"Love will come through in the end."

Postulate: To demand or claim, to assume or claim as true, existent, or necessary . B* to assume as an established truth (as in logic or mathematics)

As the rain pelts outside, I’ve had some quiet time to sit and ruminate. I’ve been contemplating relationships--there are the great love stories we read, and the ones we experience that leave us a little bit maimed. I entitled Chapter 7, “Fear is the heart of love” --so, how much does fear really figure into our romantic relationships? I was asking about my idea of the “grand gesture”--which to me, is the moment, one person decides to take a leap of faith and put their feelings out in the open. Are we all just waiting on the grand gesture instead of making it? Ah yes, the reason we wait for the grand gesture is because we are too afraid to take that chance ourselves. After so many heartaches, is it still possible to put ourselves out there, vulnerable to another person, and possibly fall?

In various conversations recently, I’ve gathered a couple things:
1. “I heard once that love is like jumping off a building. You might fly, or you might crash at the bottom.”
2. “It’s not that I’m afraid of being in a relationship, it’s that I’m afraid of getting hurt, getting my heart broken.”

Two ideas, from two different people. But both invoke a question about fear. Number 1, falling in love is equated to possibly losing it all, losing yourself. Falling in love is said to be a leap of faith, a vulnerability. We are entrusting another person with our well-being, with our faith in love. So, after a few bad jumps and a few broken bones--are we capable of jumping as freely as we did the first time? Are we still hopeful that we will infact, fly?
To take the metaphor further--our ability to fly is determined by a series of factors, the weather and our own circumstances, for example. I worry that instead of taking it as the wrong time, we take it and store it away with our growing cynicism. Our new learned behavior is therefore, be skeptical..be guarded. But in reference to number 2, by filing it away with pessimism, are we ignoring the fact that in order to fly--we must have specific, crucial, elements?
I’ve started to put more and more stock in my theory that sometimes we fall and break our hearts, land flat on our faces, because, contrary to our inner skeptic, it just wasn’t the right time to fly. And after all, what would be so great about flying if we did it everyday?

