in my hand.

[fill]

In the morning we stopped to pick up my pulpy orange juice. Tali noted that it was first time he'd seen us at the same time. I guess some bodega men get to watch people fall in love, too.

excessbaggage

Yesterday we waited in the rain for a friend to join us at Five Leaves. I'll rephrase, it wasn't raining, but more of a light drizzle (just enough to ruin your hair but not enough to shield yourself with an umbrella). "No I already have a smoke thanks. Can I use your light?" Exhaling the first drag I turned to him.

"I feel really full," I sighed, with that distant gaze I sometimes have. He thought I meant from brunch, and questioned what I'd had.

"No, no- I feel full. Mentally full, emotionally full, full of happiness. Full. I can't remember the last time I felt like that." We sat at our table and I continued. "For the first time in my life, I really feel like I have something to bring to the table. I'm happy, I love my house. I don't feel like a burden the way I used to. It was always something, money, emotions. I always felt like such a fucking burden."

I've never really understood how people go through their lives not feeling like a huge weight on the shoulder of their significant others, in the cases in which they actually are. Comfortable with your boyfriend/girlfriend paying for everything because you "can't find a job"? You, my friend, are a burden and should really start seeing that. Go home and work out that resume and wallet situation because supporting your broke-ass is not cute or fun, but more taxing and draining. I'm done with those people and I'm through with being that person. If your bed is a futon, AND your sheets feel like you've been sleeping in your shoes, I'm sorry I can't sleepover anymore.

But we can totally be friends.

bartalk

When I saw your mother tonight, I couldn't help but remember being drunk on sushi in her backseat, falling asleep. I was sitting next to your future girlfriend and had spent the prior 4 weeks watching you fall into lust. I had enjoyed your tea dates, but wanted none of them. In retrospect, I shouldn't have had that third round of caterpillar rolls- but I assumed your family could afford them. I assumed a lot at the time. And if I knew then, what I know now, I'd still know nothing at all.

wait a second.

I work 50 hours a week. When I'm not working, I really enjoying spending time in my bed. Of late, it's been rather empty. If I'm not mistaken, what you're telling me is that on my time off I'm supposed to get up and "get out there" to "find someone."

UGH.

I think I will continue on my cat lady path of oatmeal in bed at 8 PM and dreams of food I'll never cook during naps I take at 6:30 in the afternoon. It's not that I don't have time for romance. I don't have the energy.

oh the abuse.

and i miss the bastard.

bear City

i wear red lipstick around the house. just for shits and giggles, as my sister would say. sometimes it's to motivate me to get out of my room. sometimes, it's to make me feel better about staying in. most of the time it's about feeling like a lady, when i don't.

I was supposed to go to a wedding reception/party occasion thing tonight, but no matter the amount of red lipstick i applied, I couldn't find myself filled with the desire to "dress up." On my days off, i am most comfortable in jeans, a low-cut t-shirt, a hoody, my leather jacket and boots. END OF STORY. I've conditioned myself to think that "bad-ass" is "sexy" and i don't like to vary. Granted I love me a summer dress or 7, at the end of the day I'm cut-offs, not curtsies.

Instead of the burlesque-wedding-extravaganza, i landed myself on a couch (in my cut-offs and boots) with 2 and 1/2 gays and Meg Ryan all night. Long story short, the next graphic T you'll find me in is going to read "sorry boys, I only date Bears."

Okay fine, we watched Bear City too.

edit: that picture is way bigger than I thought it would be.