Wicked Wisdom

I’m mentally begging you to walk over here and kiss me. I would settle for you just acknowledging I’m alive, even that would make my heart skip several beats.

I always throw my cigarettes to the ground and then pick them up for one last puff before tossing them again. I’ve decided that this is because I am simply not able to allow myself to let things go. I’m not allowing you to go, I’m telepathically forcing you to stay exactly where you are.

You start to turn your head but something, perhaps my eyes piercing your skin like needles, stops you from doing so. You remain facing forward, and I keep using my mental powers to not allow you to leave.

I toss my cigarette to the ground. I don’t stomp it out, but I also don’t pick it back up. Instead I just light another.

Your girlfriend looks over me and then stands on her tiptoes to speak something into your ear. She’s probably saying, “Don’t look now, but that crazy girl is staring at you.” I don’t break my stare, and I don’t the hold I have over you. Don’t look now, but this crazy girl is controlling your every thought, movement, and response. Whether you want to admit it or not. Don’t look now, but this girl is in love with you. Don’t look now, but she’s going to make you love her back.

It’s after midnight but I’ve met you at the park, our park, for another one of our secret rendezvouses.

This makes the fourth time we’ve done this in the two weeks since we’ve met. You’ve made it clear that you’ll fuck me all night long but you’ll never be able to kiss me. You cannot kiss me, because that would be cheating.

You can kiss my neck, but that’s not cheating.

You can remove my shirt, but that’s not cheating.

You can whisper in my ear that I’m the most beautiful thing you’ve ever met, but that most certainly is not cheating.

You just can’t kiss me.

I push my hair over my shoulder and lower myself to sip from the fountain. I press the button and slowly the water bubbles up and then eventually becomes a constant stream. I close my eyes.  I always close my eyes when I drink, I consider it rude to do otherwise.

The ice cold water hits my lips and I open them slightly. I drink until my thirst should be quenched, and it’s not, so I keep drinking.

Suddenly I feel not the ice cold water against my lips but the warmth of his own. My thirst is quenched, and I open my mouth slightly once again.

And nothing will ever be the same again.

“Hello?”

“Come home. Please, come home, right now.”

“You know I’m busy right now…”

“There’s been an emergency. My mom died.”

You hesitate.

“I’ll be right there.”

I sit the phone down and return to pacing outside of your bedroom door. This used to be our bedroom. Our situation is interesting. We were together for six years and then you dumped me. Now we just live in the same house, but you spend most of your time at your girlfriend’s.

I hear the front door unlock and I run down the stairs. I’m always a very cautious person and almost never run down the stairs but tonight rationality escapes me. Before you can even shut the door behind yourself my arms are around you and I’m burying my face in your chest trying my best not to let tears escape from my eyes.

I know this is usually not okay. But right now, I feel like you’re willing to make an exception. I know this is usually not okay, but right now my mother is fucking dead. Right now, you’ve moved on, but right now I feel like you can make room for me. Because you did love me. Because right now, right now I need you.

You don’t shy away from me, you don’t remind me that this isn’t okay anymore. You just hold me tight. We stand like this for several moments, and then I release my hold and grab your hand. Avoiding eye contact I silently pull you up the stairs.

We stand outside of the doorway to the bedroom that was once ours and is now your own. “I need you to open this door, and I need you to lay on the bed. I need you to let me lie next to you okay?”

You open the door and take me by the hand.

When we were children we saw the same things, like ghosts in the clouds.

When we were teenagers we held each other’s hands during intense moments, like when we found your mom hanging from the ceiling of her bedroom.

When we were 20 we moved to the other side of the country and left  what remained our parents notes saying we loved them, but we knew they were lies.

We loved no one but each other.

Or so I thought.

Each night we’d lay down in our bed and I’d pull you close to me and smell your hair. This was bliss.

Each night you’d kiss me on my forehead, and I’d think to myself – thank god. I’d think to myself – you’ve saved my life. I’d think to myself – I can never be without this.

And then the forehead kisses stopped.

And then you started sleeping on the couch.

Tonight we’re sitting at the kitchen table and you’re making a list of qualities you want in a lover, and I’m helping you write the personal ad – because it’s the only thing I can do now to make you happy.

“She has to wear dresses, but not the kind you wear. Something more feminine, but not as girly. You know what I mean?”

I nodded my head and held back tears.

“She has to wear her hair down all of the time, kind of like your hair cut but you never wear it down.”

I nod and add this to the list, and I think to myself that as soon as you look away I should undo my ponytail.

“She has to be at least two inches shorter than me, and she has to be passionate about something. But something interesting. And something that she won’t talk about all of the time.”

I nod, wipe a tear from my face, and plan to no longer discuss my writing with you.

“Well, I’m going to go to sleep now. Is it okay if I take the bed tonight?”

I nod. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Cool, I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

You leave for the bedroom and shut and lock the door. On the piece of paper I quickly write lipstick lesbian seeks same and walk to the living room to go to sleep.