New Chapters

Communication: the root of all evil in the lifespan of my few, scattered relationships. I thought about my little black book , my number, and who I would possibly want to spend the rest of my life with. Nobody came to mind, nobody from my past, present, or prospective future. How could I find my soulmate when I had no idea what he would look like? Be like? Was Jason my soulmate and I just didn’t know it?
After downing a couple cups of coffee, my foot shook as I read over Cosmopolitan. Surely, I was entitled to a little bit of confusion when there were magazines dedicated entirely to talking about men, women and sex. Women referred to the magazine as “The Bible,” for me--some of it just reeked of desperation. For instance, one article was talking about new and creative ways to land a man. My eyes skimmed over the words, the idea was to find a random guy and ask him to hook your necklace for you. It just seemed so superficial, was this really the way to start a successful relationship? Months down the line would you turn to him in bed and giggle, “I just wanted to talk to you so I followed advice from Cosmo.” I sighed, staring at the hot pink cover. Maybe the type of woman who followed their advice was the type of woman men wanted to be with. Maybe, instead of indulging in Cosmo I should be leafing through an advice column, “What to do when you’ve found the perfect guy and still can’t commit.”
I poured out the coffee pot and rinsed out my oversized mug. I stared at the miscellaneous boxes of tea and decided on green tea for Jason. Maybe, if I started “playing house” with Jason, I would eventually fall into it. I set the tea down on the nightstand and drew the sage green curtains.
“Good morning...it’s 11:45, do you want to get up?” I said softly, running my fingers through his hair, calming his bedhead induced cowlick.
“Mmm..already? I can’t believe I slept in this late,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
“Probably the jet lag, you deserve to sleep in sometimes too, you know.” I laughed, I picked up the cup of tea, extending it towards him, “Look, I made you tea.”
He looked up at me, genuinely surprised and grateful, “Thank you, this is a nice surprise. What did I do to deserve you?”
I laughed, it seemed silly that I was so tentative to take things to the next level with Jason. He was a great guy, even if we had our differences. I climbed over him and sat indian style next to him on the bed.
“So, I was thinking, what do you think about going out to a big celebration dinner? I thought I could invite some of the girls, hit the town for a little bit afterwards?”
He took a sip of his tea, quiet. He forced a smile, “Sure, I’ll invite some of the guys too. Get the whole load of them together.”
I raised my eyebrows, this was a new development. Normally, Jason was opposed to doing big group outings, particularly when it involved merging our friends. Maybe I had been silly to think that Jason couldn’t mesh with my friends. Perhaps our two worlds weren’t so separate as I had thought. Maybe, this could work out after all.
I curled up next to him, resting my head on his chest. I closed my eyes contentedly as the sunlight poured into my bedroom. In the light of day, our relationship felt warm and cozy.
Jason stroked my hair as he watched the news and finished his tea, “Alright lazy bones, time for us to get up and start the day. Time is a wasting.”
He jumped out of bed and walked into the bathroom.
“It’s Sunday, let’s just relax today. Maybe do some shopping together?” I inquired, propping myself up in bed again.
“Shopping? That’s the last thing you need to do. Have you seen your closet? Maybe instead you should weed through there and pull out some stuff for donation.”
“What do you mean? I wear everything in that closet.”
He pulled out my first communion dress.
“But that’s SENTIMENTAL!” I leaped off the bed, tugging the white lace dress from his hands. Stroking the pale pink ribbon wistfully.
“Are you still 12? You could maybe fit one leg into that. Come on, Dee.”
I shot him a look, “It’s special to me. You should know that. Besides, I always figured my daughter would wear it someday.”
The words shocked me, I laid the dress down on the bed and looked out the window. It was a subconscious thing, all those years keeping that dress--maybe I wasn’t so stunted after all. I felt Jason’s arms wrap around my waist, pick me up, and then toss me onto the bed playfully. He laid on top of me, planting kisses all over my face. “I love you, my little pack rat.”
I tickled his sides lovingly, “I’m not a pack rat. That closet is perfectly organized and you know it.”
He gave me a big, loud kiss on the lips. Suddenly he turned serious, rolling off me and onto his side.
“You know, Dee. Holding onto those things won’t bring your parents back.”
I looked at him, “I know that, it’s just nice to have sometimes. I remember when my Mom gave me that dress.”
He sighed, propping his head up on his hand, stroking my face. I was half expecting him to start lecturing me about a memory being in your head, not in your material possessions. But he didn’t, as if sensing the topic was off boundaries he sat up. “How did they die?”
I looked up at him, pausing. I had never talked about the death of my parents, except to the girls. The wounds were still fresh and it never did me any good to discuss it. People had told me that by talking about them, it would help me heal, keep their memories real. But, it just reminded me that I couldn’t call them--I couldn’t hug them, I couldn’t be with them. I shook my head, getting off the bed.
“Dee, you can’t just runaway from this.”
“Run away? Believe me, I’m not running away from this. Excuse me if I’m not ready to talk about it.” I said defensively, walking towards the kitchen.
“That’s what you do, you just walk away. You’re walking away from this conversation right now.”
“I’m not walking away from this conversation, I’m expecting you to respect the fact that maybe I don’t want to think about it right now.”
“Not talking about it doesn’t make it not real,” He persisted.
“People deal with things differently. Don’t be so self-righteous about it,” I retorted, deciding mid-walk that I wanted to get out of the house for a bit. Suddenly, it felt like I was being trapped. I walked into my closet and pulled out a pair of sweats. Sliding them on and slipping into a pair of flip flops.
“What do you think you’re doing? You’re just going to leave?”
“I need sometime to cool off. That’s all.”
“You’re so immature, sometimes I feel like I’m dating a child. You’re really acting your age right now. Way to ruin the day.”
I grabbed my purse, shooting him a look. “Ruin the day? Thanks for ruining my day. I really wanted to think about my dead parents. I may be immature, but you’re acting like an asshole.”
“Yeah Delaney, life’s so tough. Nice purse,” he snapped.
I stopped and turned to him, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“What do you think, that you’re fooling everybody?”
“What are you even talking about?”
“You never want to talk about your parents but you expect it to go unnoticed that you don’t work, drive a BMW, and lug around a Gucci bag like it’s nothing.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m out of here, I can’t deal with you and your bullshit right now.”
“My bullshit?!” I practically screamed at him. I felt my blood boiling as my hand shook looking for my car keys. “This is bullshit! How dare you talk about me like that.”
He laughed condescendingly, “You’ve never had to work for anything. That’s why you just walk away. You don’t know how to get your hands dirty and actually work at something. Life’s so goddamn tough.”
I was enraged. I gripped my keys so tight in my hand that I could feel the metal digging into my skin, “You are so out of line right now. How fucking dare you--don’t be here when I get back.”
I opened the door and then slammed it shut behind me. I was practically shaking, I could feel the tears bubbling up in my eyes but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of getting to me.
“Yeah you’re such a martyr!” He yelled after me into the hallway. I didn’t turn around, instead of waiting for the elevator I booked it down the stairs. I pulled out my cell phone and called Amber, “Can you meet me?”
“Sure, what’s going on?” She inquired, sensing the tension in my voice.
“I just need to talk to you, Jason and I had a big fight. Do you want to get lunch at Soler?”
I felt myself calming down as I got into my car. Although his words followed me, the anger dissipated from my body. I adjusted my seat, reversed, and drove off.
“Alright, sure thing. Be careful driving, are you okay?” Amber was the most caring friend I had ever had. You could call her and tell her you got a paper-cut and she would offer to come over with a band-aid.
“Eh, I’m upset. I’m just trying to calm down.” I glanced at my shaking hands, trying to focus on what I was doing.
“Okay, well drive carefully. We’ll figure it all out. I’m grabbing my keys right now, I love you!”
“I love you too. See you in a bit.” I snapped the phone shut and tossed it into the cup holder.
It felt like seconds until I was in the parking lot of Soler. I shook my head, mad at myself. I didn’t even remember the drive there, blinded by rage. I had given into crying once I had the music playing and my sunglasses covering my eyes. Hidden from the rest of the world. I had hated crying infront of people since I was a little girl. One night, in a dramatic ploy to get attention from my parents, I had stayed up all night wailing away and stomping around my room. My Mom had eventually given in and come upstairs angrily, “Delaney, crying isn’t going to get you anywhere is it?”
It struck me then that that made a lot of sense. Crying wasn’t going to change the fact that I was grounded. I looked up at her, suddenly quiet, and I just nodded. She gave me a kiss on the forehead, “No more tears.”
I inhaled as much air as I could get into my lungs. It felt like just yesterday. I could remember how she smelled, she always wore Coco Mademoiselle by Chanel. I secretly kept a small bottle in my car and in my nightstand, whenever I was missing her, I would spritz a little into the air and fall asleep soundly. It instantly calmed me down. I remember walking into the hallway after she and my Dad would get home from a Concert or Gala, her perfume would linger in the hallway and I would breathe it in from my room contentedly, happy they were home.
I saw Amber’s beat up civic pull into the parking lot. She hated her car, so much that I was surprised she hadn’t crashed it yet. I remember in highschool, this girl named Brett had crashed her old mercedes in hopes she would get a new one. Her parents caught onto her plan and ended up buying her a used Le Baron. She was obviously upset and it was pretty entertaining whenever she would pull up into the school parking lot, her mercedes looked pretty good to her by then.
She stepped out, looking stylish as ever. She walked over to me and gave me a big, sincere hug.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
I sighed, hugging her back tightly. She smelled like Vanilla. I wanted to cry, but I fought back the tears, shaking my head and blinking furiously. “I don’t even know, we got into a big fight, a big big fight.”
We nestled into a table by the window, secluded from everybody else. Amber could sense that it was serious. “Tell me everything.”
And I did, I told her about how scared I was to be with Jason. That I was afraid I was never going to able to love anyone fully. I told her that he had asked about my parents, instantaneously her hand was on mine, comforting me.
“Am I crazy? Is it me?”
“No, you’re not crazy. Everyone deals with grief differently. I pray for you all the time, and what you’ve gone through nobody can understand but you. You deal with it however feels right for you.”
The funny thing is, I knew Amber was being sincere when she said she prayed for me everynight. Her family was very Catholic and very caring. Although I didn’t believe in organized religion, I found comfort that Amber believed enough for both of us.
I needed to confide in someone. Not about Jason, it was more than Jason, bigger than that. “Sometimes, I worry that the pain will never go away. People tell me that time heals everything. But I worry that’s something cliche that people just say. You know? I’ve read all those books about grief that people gave me at the funeral. None of it helps. According to them, I’m still in denial--but acknowledging that doesn’t change the fact that I miss them. I miss them so much that it aches in places I didn’t think existed.”
Amber didn’t say anything. She just listened. And that was the nicest thing anyone had done for me in a long time, just letting me get it out. I told her what Jason had said about the money. She shook her head thoughtfully,
“Delaney, I’ve known you for a long time. Don’t feel bad about the money. You lost your parents. It’s not..it’s not a trade off.” Her eyes stared into mine beseechingly, unsure of how to say what she wanted to.
I nodded, rubbing my eyes. I was exhausted. I was exhausted with my relationship, my life, my grief.
“It kills me every time I get a letter from the bank. I never wanted that money, sometimes it’s just a huge reminder of what I don’t have. That they’re gone.”
I didn’t have to tell her that I didn’t want to sound ungrateful. She knew. I didn’t have to make sure I was saying everything politically correct like I would have had to with Jason or someone who didn’t know me that well. The truth was, I was broken. I was broken and I had no idea how to glue myself back together, mend the fragments. Maybe it came down to the fact that the two people I was supposed to look to for guidance, to depend on, were gone. They were snatched away without a moment’s notice. Our relationship had never been perfect, we bickered, we argued about pointless things, we were normal. It’s funny in a way, that we have a tendency to take the people who mean the most to us in our lives fore-granted. We argue with them because we can, we don’t appreciate them because we think they will always be there. We don’t say the things we should because we think they know.
Amber was cautious, knowing it was a sensitive subject to talk about and kind of taboo, “Delaney--that money is a way for your parents to still take care of you. Try not to think about it as a sign that they are gone, but more as a sign that they are still with you? Jason was out of line today. The worst thing about fighting is not knowing when you’ve gone too far, hit below the belt. This isn’t a sporting event where you can call time out. It sounds like you both said things you didn’t mean.”
I nodded somberly, looking out at a family getting into their car. The little girl was whirling around with a birthday balloon, completely care free. I envied her.
She continued, “Was it just the comments about the money that upset you?”
I sighed, my heart felt heavy. I shrugged, stirring my black coffee as I fidgeted in my seat. “No, I guess not. It was a couple different things. For instance, he told me that I run away from everything.” I sighed again, “I guess I should tell you--yesterday when I picked him up from the airport he mentioned us moving into together, and maybe even getting married.”
Her eyes widened, marriage was like Christmas to Amber. She had been planning her future wedding day since we were little, thumbing through bridal magazines in the grocery store wistfully, in short--she was the complete opposite of me. “Married? Wow. What did you say?”
“I didn’t really say much of anything. I don’t really know what to say or what to think. I mean, how can I even seriously contemplate being with someone when I’m such a wreck? God, after my parents died--the whole floor came out from under me in my relationship with Nick. It was like life just decided to shit all over me. Maybe I’m not recovered yet. Maybe I’m still angry...bitter. Or something.”
“Maybe you’re afraid Jason will leave you like Nick did.”
I looked up at the ceiling, it was true. After I started seeing a therapist and taking medication for my anxiety attacks, Nick pulled further and further away. Like I was some kind of disease he didn’t want to catch. Thinking back on it made me sick. It was like our relationship went to shambles, what I thought was a solid bond was actually just a deck of cards. My parents died my senior year of College, and luckily it was towards the end of the year because majority of my teachers ended up giving me a pity B. I couldn’t concentrate on my school work, and sometimes I would just break down in the middle of class and have to leave. It was like I wasn’t in control of myself. One day I called Nick to pick me up from class because I was feeling really down. He said he was too busy and in the middle of a big video game session with his roommate Ty. I started yelling at him, losing it all together, and he yelled back, “I’m sorry I don’t understand Delaney, maybe if one of my parents died I’d get it. Get it together. It’s our last year, I don’t want to spend it wanting to slit my wrists.” Looking back on it, that was probably the moment something in me snapped. Part of me died too. I hung up the phone without saying a word, no longer angry, no longer crushed, I was just there. I was totally devoid of any emotion, as if all the pain I had been feeling suddenly became too much and my body just shut down. My therapist had aptly called it a “gray-out.” It’s almost as if you, yourself, are replaced by a zombie version. You go through the motions of everyday existence but you aren’t really there, you aren’t really you. You’re somebody else.
“I just started feeling slightly normal again. Sometimes, even being happy when I wake up. I’m afraid, if I talk about it, if I hash it out, that it’ll all come back again. I guess maybe, if I don’t talk about it, it doesn’t seem as real. Jason called me on it, and I guess that’s why I got so mad. Because it’s true, I’m not walking away--i’m sprinting for dear life. I have a guy who wants to talk about my parents with me, instead of pretending it never happened, and I’m acting like Nick. I’m ignoring it. I’m trying to go about the motions of a relationship without the real intimacy. But, is that okay? To not talk to him about it? Because it just seems like when I am, who I am, people don’t know what to say to me. I don’t want to lose every guy I want to date because I’ve had a huge emotional blow in my life.”
“Maybe you just need to be alone right now. Give yourself time to heal.” Amber offered.
I bit my lip, knowing there was something to it. “But I don’t want to be alone. Do I have to be alone in order to work on myself?”
She thought for a minute and then said, “You know people say you can’t be in a relationship until you are content with yourself. I don’t know how the saying exactly goes, but it’s more or less like that. Like, you can’t be there for someone else in a relationship, until you know how to be there for yourself.”
I groaned, “God that could take years. It seems, the ways I take care of myself, are unacceptable to other people. When did guys become the ones who want to talk and share feelings? I just want to do what I want to do. I don’t want to have to talk to someone about something if I don’t feel like--does that make me crazy?”
“No, that makes you human. But, I really think it would do you some good to just take a time out from relationships and just take some time for you,” She laughed, “So you can quote ‘do what you want to do.’”
I smiled too, I was starting to feel calm again. Maybe the world wasn’t falling all around me. Maybe it was just a small storm.
“Man, this sucks. Jason and I were planning a big celebration dinner for his promotion. Now that won’t be happening, I’m not even sure how to go about fixing this.”
Amber sighed, “Well, it’s up to you. Do you feel like fixing things?”
“Not at the moment, I just don’t want to deal with him. It’s like I’m so mad at him, but I don’t like fighting. It’s just so draining.”
“Well, call him when you feel like it. Nothing has to be decided tonight.”
“True, true. It’d be nice to go out for awhile and take my mind off things, would you want to get the girls together and go do something?”
Amber beamed, “I thought you would never ask, I’ve been dying to go to Vision, that club downtown. Apparently all the athletes go there to hang out,” She raised her eyebrows mischievously, “I’ll bet Eric will die when I’m on the arm of some star basketball player.”
Amber then continued to fill me in on the details of Eric’s facebook and the pictures of him and his possible new girlfriend. It was nice to listen to her and somebody else’s drama--mine had become too much for me to deal with. I guess at the end of the day, no matter what else happens, if I don’t have a boyfriend to hold my hand--atleast I can count on Amber to do it.

Chapter 9
I opened the door of my apartment, half hoping Jason would still be there to tell me how foolish we had both been. But the only sound was Bachi whining happily to see me. I walked into the living room and saw a note on the kitchen counter.
“I don’t think we should talk for a few days. I’ll call you when I’m ready to talk.”
I sighed, it wouldn’t blow over as quickly as I had hoped. Drama, drama, drama. I walked around my apartment, staring at my father’s chair in the corner by the french doors. It was a dark, chocolate leather, worn in where he used to sit and read. I pulled my favorite blanket off the arm of the couch and curled up in the seat, closing my eyes. I would never admit this to anyone, but sometimes I pretended it was him holding me. The chair was so comfortable, I didn’t want to get out of it. I couldn’t tell you just how long I sat in the chair, staring blankly at the wall in front of me, but it was long enough for the sun to set and darkness to come again. My cell phone buzzed in my purse from the floor, I was a little disoriented but managed to scramble and answer it, “Hello?”
“Hey, I need to talk.” It was James. Apparently, something was happening to everyone today.
“Sure, what’s going on?”
“She got a job in California, she said she’s going to take it because she wants to be closer to her family.”
I didn’t know ‘her’ name, but I felt like I knew her after how much we talked about her the past few weeks.
“Oh, shit. What are you going to do?”
“Well, I have a job here. And, I don’t think she wants to bother with the long distance. I think it’s over.”
“Huh.” I was deep in thought, should I defend her? Should I defend someone who was afraid of relationships too? Maybe she wasn’t just like me, but I felt like I understood where she was coming from. “Well, did you talk to her about it?”
“Sort of. She got mad at me when I called her on it.”
Eerily familiar.
“Are you happy? With her, I mean.”
It was a strange question, but it’s what came to mind. If James really loved this girl, maybe he should be patient with her, wait out the storm.
“Don’t hold this against me if it blows up in my face, but I could really be with her. I really love her.” That surprised me, James was usually very guarded with his emotions. He was a great communicator, but very private, cautious. That was something we understood about each other.
“Hmm. You know, what I’m beginning to realize is that when something is meant to be--it will be. Maybe, bumps in the road are just tests.”
“Tests?”
“Yeah like, maybe to see how much you are really in it. If you care about her, maybe you should just be there for her. Not pressure her about it, just enjoy it. Like she said.”
I could tell he was frustrated, his voice was tired and tense. “Yeah I guess, I just don’t get it. She never lets me in. I never know what she’s thinking.”
“Do you think she’s into the relationship? Or is her not saying anything, just a way to avoid telling you the truth?”
 “Go on..”
“Well, I mean. Is she just avoiding telling you she doesn’t want to be with you? I hope that doesn’t sound too harsh.”
“No. Could be. Man, I hate girls.”
I smirked, “Perfect, I hate guys. Together, we take care of the whole planet.”
“Jason and you fighting again?”
“Of course. It’s what I do, I fight with people, ruin relationships, and am just destined to spend my life alone.”
“Well, hey, you and I can spend our lives alone together.” James was always brutally honest. He never sugar coated anything, or said something just to make me feel better. He knew that in the long run, the truth, was better than taking comfort in a lie.
“James?”
“Yeah?”
“I hope it works out, for you. Maybe she just needs time. Maybe, being there for her now, will do wonders in the long run.”
“Hm. Interesting. I just don’t want to look like an idiot.”
“Nobody does. But, to me, sticking by someone, is never grounds for looking like an idiot. Do what feels right for you..whatever that may be.”
He sighed, I could tell he was thinking. It bothered me that he was so frustrated by this girl.
“I’m sorry I don’t know her. It would be nice to be able to tell you what was going on in her head. The only thing I can say, is that in my experience, actions speak louder than words. Sometimes it’s just nice for someone to hold your hand when you don’t know how to ask them to.”
“Word.”
“Word,” I repeated with a smile, “It’ll work out. It always does. I’m going to go though, I have to meet Amber for a night of drinking away my sorrows.”
“Sounds like a plan, have a good one.”
I hung up the phone, pulling it to my heart. It seemed like every relationship had communication problems. How much easier would life, relationships, be if we could just say what we really meant. If I could tell Jason I wasn’t ready and he could be okay with it, things would be better. But maybe, there’s a reason we foul up, say the wrong things, maybe sometimes it’s not the right time..or maybe sometimes it’s just not the right person to say them to.

A day in the life of Corni, Cursi, Curly, Rubia.

Dross (DRAHSS) waste or foreign matter, impurity. Etc.

I can hear the plates clinking at the Mesoncito, across the street. It’s 11:30 PM and I just crawled into bed after one of the longest days I’ve ever had teaching.
I rolled out of bed at 5:55 this morning. I contemplated setting my alarm for 5:45, but the idea of waking up before 6 AM was just so depressing. I compromised on 5:55, still close to 6 AM but practical as far as my time allocation went ( making fruit salad, coffee, and getting ready). What bothers me about my fruit breakfast, which includes kiwi, pear, apple, orange, and banana, is that I can’t prepare it ahead of time the night before because I hate when fruit gets a little brown. The taste isn’t too different, but it’s not as aesthetically pleasing. Silly? Moving on.
We arrived at the park by the school at 6:50 in the morning, the bags under my eyes are almost permanent after an entire week of bad sleep. It’s one thing to feel tired and another thing to actually look haggard. The field trip was organized for the first and second year students which are 12-14 year old students. Will and I were each assigned a bus of students, the 43 students in mine might have seemed intimidating had I not been in a state of zombie induced indifference. We drove 2 1/2 hours to the Sierra Nevada mountains in Granada. The students started yelling and cheering upon sight of the snow topped mountains. Neither Will or I had any idea what we were actually going to do in the Sierra Nevada, so when we made it up to the CAR training center (Arguably the best sports training facility in Europe for athletes) we were pleasantly surprised. I had a surreal moment when we were watching their introductory video in the dark auditorium and I had to monitor the talking and make sure everyone was paying attention. I never would have thought I would have gone to the ‘dark’ side.
After we toured around the facility, our two tour guides Rafa y Frito took us to the slopes where we went sledding. The students were so cute and in such good spirits. That is, until snow ball war 2009 broke out. Spending part of the day with ice bits down my shirt was not ideal, but going sledding with the kids and teaching them how to say things in English was really fun and entertaining.
My favorite part of this field trip was being able to communicate with the kids in Spanish. My first field trip to Cordoba with them was a little more frustrating because my Spanish wasn’t very strong when I first got here. Now I was talking with the the teachers (who only speak Spanish) and all of the students freely. One point for me.
After sledding we took the students to the ice rink, which ended with several wounds and bad falls. After that, the trip took an interesting turn. My angelic, sweet, 12 year olds turned into hellions about 5 minutes into our return drive home. Rafa, Javy & Jorge were all asking me how to say bad words in English, and somehow I got pulled into the mess when they thought it would be funny to ask me if I play “penis” which sounded just like “tenis” (Spanish word, different pronunciation than tennis). Clever, clever. Shortly thereafter, a few of the students threw up because of motion sickness (the road was so windy, I was actually car sick as well)--so you can imagine how awesome the bus smelled. The other teacher on the bus with me was about as manic as the bus driver who was now shouting “mierda” into his microphone, pissed off at all the students. The teacher just held his head in his hands. Thus, I was left to make sure they were all staying in their seats so as not to warrant another stage 5 freak out from the disgruntled, sociopath, bus driver. Jorge turned into a tattle tale and kept wanting me to get kids in trouble. I also found myself explaining why the peace sign not shown palm forwards is basically the same thing as the middle finger in the United Kingdom. I told them that in the United States it wasn’t anything but the peace sign. After that, I caught sweet tiny Jorge flipping one of the girl students off who then proceeded snap “Tu eres ugly,” and then say “Soy beautiful. Tu eres ugly. Pero, I beautiful.” Which is funny and I guess typical of 12 year olds. Spanglish. It just made me laugh listening to them name calling, cracking up about “penis” (which they have no hope of properly pronouncing) and calling their math teacher Juan Ignacio a “yeti” --kids are the same everywhere. 12 year old boys are always going to be perverse, and 12 year old girls are always going to be sassy. By the time we pulled back into the park in Posadas at 9 PM, I was ready to run home and/or jump through the window to get home faster. Kids are EXHAUSTING. I told Rafa, who had built a faux sword that I later had to confiscate, that he just needs to behave because I didn’t have the energy left. He’s allegedly the most difficult student in first year--but he and I sat together there and back and had a blast together all day. He’s really sweet but just really loud and always making jokes (at the bus driver’s expense) but he was really good for me, which I appreciated.
I never thought I would be able to handle kids from 12-17 with ease. I always thought if hell froze over and I decided to become a teacher, I would teach little tiny kids. I’m honestly surprised at the lack of anxiety I feel dealing with them. Sometimes I swear the teachers look like they are going to turn blue in the face, cry, or just leave the room. I guess I never take their indifference or attitude personally, they are just being teenagers. My main goal is to keep them interested and feeling that they are learning things of value. However, after being on a bus of 43 students for 6 hours in a day--I’m more than a little tuckered out and I’ll probably recover my hearing at some point tomorrow :)

Buenas noches.

PS: My mom called me when we were on our way home from Granada and told me she is actually going to be able to come out for Semana Santa! Estoy contenta.

No pasa nada.

Worry.

I could have ended my blog at that. Simple, to the point, true. Yesterday, I was laughing at the fact that I created a make-shift closet using a curtain rod, picture-hangers, and a pot as a hammer. Today, life decided to serve me an extra portion of reality.
My Mom has been planning on coming from April 4th-12th since I left. Unfortunately, work is too crazy to leave right now so she has to postpone her trip until the end of April. She’ll either meet me in Madrid on my flight back from Athens or the following weekend in London. It’s not the end of the world, I suppose it’s not even that big of a deal--but I was just missing her recently and counting on a week of epic adventures together. I guess it’s just really disappointing because I went from seeing her next weekend to not knowing exactly when I will see her.
Now, I’m not sure what I’m going to do for Semana Santa because Will is going to Cadiz to vacation with his family and I imagine most of the teachers will go back to their respective towns to visit with their families. So I have a week to try and figure something out. The obvious answer is to stay in Posadas and go to Sevilla and Cordoba to see the festivities on my own accord and write all week. But, I think it would be really depressing to be in Posadas alone knowing everyone else is with their families. Is that juvenile?
The conversation went from bad to worse when I realized that my master’s program stopped accepting applications and won’t accept anymore until August 16th. I wanted to continue teaching while getting my Master’s and the program at U of A is perfect for me. I really want to further my education, teaching, and writing. So now, if all goes well, I would be starting in May 2010. That feels infinitely far away at the moment. What am I going to do in Arizona until then? I’m wondering, just wondering, if it would be better for me to stay and continue teaching here. I just don’t understand why my sense of self-worth is so tied to an occupation.
I was thinking out loud with Will in the kitchen a minute ago, and it occurred to me that all this worry goes against the spanish way of life. Worrying isn’t going to get me anywhere--so why do I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders? I am an avid believer of making lemonade out of lemons. The quote “I just want to do what I want to do” comes from some movie that I can’t think of right now, but it’s replaying in my head. All I want to do is write and teach. So is life..or better yet the economy, going to smite me and my ambitions?
Thinking out loud is my code word for self-soothing. I’m trying to make up back ups for back ups at this point. Sometimes I wish someone would tranq dart me in the neck. There’s really no point in fretting over something beyond my control. Like Juan Manuel says, the only thing I can do is be assertive and confident.
Moving on from my griping, one of my students named Antonio who is in my Bachillerato english class wants to live with my family this summer in Arizona to work on his english. My Mom said of course, and I’m going to tell him on Monday that he can come in July. He wants to stay for a little bit over a month--my mom was like “Oh we can take him to San Diego on vacation with us! Oh and we can take him to the Grand Canyon to go rafting!” So, friends, I may have a comrade from my village kicking it with me in Scottsdale this summer. He’s fabulous and really smart. I’m excited to see his reaction to Scottsdale, I’m sure it’ll be just as shocked as my initial reaction to Posadas. I may have to bring back some jamon to keep him from starving ;)
Missing you.

my life is a shitshow

I'm currently hiding out in the teacher's lounge, indulging in the internet. It's AMAZING how many people are online at 10 am Arizona time. Facebook chat rocked my world.

Anyways, tomorrow I am going on a field trip with the little kids to the Sierra Nevada mountains to see the snow. If anyone gets out of hand, i'm hoping to catch them by surprise with my phenomenal snow ball throwing skills.

My excessive running routine is in full force, I ran up to the sierrazuela again today which is a 4 mile run, on such a steep incline your legs feel like they are going to fall off. Between culinary adventures, running and tutoring--life in the village is pretty busy. But it's beautiful, here are some pictures of it..



I also figured out my return flight, which got cancelled because such is my life, and now i'm coming home June 4th :) I hope you are prepared, I want a proper reintroduction into the civilized world. Last night I hung up the second tier of my closet using curtain rods and a pot as a hammer. Things have become a little too primitive for my liking.

Anyways, you guys enjoy your closets, i'm going to kick it with jamon.

Edentulous: having no teeth, toothless.

Okay first off-- Venice was the most amazing trip of my life--so good I feel writing about it would cut it short. I will say this, if anyone ever asks me where they should go in Europe or to honeymoon--now and always I will respond, Venice.



It’s 11:15 PM in Spain, 3:15 PM in Arizona, and my eyes are so heavy I know the minute my head hits the pillow it will be a quality lights out.
So yes, I have been MIA for over 3 weeks. You know that whole concept of being stranded on a desert island? I’m stranded in a village surrounded by olive trees. I guesstimated correctly when I knew the outside world would be out of reach during Amy & Jamie’s birthday festivities (miss you both :( ))
(this is my neighbors house, and I present to you the guard dog of Posadas)

A weird weather front hit Posadas just as the Hulk was leaving. My village is quiet--hurricane Andalucia is definitively among us. I have no doubt that after the flood hits, all that will be left will be Jamon. Jamon Maki Sushi at that. Prepare yourself---jamon sushi is out there..and I saw an ad for it. I also just googled it to be sure, and yes...it's been confirmed.


Alright, more seriously--I started thinking about the past affecting my present. When I was walking through the streets of Venice, I encountered several local shops that had the exact items Lenna had purchased years before. I have her vintage black spade sunglass case in my desk at home, and there it was staring at me from the store window--shiny and new. I contemplated buying it, shifting my weight from foot to foot, biting my lip, wondering if I should buy it..I opted not to since my old one packs alot of sentiment. Likewise, when I found stores packed full of the ridiculously expensive murano paper weights--a mental image came to mind of all my books topped with these weights in my bedroom at home.



I ended up buying a beautiful dark blue and deep red Onyx egg from a store. They had the set of pink marble eggs I have in my room at home. I had always been annoyed when a new marble or onyx egg would appear in my room, "Mom, really? Can you put these somewhere else?" when I would come home on a random weekend from school. I called my Grandma and told her I had found them and she was really excited that I did, she was happy to talk to me about Venice because she said it brought up so many memories for her. I then talked to my Mom about my surprise at finding so many familiar objects here and she said alot of our things had come from Italy. It's just weird..these strange objects had so much familiarity for me. It was like walking through the past. It almost felt like they were ghosts on the street with me. I don't know how to explain it any better, it was special to me though. I'm beginning to wonder, not exactly sure how to phrase this--but maybe coming to Europe was more about trying to find them (Lenna & my Grandma) ...and maybe by learning about my past and my family..I could learn more about myself.
Whenever I was asked why I was going to Spain before, I had no genuine or sincere answer. I knew I needed a change, to push myself, to force myself to grow. Certain things in my life weren’t working before, so I understood that by pushing myself I would eventually be forced to confront them, understand them, and ultimately fix them.
Something i've recently come to terms with is that one of the biggest things I wanted to accomplish here was learning how to just be. Know who I am, what I am capable of, and be content with quiet confidence. I am my harshest critic and I just want to quiet that part of myself. I need to just follow my own drummer, without outside pressures influencing me.
I’ve felt is the struggle between what I want to do and who I want to be. I will never be content without challenge. That being said, I’m intimidated about finding a job. To me a job goes hand in hand with identity. I could never work in a humdrum job, just to have a job. I want to do something that satisfies me, something that helps me continue to grow as a person. I’m really happy teaching. I love working with kids on a regular basis, thinking of creative lesson plans, talking about grammar, and trying to help them get the best education they can. Not only do I want to teach, but I want to be a great teacher. Did you know that both my grandma and Lenna were English professors? I guess it should come as no surprise that I would love to be that quirky English Professor being babblative about the romantic period and sharing my love of literature with students. On the other hand, being a writer comprises an intricate part of who I am. Even as a little girl, my family would find me tapping away at the typewriter or computer for hours. My grandma still has some of my stories, one of them is entitled “The ugliest girl in the whole entire world.” People would puke all over themselves when they saw her--line 2. Apparently, I’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.

An aside, I was thinking about writing a travel guide about lessons I’ve learned on my random adventures. Things you read and scoff at end up being painfully true, for example, it will always be more expensive then you think. You know that some part of you is like “Oh yeah right..it’ll be cheaper” etc, etc. No. No it won’t, it will always cost more than you anticipate. Traveling is EXPENSIVE and usually very unglamorous. Being an over prepared freak like me comes in handy in moments like that (when you still smell agreeable b/c you packed travel size containers of your favorite toiletries) Also, that recommendation of packing a spare change of clothes in a carryon is imperative. I repeat, IMPERATIVE. That came in handy when I didn’t get my bags in my village for 5 days. I had even prepared to lose one bag (after that happened to Claire in Sevilla) so I packed a mix of everything in each bag (winter/summer/toiletries/shoes). That didn’t help at all when neither showed up. And for all those OCD freaks out there--I’m currently burning my amazing smelling candle that I packed, totally worth it as I sit here listening to Air Supply “Making Love Out of Nothing At All.” Moments like this, I sit in my pajamas on my twin bed and smirk knowing how weird that in itself is. Does anyone else listen to that song for entertainment?

Also, last week it finally happened. I had felt it was inevitable for the past few weeks--i’m a prime target for lame things like this. A bird shit on me when I was walking home from school. It hit my shoulder and luckily didn’t get in my hair. I actually let an F-bomb drop as I tried to wipe it off with a plant. Luckily, a Spanish construction worker took pity on me from his vehicle and offered me a napkin. Will says that being shit on by a bird is good luck and wanted to know if it had brought me any so far, I’m suspect. I think getting shit on by a bird is just like getting crapped on by life. What do you think?

Un-be-liev-ABLE! (No, seriously...)

Guess what, the twilight zone is actually located in the black hole of the Madrid airport. Maybe the Bermuda triangle is actually somehow possessed by this abysmal place of flight. Somehow, you can take a train to your gate (that was just a joke, they switch gate locations on you 10 minutes before boarding..for shits and giggles) and you can actually end up back outside security again minutes before your "alleged" flight--just to go through the whole thing again, all the while having no idea how it happened or how it was physically possible to pull off.

It was a nice trip down memory lane; I was like a little tour guide, tracking the tragic overnight experience in the Madrid airport, almost dream (nightmare) like from my Mono-psycho-delusional state. I got to see the spot where I slept indian style for 6 hours on a random bench by the J gates. We also revisited the McDonald's, which I had hit up right after a small cafe in October, and of course once again, I ordered a Big Mac baby. I was also reminded of how ridiculous international flights can be. Follow me on this one, Our flight from Sevilla to Madrid was delayed. The lady said we would have to take the 7:45 flight to Venice instead of the 4:20 flight. 3 hours in the Madrid airport after waiting 3 hours for our flight to Madrid? Excellent. Upon arrival in Madrid, our flight to Venezia was the next gate over and was not even close to boarding yet. Riddle me this--what was the lady at the Iberia desk smoking?

3 hours later, several information desk trips later, and a few serious discussions: the music to an old-school western showdown could be played as we stared at the Departures monitor, Venezia M25. We agreed to wait til 6:45 (flight boarding at 7:20) to make the train trip to the M gates (8 minutes away) which were unusual for international departures. Circa 7 pm, we decided it was legitimate and hurried to the train, made it to the M gates after being smooshed by strange smelling foreigners, hustled up the elevators just in time to pass the departure monitor that now said H17. It was out of the Dane Cook skit --and I started yelling, "UNBELIEVABLE!!! UNBELIEAVAAAAAAAABLE!"

Seconds later, after taking the train back to the H gates--- we went up the elevators and ended up somehow with baggage on our left and security on our right. I'm pretty sure we were teleported by angry travel gods of mischief, because it literally makes no sense how someone could be in the MRSU area and then be in security. Either way, I made a complete ass of myself by running through security like a crazed woman, muttering angry phrases in Spanish inbetween "UNBELIEVABLE, I already did this, UNBELIEVABLE!" It was utter farce. Buffoons. Buffoonery. And if you think I was overreacting, our flight was now departing in 10 minutes.

After getting back on the train, taking the elevator and running through the airport to finally make it to the gate. It was my second flight of the day to be wedged in the middle seat. For some reason, flights awaiting departure on Iberia are ungodly hot. So hot, people are sweating, fanning themselves with the information pamphlets and fiddling with the air nozzles above their seat. It's almost like they are expecting a miracle to happen and the air will actually come out--stop messing with it, nothing is ever going to come out. Do you really think, "oh hey, maybe i'll be the one person who twisted it enough every 2 minutes to actually discover a code of sorts to get air to come out of only MY nozzle."

The woman next to me was pseudo crying and resting her forehead against the very close seat infront of her. It was very awkward, she also took up most of my seat--I felt bad and honestly just plain violated as she would nod off, and then mid-sleep use my body as her pillow as she fell against me. I decidedly just tilted my legs to the other side and tried not to move. She was intermittently crying and snapping photos out the window (of pitch black darkness) Across the aisle, mid flight, an extremely paranoid Italian decided he needed to take his temperature. Moments later, looking concerned, he started yelling at a Steward to bring him water. He later pulled out a purse sized bag full of pills and the ridiculous liquid medicine that spaniards are so flipping found of. Before you are quick to assume he had a dramatic worthy illnesss, the moment the plane landed he left his sick antics behind and perked right up. By the way, the entire group of eccentric hypochondriac Italian business men smelled AWESOME, only to be bettered by the extreme heat situation. That was definitely the strangest thing i've seen on a flight. Oh wait, JUST KIDDING--The hippie sitting behind us started playing his flute which was then confiscated by the stewards and put above the seat. He was very dejected and couldn't understand why that wouldn't be allowed. I smirked to myself as I had visions of turning around, taking his flute, and knocking him on the head with it very matter of factly and just saying "No."

All traveling shenanigans aside, upon arrival into Venice--our checked bag finally came out (yes, yes, yes!!!!) and we had a driver waiting for us to take us to the hotel (complete with the last name written on the sign). I've never been happier to take a bubble bath, and to be sleeping in a california king bed. My twin bed in Posadas can shove it. We didn't sleep last night, We had a coma.

Today we just putzed around Venice, it's the most amazing place i've ever been. It's basically like living in a storybook. Instead of reading about the fantastical places, we're experiencing them. A cool thing about Venice is that the buses are actually boats. For a 72 hour water bus pass it was only 22 euros each. Waiting for a bus isn't bad when it's an open air boat that takes you along the amazing water ways of the Grand Canal. We ate dinner at a restaurant at the Rialto, that was right on the water, pinch me.

And of course, as you can imagine, after traveling with people hacking/coughing their guts out and taking their temperatures--we are both now sick. Luckily I was prepared with halls defense and the hotel gave us chamomile tea. We decided that gelato will make our sore throats feel better (I think we are now just looking for excuses to consume as much gelato as humanly possible) and i'm very happy to be off the Spanish Jenny Craig starvation diet, far far away from Jamon, and into the country of phenomenal food. Mmm mm good.

Happiness is not a destination. It is a method of life.

"Having a place to go - is a home. Having someone to love - is a family. Having both - is a blessing."

It's 77 degrees, the sun is shining, and off to Italy in 3 days! I'm going to Sevilla tomorrow to pick up the Hulk. I've got this village life on lock, for now.



Te echo de menos!!

PS: I have officially channeled the spanish Martha Stewart, I baked homemade hazelnut-coconut brownies, and let me just tell you--que bueno!

"I'm shy, paranoid, whatever word you want to use" -Johnny Depp

When you go to the grocery store, office, or gym--are you recognized and stared at? Here, it is impossible to leave your house without being recognized--as you pass, voices are hushed and people just watch you. It's like, this weekend, I suddenly broke out of my bubble and am now painfully aware of what a spectacle I am. I am beginning to feel like I need to walk around like Mary Kate Olsen in layers of clothing, a wig and sunglasses when I want to go undetected.

Whenever I leave my house, I usually love the fact that I always see people I know. I know everybody at the grocery store, I see the same people everyday on my walk to the school, and I always see my students at night when I go to do things. Posadas is only 6,000 people--so small that even people I don't know, know who I am, where i'm from and what i'm doing here. It's mainly nice, but I prefer to be the wall flower, the girl who blends in..I am suddenly becoming self aware and missing anonymity. At home, I can go to the grocery store and not see the same person for over a month, or maybe not even be recognized by the store clerks because they have so many people. Here, I can run a tab at the grocery store, butcher, vegetable shop, clothing store, etc. Ah, the perks of the village life.

But i'm feeling so weird, people are literally always staring at me. When I went to Pozoblanco to visit Claire, people were taking pictures of us eating our pizza. I have been here for two months and I still stick out. So Sunday afternoon, the day of Spanish desolation, I decided to go for a nice long walk around Posadas and find a good spot to sit and read my book. After careful consideration, I decided against wearing a dress like I normally would, and opted for a pair of long khaki shorts, a blue tank and my converse. After about 5 minutes outside, I became aware I was being watched. I looked like a 12 year old boy and a car drove by and yelled "I LOVE YOU!!!"

Normally, I walk around in a little bubble, totally unaware of my surroundings--the sounds of the world dulled by my ipod. A car of 24 y/o boys drove by, reversed onto the sidewalk, and then they insisted on getting out and doing the "double cheek kiss" which I told them was not custom in America and therefore not necessary at this moment (in Spanish). They were shoving their cell phones at me to put in my number. I wanted to die and disappear. I told them they were embarrassing me, etc. I used to get agitated when cars would honk when I was running, now I would appreciate them not stopping, pulling over and following me. Can you fathom the absurdity of the situation? Somehow I translate as big news in a town of 6,000. People pop up all over the places, just staring.

I tried to go sit in the park overlooking the river, but an old woman made me feel awkward as she looked at me like I was some kind of witch or Alien.
I wasn't sure if she was going to burn me at the stake, throw holy water on me, or go home and tell the tale of the strange Rubia who invaded her afternoon. Will agrees, the older people are the most suspicious, they look shocked when they see us. (this photo is a perfect example; they are tiny mittens, traditional, and love to gossip!)
It's the funniest thing, it's like in the movie "Under the Tuscan Sun" the old man always ignores her, you should watch it. It's not that it's "me" it's anyone who is different. Just take a second of your day to imagine what it would be like to lose your anonymity, suddenly have people watching you.

Either way, eventually, fueled by desperation, I bee lined into Cafe Solar to sit and read in a quiet corner. Low and behold, all of Posadas was hanging out in the cafe and tables of people turned to look at the stranger who had intruded their spot. If you think I'm exaggerating, you have NO idea. I was mentally swearing, annoyed that I couldn't be one of those people who are comfortable in all situations and are able to act oblivious, I ended up buying a take-away dessert for no real reason other than I had no clue what else to do.


I'm just this quiet, boring nobody and all of the sudden, people are nervous around me. On what planet could anyone imagine awkward nerd becoming noteworthy? I'm just excited for people to visit, understand the quiet in a village that is surrounded by farm fields (google earth me like Wilson, it might shock you)

Nice Guys Finish Last- the 40 page work in progress!

Nice Guys Finish Last

 I didn't ask for this. I thought it was what I wanted, but it is an absolute disaster. Years ago, when I was getting dirt thrown at me during recess, I would cry and wish for my Prince Charming. But, it is true, what our parents would warn us about before sleepovers--three is definitely a crowd.
My love life has become a sordid three ring circus, starring the apologetic ex, stable boyfriend, and the can'thavehimbutwanthim crush. You are probably judging me, I don't blame you--some nights I lay awake and judge myself.
Let me explain, my name is Delaney James..and my life is well, a mess. I swear it started when I was a little girl in pre-school. I was sitting on the swings, whirling myself around on the tip of my toes--when it hit me, well he hit me. Derek..you know the guy that was even cool at age 5? He knocked me off the swing and went off running to help Princess Jessica. As I lay there with my chin in the mud, it occurred to me that the damsel in distress will always win the Prince.
Have you ever taken the time to look up the word damsel? Well it means a young, unmarried woman. A few months ago, that definition would have incited fear and images of several cats. But now, with more than one Prince in the story, the simple fairy tale I've counted on my entire life is suddenly...well complicated.
It's 11am and I'm still in bed. Tangled up uncomfortably in cold sheets--I can still smell him on my skin. It isn't a cologne per se but something more crisp. Jason smells like mountain scented detergent. I tucked my nose into the t-shirt he left crumpled on the side of the bed and took a deep breath. It occurred to me then that I missed him and his annoying chipper morning attitude. The first night he stayed over I knew it wouldn't work out--he rolled over, morning breath and all, planted a big kiss on me and breathed, "Good morning, beautiful." It wasn’t sexy, it wasn’t movie-chic, but it was real. It was circa 7 am, I could smell the sleep escaping his mouth and was instantly resentful that I had to be an object worthy of adoration that early. Three blissful months later, I am accepting that this rational man believes my bed-head, mismatched boyish pajamas, leftover makeup, and rank morning breath are adorable, somedays even lovable. What we have, however unoriginal or unexceptional, is real.
Jason came into my life in an oddly storybook way. I was dragging behind my oversized golden retriever in the park, when Bachi took off running after a stray football. Before I knew it, I was partaking in a game of chase with a dog and my least favorite sports object. Sprinting clumsily in my flip flops, dodging small children and waving off disapproving mothers, it occurred to me that I was completely out of my league with this dog. I keeled over with my hands on my knees, eyeing him in defeat. "You win, you're in charge. Just hand over the ball," I crooned, reaching slowly to pick up the leash.
I had cornered Bachi against a big Oak tree, beckoning him forward repeating the word "treat" innocently, desperately. The drool oozed around the ball wedged in his teeth, and the low growl implied my tactics were a no go. Suddenly, a whistle and leg pat coming from behind me turned Bachi back into an obedient dog. Typical, as if nothing had happened. Jason smiled up at me smugly, holding him in a playful chokehold as the ball dropped easily to the grass.
    He extended his hand, "Looks like your dog just kicked my ass as wide receiver. I'm Jason Stech."
Cute, very cute. His playful hazel eyes took me in, a hot mess. My hair had fallen from the loose ponytail and stuck to my conveniently make-up less face. Embarrassed, I shook it lightly, and attempted to wipe the dazzled look off my face, 
"Delaney...and this well-behaved dog is Bachi. I can't thank you enough. I definitely have my hands full with this guy," I trailed off and patted the dog.
 His confidence caught me off guard, "Well, you could thank me by going out to dinner with me tomorrow." 
   I agreed to dinner, and coffee later that day. I broke the faux unavailable rule after two months of dateless weekends, and the iron will to mend my embittered heart.


Chapter 2
Shit. I was supposed to call Sara an hour ago.  I looked at the night stand clock, 12:30 PM.  I have no idea where time goes.  I threw the comforter off the bed, digging through the blankets to find my cell phone. 
"Yo," was her answer.  
"Yo? Been indulging in some BET?" I retorted, pulling my dirty jeans on from the floor. 
"That's my business.  Starbucks?" She replied mysteriously.
"Sounds good, i'm rolling out of bed as we speak--are you put together?"
"Mmm.." I could tell she was checking herself out in the mirror, "Decent.  I'll see you in a bit." 
      I decided it wasn't right to wear two dirty clothes items, so I rustled through my closet to find a clean t-shirt and baseball cap to cover up my bed head.  I had this obsession with baseball caps, so much so that Jason bought me a CAL hat that had my name embroidered on the back.  His nickname for me was Dee.  Unoriginal, but it was the first nickname I'd had since my brother called me Delaney the Dummy back in pre-school.   Anyway, it is my favorite hat.  I grabbed the keys off the dresser, slid into my favorite go to J-crew flip flops, and shoved my wallet and phone into a purse that was much too big and expensive to serve any practical purpose.  
     Driving to Starbucks mid-afternoon is my favorite thing.  I love people watching at the esplanade--you get a great mix of bored socialite housewives and everyone else who tries too hard.  Being in the presence of such material perfection makes me aware of my own flaws. I've never been the type of girl who is put together well; something is always amiss.  I look at other women and sigh to myself and think--how do you do it?  Does it take as much as time as I imagine it does? Or is there some pampering secret they are holding out from the rest of us?
    God bless my mother for trying so hard.  She would practically have to pry my food-smeared uniform skirts from my hands in high school to be washed regularly.  To me,  it just never really mattered.  I have been an athlete my entire life, thus beauty always came second to extra sleep.   That saying about "dressing for the day" just makes me laugh--it just makes you all the more furious when something gets spilled on your expensive blouse or suede boots.  Which always happens the moment you decide it's worth the risk on a random afternoon outing.  
    Sara was never hard to find, she always wore colors you wouldn't think existed outside some narcotic inspired rainbow.  She pulled it off either way.  Today was particularly festive, peacock blue with some kind of emerald green beading. 
"My love!" I crooned, enveloping her in a hug.  
     My favorite thing about Sara was how much personality she packed into her petite 5'1" frame. Her happiness bubbled over and onto anyone in her vicinity, contagious.   "You look just lovely," she taunted.  
"Oh please, like I care.  I overslept this morning," I replied nonchalantly, opening the door into the familiar shop.  
I love the smell of coffee, and the sound of newspapers crumpling.  But the very best thing about Starbucks is that no matter what state or country you are in--they all feel like your local spot.  She looked at me skeptically, pulling a ball of lint off my pocket, 
"Oh fine, Jason's out of town. Give me a break." 
She laughed easily and loudly.  That always bothered me but I never mentioned it--it was blasphemous to imagine Sara with anything but a loud laugh. 
"So, since the ball and chain is on vaca--what are you doing this weekend? Specifically, tonight?" 
   "Mm..you caught me.  I was going to.." I paused thinking of what my real options were.  Walk Bachi, watch lifetime, or maybe if I was feeling really spontaneous I would read the new romance novel I had secretly purchased. "Actually, what did you have mind?" 
  Sara worked for 3-4 Marketing and somehow knew everyone,  which led to great perks at club openings, etc. Her life was pretty glamorous, sometimes I was envious and then other times I was perfectly content with my quiet, predictable existence.  The one thing about Sara that both stumped and inspired me was her disinterest in serious relationships.  She had ended things bitterly with her ex Mario a couple years ago after dating throughout college.  Nobody really understood it at the time, they seemed happy, but she explained it as an early-life crisis and decided any type of commitment was too much to ask for now.  Her blackberry danced on the table, sending ripples through my black coffee, "Working on Saturday?" I inquired.
An annoyed sigh escaped her lips, "It's Keith."
"Oooh...Keith? Really? I thought you ended that." I trailed off, watching a woman outside force her miniature poodle into a hellacious louis vuitton bag, screeching and yapping.  I scrunched up my nose, almost feeling sorry for the pink clad creature. I turned back to observe Sara. 
"Well I did, er..I was going to.  He is fun.  We do have fun. But I just feel like he is so frou-frou.  And really, he’s a talent scout for a modeling agency? Sketch. I’ll never be able to compete with 6’0 models." Her eyebrows raised slightly reading over the text, "Speaking of fun, I was going to see if you wanted to go the Pussycat Lounge, but Keith's label is actually having a promotion at Dirty Pretty.  Fun, right?" She purred. 
I could just see it now.  Sara and I dressed to the nines, weaving our way through a bunch of over-tanned, platinum barbie lookalikes, while men flaunting cheesy pick-up lines crowded around the perimeter of the dance floor, looking ravenous and ready to pounce.  I bit my lower lip, on the other hand it would be nice to get out and let loose.  
"Evan's going to be there. I think I forgot to mention that." Her eyes sparkled in mischief.
I almost choked on my coffee, "Evan? My Evan?" 
"Yes, Evan whom you should make beautiful babies with." She joked, tossing her hair and eyeing me curiously.  
I rolled my eyes, "Beautiful babies are the last thing on my list, but thanks.  I don't know, that could be interesting.  Maybe too interesting," I paused, folding the Splenda wrapper into squares, " I mean..ugh, he may not even want to see me." The truth hung in the air, and I immediately wanted to snatch the words back and shove them into my mouth.  
"Not want to see you? You really are out of your damn mind. You’re too gorgeous as it is. And, seriously,  what do you expect? The guy is only going to give you so many opportunities before rolling over to the next girl."
Her words hit me like cold water, I don't know if I could really tell you why.  Evan was the one guy I just couldn't shake.  There are relationships where you have the upper-hand, and relationships where you are just tongue tied the minute they walk into the room.  We had a checkered past, nothing serious, but he popped into my mind from time to time.  The guy I wanted but couldn't have.  
"I don’t care if I see him or not, that’s in the past,” I wasn’t sure if I was trying to convince her or myself, “what time would we need to be there?" I surrendered, seeing Evan had peaked my interest.  I wondered what he would say when he saw me? Does he think about me too? My pocket vibrated, bringing me back to reality--Jason was calling. 

Chapter 3

It hit me as I sat at the end of my bed, putting on my earrings and my black stilettos, I’m a terrible person. Why was I even going to this party? I could argue that I wanted to get out and have a couple drinks. I could argue that it was what I used to do, before my life turned into a “we’re staying in” phrase on repeat.
But the truth was, I wanted to see him. I wanted to show him what he was missing out on. Like I said, I’m a terrible person.
I walked over to the nightstand, eyeing myself critically, not bad. I had to admit I loved seeing the hard work I had put in at pilates in my purple backless dress, for tonight the sweats would stay where they belonged--in the laundry basket. What the hell, one little drink won’t kill me. I smiled and sprayed my neck and wrists with my favorite perfume; the room filled with the intoxicating scent of sweet coconut. I loved summer.
I sashayed carefully down the stairs and felt the heat hit me with a whoosh of the front doors. A group of men walked by and whistled, adding a bit of confidence to my stride.
Have you noticed that during the day, in the midst of your daily activities, a whistle can just as quickly add a bit of irritation to your face? As if to compensate for all my other eye rolls, I waved and offered a smile as I walked around the corner to the coffee shop I was meeting Sara at.
“Well looooook at you!” Sara cooed, squeezing me lightly.
“Clean up nice, eh?” I smirked, as she extended a double-shot espresso in my direction, “You know me too well.”
She took my wrists in her hands, inspecting, then looking down at my ankle, “Wait. No ball and chain? Where are the handcuffs?”
I laughed, “Oh come on, It’s not like that.”
“Oh really? When was the last time we went out, I mean we, sans Mr. Rogers.”
I paused, it upset me that I had to think about the last time I went out, “Well, I mean, I guess I’ve just been..” I trailed off, saved by the entrance of Amber.

Amber was the token girl from every chick-flick. She was beautiful, humble, smart, and caring. The one thing holding her back was her lack of confidence, every beautiful outfit was stunted by the “I look like shit” label she gave herself. She had a huge heart in a tiny body, with the type of curves that every woman wishes she had and men wonder what to do with. As soft as her personality was, her fashion was anything but wallflower. Tonight she was wearing a shimmering gold flapper dress and killer heels that made her about as tall as I was without mine.
“Amber, you look beau-ti-ful!” We buzzed in unison, before giving each other a look that said ‘we spend way too much time together.’
“Ugh, please. I look like a whale, can you tell I’m bloated?” She turned to the side, revealing nothing but an hourglass shape.
“Um, are you kidding? I love your hair, the blonde is a good color on you. Where’s Kyle?”
She sat, taking a deep breath, “He’s back with her.”
“What? No way. Her? Why?” I felt jolted, why is it that the slutty girls always get their guy? But the good girls, are left to meet their girlfriends, dressed up and beautiful, alone.
“Don’t laugh, but he took his single status off facebook.” The words bubbled up slowly, “I mean why would he do that unless it was her again. I mean we had been talking and I really thought when he came back into town we would become official. I feel so stupid.”
“Oh sweetie, no. You’re way too classy for this crap” Sara offered, extending me the helpless look that said, ‘I can’t think of something to say, so think quick!’
I took over, “Are you sure? Did he say anything? I mean for Christ sake, it’s facebook. Guys aren’t supposed to pay attention to that anyway.”
Her big honey-brown eyes looked up under the veil of jet black lashes, “Yeah, maybe. No, I mean he had been calling alot..again, you know how it is between us.”
“Well, see? Maybe it’s nothing. Look, let it go for tonight. You look beautiful, and we’re going to a fabulous club.” Sara smiled, applying her lipgloss.
“His loss is our gain.” I took her hand and gave it a meaningful squeeze.
“Love the nail polish.” She laughed, dropping my dark red tipped finger.
“Shall we?” I smiled picking up my clutch, feeling more like myself than I had in a long time, intertwining my fingers with Amber’s as I pulled her out of the chair begrudgingly,
“Fine, But I expect a bottle of wine to myself tonight.”


The club was packed, and the line was already back to the end of the building. I looked down at my cellphone, it was only 10:30.
“Seriously? Apparently everyone had the same idea of getting here early.” I pouted, moving to the back of the line, mentally calculating how long it would take to get to the front, if ever.
“What are you doing? I know the door guy, he’s been trying to sleep with me for a few weeks now. Tell me what you think.”
I interlocked arms with Amber and moved past all the people throwing knives in my back, walking up to the front of the surprised to see the handsome delight in front of me.
“Elijah, these are my bestfriends--this is Delaney and this is Amber. Think you can make an exception for us?” She said, her eyes smoldering into his. Sara had a way of manipulating men, not by playing dumb, but rather by playing up her sexuality.
It was simple maneuvers, like adjusting her cleavage, smoothing over her shorts, or simply by staring into their eyes in unadulterated flirtation. I almost felt myself blushing, as she bit her lip and stared up at him curiously.
“Sure, sure--I’m done at 12, so I’ll come find you by the bar.” He murmured, staring after us.
She turned, giggling “Deal.”
“Wow, well played. Are you really even interested in that guy? He didn’t seem like your type. By the way...does that mean Keith is over?” The truth was, her type was skinny, artsy guys. Elijah was more of the generic beautiful man: muscled, mulatto, with piercing blue eyes.
“Not sure, he could be. For now. Oh, and Keith is done. The minute he started calling me “babe” it had to end. What am I, 12?” She laughed, pulling us through the pulsating crowd.
The club was dark, there was something exhilarating about the decor--seductive. We moved toward the glowing bar, and I obliged to move first since I was the tallest and a little more abrupt than the other two. I leaned over the bar, smiling sweetly at the guys on either side of me unassumingly, “Excuse me?” I beseeched the bartender, putting three fingers in the air as he came over, “Three greygoose vodka tonics, please.”
“Make them doubles!” Amber yelled over my shoulder, he nodded and went off.
“So you were serious, then.” She nodded with a light laugh, “Well, then I suppose I can put on my big girl pants tonight.”
I handed off the drinks and took a sip, wrinkling up my nose, “Shit. When in Rome?” I laughed looking up, and there he was. I felt myself catch my breath, putting my hand to my stomach as I took another sip of my drink.
Acting casual wasn’t going to be possible, Amber had already squeezed my hand, “Evan’s over there. Um, he’s gorgeous--and he’s staring at you.” I looked up and sure enough, I caught his glance and offered a wave and a smile.
Sara nudged me forward, “Go talk to him. He’s coming this way.” I sighed, butterflies flittering in my stomach. Yes, I could handle this, I could be calm, cool and collected...I could already feel the chemistry flickering between us. He wrapped me in a hug, I could smell a hint of his cologne and breathed it in.
“Hi! Good to see you!” I smiled easily, loving the feeling of his hand lingering on my waist.
“Good to see you too, it’s been awhile. How are you?” His eyes were a captivating ocean blue. Damn him and his beautiful eyes.
“I’m good, here with Amber and Sara actually. You remember them right?”
He knew them both, we had gone out with them together several times. When we were, whatever we were. The memories started pouring over me. I wanted them to stop.
“Of course, where are they?” I pointed to the two of them by the bar, who returned his wave.
“I’ll come meet you in just a sec” he started to turn, but just before, he pulled my waist in slowly, “by the way, you look amazing.”
I walked away, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.
“Well looky looky here....” Sara teased, returning my drink to my greedy fingers.
“Ugh, I hate him. It’s nothing. He’s not interested, more importantly--I’m not interested. Don’t get excited.”
“That didn’t look like not interested. You know you guys have sparks, the whole room can tell you have sparks.” Amber laughed, eyeing the possibilities around her.
“You forget, Evan didn’t want anything, I’m with Jason now. You remember Jason, my loving boyfriend?” I said, reminding myself of the mixed signals and games we played. Why couldn’t I have just been straight with him?
“No, you were just dating other people at the same time. What did you expect the guy to do?” Sara corrected, already ordering our next round.
“God, don’t remind me. I was still getting over amazing sex guy, we’re not speaking anymore, and that guy with the crazy ex-girlfriend, wouldn’t talk to him if my life depended on it. What was I thinking?” I took another large sip, closing my eyes at the memories, “Okay, so I was kinda guilty too. But, whatever,” I retorted dismissively, “he acted like an asshole.”
“Oh please, I know it’s not like he’s innocent, but Delaney, you forget you’re pretty damn intimidating. I don’t remember the last time you had less than five guys tripping over you. Look around you, guys are practically drooling.”
“Yeah yeah, and he’s pretty damn intimidating.”
“Emphasis on the pretty.” Amber added, nudging my side knowingly.
“So, for tonight, forget about Jason. You and Jason don’t spark like that.” Sara reiterated, I sighed, letting her comments roll off my back for now.
“You know Sara, Jason has been nothing but good to me.”
“Yeah, nothing but. I’ve seen you in love. You’re in content.” She exchanged glasses with me and I took a sip, sitting on the stool. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right. Jason was perfect--perfect and predictable. Our life had become so routine that we were barely sleeping together anymore. The biggest thing we fought about was who was going to return the blockbuster movies. We went straight passed dating to married, and I missed the romance, the chase, I missed the intimacy.


Evan and a few of his friends who were mutual acquaintances started coming over to where we sat. I smiled, biting my lip, tilting my head to the side as I watched him come over--and I knew what was eating away at me, unfinished business. I never knew what Evan wanted, and I never really knew what I wanted. I was never in a place to be genuinely available--but yet I would get frustrated that he wasn’t putting himself on the table. Hypocrite.
In my defense--isn’t it the guy’s job to sweep you off your feet? Come riding up on a white horse in shining armor and whisper in your ear, “You're the one.” I had chalked everything up with Evan to a sad case of he’s just not that into you. It bruised my ego so much that I decidedly left his intermittent phone calls unreturned. Now here we are, three months later, and apparently I’m still reeling.
Sparks, mixed signals, games..it all added up to well, nothing.
His friends sat down, engaging us in catch-up conversation. They were flashier than Evan, they seemed more like party boys, consenting bachelors. As handsome as Evan was, that’s what I loved, he seemed different.
On queue, Jeremiah leaned over and draped his arm across my shoulders, “So Delaney, did you hear that I helped produce that new album?” he smiled and began name-dropping all his latest artist remixes.
“Wow, that’s amazing! I’ll definitely have to pick it up. Are you still dating...?” Her name disappeared from my mind, all I could see was her barely there dress and cigarette.
“Sasha? No, no. That ended awhile ago. I’m going to stay single for a while, I’m on the party scene too much to really settle down now anyway. You know, with the producing and all.” He added, his eyes grazing over, “We lost Evan.” He turned around, spying Evan trapped between two less than dazzling girls.
“Why don’t you go save him?” Jeremiah laughed, pointing to Evan as he looked politely interested in the conversation, the girls continuing to try to force a connection.
“Oh no, I don’t want to interrupt.” I looked over to Amber and Sara to see if they could hear what was going on; they were lost in flirtation.
“I think he would appreciate it if you saved him, actually.” He insisted, and I turned to look over at Evan.
I would if I was his girlfriend, the girl he was dating, if I was anyone to him.
“He’s a big boy, I’m sure he can take care of himself,” I said matter of factly. I meant it. I opted out of the faux damsel in distress bit and joined in on the conversation about the new pizzeria on 4th.
A few drinks later, we were all laughing and talking as if no time had passed at all. Sara had managed to exchange numbers and innuendo with Jeremiah, and Amber was able to put off thoughts of Kyle for the time being.
Evan brushed my arm, “Thanks for nothing,” he murmured as he pulled up a chair next to me.
“Come again?” I smiled, handing the beer from Jeremiah to Evan.
“I couldn’t get those girls to go away, that’s when you’re supposed to rescue me.”
That sentence reiterated that the idea of a knight in shining armor is officially dead. Apparently we are the ones supposed to do the chivalrous act and save our damsels in distress. If my grandmother could see me now.
I smiled, looking down, “Eh, I think you can handle yourself. So, what have you been up to? Anything new?”
“No, not really. I’m trying to up my cardio actually. Didn’t you say you had done that 10 mile hike on Mt. Pinnacle?”
“Oh yeah, it’s amazing. Definitely worth the trip. Have you been yet?”
“Don’t laugh, but I actually went with my Mom for mother’s day. Thought it would be something fun to do. I also managed a pretty severe sunburn.”
“Aw.!” I put my hand to my heart, “That’s sweet. Most guys would throw themselves off the mountain before doing it with dear old mom. You definitely earned some points with that one.”
“Did I? Hm. So what about you? Are you still obsessed with that sweaty yoga?”
“Ah, you mean Bikram? Not so much. I decided why pay $50 dollars a session when I can just stand outside and do it myself. Besides, the minute the instructor started dictating when I could and couldn’t drink water--I knew it wasn’t the best idea.” I laughed, thinking of Amber’s pale face as she gasped for water, laying on her yoga mat.
“Yeah, we were supposed to take a class together.” He said, taking a sip of his beer.
“Hey do you want another drink?” he asked, breaking the thoughtful silence. “Absolutely.” I agreed, standing up and moving away from the table. Happy for the time alone. It was now or never. The kind of word vomit you just can’t control when you’re drinking, “So it’s been awhile, I’m not even sure why we stopped talking?” I asked, watching his expression carefully.
“Yeah, I don’t know either, I think you ditched me” He moved towards the bar, smirking over his shoulder, that didn’t answer my question, We moved into the only empty spot, yelling over the club music. There we were-- wedged together.
“What’s on your mind?” He asked, and it made me realize I had know idea where I was going with this. I had been impulsive, uncalculated. I stared into his eyes, looked away briefly and before I knew it, the question tumbled out of mouth, “What happened between us?” It was loaded. Too loaded for a club maybe, too loaded to ask him. I regretted it.
“In what sense?” he replied. Evasive, totally evasive. I looked up, taking a breath, “I mean, was it just..was it just, a hookup?” The words remained hanging in the air. I didn’t know why I cared, I was dating someone else, someone who wanted me. With or without the sexual frustration you could cut with a knife.
“Nevermind, sorry, that was random. I don’t know why I asked.” I said, trying to smooth over the question.
“No.” His answer caught me offguard,
“No? What?” I said, confused.
“No, it wasn’t just a hook up.”
I wanted him to divulge everything. I couldn’t tell you why I needed to know, but I did. Maybe it was closure, maybe it was to mend my ego.
“Well, then? I mean because we were friends..and it just..” I trailed off. Not knowing the words to describe the roller coaster that was, us.
“Does this describe how I feel about you?” And before I knew what was happening, the room stopped moving and his lips were on mine. It was the simplest, sweetest, most complicated kiss of my life. As he pulled away, the noise refilled the room and my heart pounded in my ears. I shook my head, a smile moving across my lips, “Did that answer your question?” without knowing what to say, I just nodded. Sparks.


Chapter 4

I left the club with a clouded head, heavy heart, and confused look on my face. Part of me wanted to breathe a sigh of relief and the other part went into overdrive. What did that mean? It was possibly one of the most romantic gestures of my life; but at the same time it only caused more questions. Questions I needed to ask him, but never would, and more importantly questions to ask myself. Another man had kissed me, and it wasn’t Jason. I think that constitutes cheating.
I stared out the window of the cab, watching the pavement roll past me--my life felt like a blur.
Amber’s tentative voice interrupted my thoughts, “Dee, are you okay?”
“Define okay.”
“Well--how do you feel?”
“I feel...I feel like I’m totally..totally...stupid. I am a stupid girl. What was I thinking? Why did I even bother seeing him tonight? What’s going to come of this?” I paused and then continued before she could interrupt me, I already knew the answer, “Nothing. Nothing is going to come of this. If Evan wanted me, he could have had me. It shouldn’t be this complicated. Relationships should be simple--you like me, I like you, let’s be together. Not, I like you, you like me, let’s play as many games as we can and put eachother through hell. What’s the point of it all?” I sighed, pressing my cheek against the cold glass of the cab window.
I stared down at the silver bracelet Jason had given me for my birthday, he had promised to make this the best year of my life. I felt the tears lining my eyes. I am a stupid girl.
“What if..you weren’t ready before? What if it isn’t for nothing? What if tonight was the grand gesture.”
“Grand gesture?”
“I mean christ, the guy kissed you in a crowded club. That’s something, really something,” she rubbed my arm and then looked at me intently, “Everything happens for a reason.”
“Oh come on, we both know that’s bullshit. That’s something pathetic people tell themselves to ease the pain of their pathetic life,” the words sounded harsh as they left my lips. I know it was negative, but I was feeling negative. The truth was, I didn’t want to go to bed tonight thinking of Evan and that...kiss.
“Please. I just really think....things with Evan could go somewhere. There is a reason you keep coming back into each others lives. Don’t you?”
“Am I just a masochist? Do I just always go for the wrong guy, because I’m afraid to let myself be happy?” I scrunched my nose; thinking about all the complicated, horrible relationships of my past, “I mean..Jason loves me. Jason would do anything for me. What is wrong with me that I’m not willing to push some..guy..some guy who left me hanging months ago, away from me in a club?”
“Evan is not just some guy, Dee. You have history.”
“Yeah we have a history dotted with mine fields. Just when I thought we were going to get it together, poof, blown up in smoke,” I felt the cab ease to a stop. The cabbie turned stating “20 even.” I handed him the money deftly, stepping out into the rain. It felt good against my skin, cleansing. Maybe it would wash away the memory, the guilt.
“Hey! Lady!” The cabbie yelled out his window, I turned thinking I must have left something.
“Yeah?”
“The kiss was a way of avoiding a question he didn’t want to answer. Just from a guys perspective,” with that he drove off. I watched the taillights disappear into the morning darkness, turning to Amber with a look of disbelief.
“Fuck. Fuck...He’s right isn’t he?”
She paused, caught on her own words, “No...No. I’m sure that wasn’t it. He drives a dirty cab, don’t listen to him.”
I put my hand to my lips, pausing thoughtfully. The night had made things so much more complicated. As I crawled into bed, smelling Jason on the sheets, I knew I wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Thoughts and memories replayed in my head behind my closed eyes. Evan and I laughing in bed at 3 AM talking about our favorite comedies, our ideal jobs, our futures. I remember feeling like I had been slapped when I saw him with another girl, I remember seeing him for the first time and knowing I had to have him, I remember passionate hours in bed, I remember him..and I remember butterflies.

With so much confusion about the male species, I knew in order to get the answers I was searching for I had to go directly to the source. James Shaw. James was what you might call my rentable boyfriend. He was the person I could go to movies with, have the adventures and deep talks with, minus the drama that comes with real dating.
Have you ever walked into a restaurant and there is one guy that every woman can’t help but notice? James had that appeal and the confidence to match. Although somehow he and I had become the best of friends, I was still fully aware of the fact that hundreds of women were dying to trade places with me. I knew that if I wanted the truth about a man’s hidden agenda, James would tell it to me like it was. I sat in my car with the radio going for about five minutes. Leaning back into the cool leather, I stared at the clock--Jason would be landing in four hours. My blue eyes stared back at me in the rear view mirror, I was transparent and I had a guilty conscience. The passenger seat would soon be occupied and the backseat full of baggage. I groaned, pushing my sunglasses back over my eyes--it was now or never. I got out of the car and felt the heat rising off the pavement, it was the dead of summer and most people had the right idea to stay indoors, protect themselves from getting burnt.
I slid into the booth at Red Robin, folded my hands on the table and immediately started confessing like a kid in trouble, “I let another man kiss me, and it wasn’t my boyfriend. What does that mean?” I bit my lip and braced myself for the truth.
“You’re horny?” was all he said before looking at the menu. It was simple and not at all what I had expected to hear.
“What do you mean, ‘I’m horny.’ That’s...” I sucked in an exasperated breath and rolled my eyes at him, “That’s just, just..not helpful. What a lame answer. Here I came thinking that you would tell me what was really going on.”
So much for a rentable Buddha.
“Okay then, so he’s horny.”
He shrugged nonchalantly, sitting comfortably with his arm draped over the back of the booth. Calm, cool, indifferent. Now I was really reeling. What a boy thing to do, over simplify everything, “You know James, not everything is about s-e-x,” I hissed as the waitress hurried over. I studied his response, no facial twitch, no sign that what I said had struck him as rational.
His honey brown eyes grazed over the empty restaurant and then looked up to the approaching waitress indifferently, “No. I hate to be the one to tell you this, when it comes to guys--yes. Yes, it is just about sex. You’re hot, he was horny and he thought he could get laid.” He proceeded to order a cheeseburger, completely oblivious to the fact that the waitress was now drooling over him.
“How would you like your burger?” She looked up at him from her notepad, smiling flirtatiously.
“Medium...Medium-well. With a side of french fries, please.”
“Absolutely. I’ll put medium-well, that’s how I like mine too.” She cooed, closing her book and walking back towards the kitchen. I raised both my hands in disbelief, watching her giggle to her friends as she moved to the computer. I couldn’t believe it, she actually forgot I was even sitting there. What if I had been his girlfriend?
“Excuse me, miss? Excuse me?!” I called after her, raising my normally quiet voice. She giggled, jogging back over, “Oh my bad, so sorry,” she replied more to James than to me.
“I’d like the chef salad with an extra side of bleu cheese dressing.”
“Low fat bleu cheese?” She asked. I felt like I had suddenly entered into an old-fashioned duel with a ditzy high school waitress. Not only was she ignoring the fact that I could possibly be James’ girlfriend, but now she was making me look like some kind of unhealthy, calorie loving, wallflower. Not happening. No, absolutely not, I refuse to let some valley talking bimbo make me feel inferior. I had a great figure and I didn’t need to order low fat dressing that tasted like crap to keep it.
“No, your low-fat dressing tastes asinine,” I let the words drip from my tongue like acid, “but thanks.”
I smiled sweetly and then shoved the menu at her.
If there is one thing that drives me up the wall about being a girl, it’s other girls. Particularly girls that feel the need to put you down and make you look bad, usually in front of men. Maybe I was overreacting and imagining the whole thing in my mind. Things had been stressful and I was even fed up with dealing with myself and my self-inflicted emotional roller coaster. Just before I could start to feel bad about my juvenile behavior, she turned over her shoulder and winked at James. Seriously? The bitch had balls.
“Do you think you she could be anymore obvious?” I snapped, he smiled innocently and I continued back to my order of business, “but James, I’m not the type of girl a guy would just try and sleep with. I’m not like that.” It felt like a personal attack that he had limited my encounter with Evan to such a physical thing--as if all there was between us was nothing more than a cheap hook-up.
“Call it what you want. You were drinking, things happen. Just let it go.” Now his attitude was infuriating me.
“So you’re saying that when a girl is at a club, that’s like having a stamp on her head that she’s easy? I don’t dress like a slut, I don’t act like a slut, so why would you lump me together with the sluts?” I could picture in my head those women, the Desperadas.
Beware of the Desperadas-- the women who drink a little too much to compensate for their bad behavior--as if being drunk was the free ticket to hang all over every cute guy you meet, or after a few drinks..every not so cute guy you meet. More importantly, why was he talking about relationships as if they were so black and white? And why would he just assumed Evan wanted nothing with me? Since when was it all or nothing? Where was the middle ground, the gray area? I depended on the gray area.
“Well, what do you want me to say? If he was interested, you would be dating. It’s all the same at the bars, just trying to get ass.”
“I just thought..” I felt myself trailing off, lost in my own thoughts. Had I been thinking so much this whole time that I hadn’t seen what was right in front of me? The obvious, cold hard truth, “I don’t know what I thought.”
His words stung. I felt like an idiot.
James was so matter of fact about it, as if it was completely obvious. Was that all Evan ever wanted? Had I been thinking about ending my relationship with Jason over some guy that had just wanted to get into my pants? The questions began and I just couldn’t find the off button.
It is true, what James was saying, I believe in the fact that men still have some aspect of Alpha male or cave man in them: Boy sees girl, boy wants girl, boy gets girl. It was very simple and it seemed painfully true.
I paused, pulling my wounded ego together, “I guess I see your point. I mean the book He’s Just Not That Into You spelled it out for me. Brutal honesty. I guess, it just..mm I don’t know,” for the first time in 48 hours I didn’t want to think.
“Anyway, what’s been going on with you?” Changing the subject was the only thing I could do to salvage my confidence and get the image of a desperate woman dropping a blow dryer into a bathtub out of my mind. Maybe we were all desperadas, depending on what man you asked over lunch.
“Not much, same old, same old. I’m still seeing that girl.” He said it as if I should know exactly who he was talking about. We had been friends for over a year and this was the first reference to that girl.
“Excuse me, James, who is ‘that girl’ that you are still seeing? When did this happen?”
“A few months now, maybe 3? I’m not sure where it’s going. She gets uncomfortable when I bring it up” his voice attempted to camouflage the pink elephant in the room.
“What do you mean? She doesn’t want to be in a relationship with you?” Immediately I began picturing some dime piece knock out that had men eating out of the palm of her hand. It never occurred to me that someone could have the upper hand in a relationship with James. He was the guy: the guy that guys wanted to be and girls wanted to be with. He was James and he was great.
“She says she doesn’t want to put a title on it, you know how it is,” he sighed lightly rubbing his forehead as the waitress placed the food down on the table, never taking her eyes off his mouth.
This was getting a little ridiculous. James had women falling all over themselves and he was all about a girl who didn’t want to be his anything. I could tell he was frustrated, definitely more apathetic than usual. Maybe he was being so dismissive of what happened at the club with me because he was being dismissed in his own love life.
There must be something in the water. It seemed all around me, people were all about people who didn’t want to give them the time of day.
“So basically.. she’s milking the cow for free,” I retorted, it felt good to say something critically back to him. I smiled and patted his arm, “Never thought I would live to see the day.”
He laughed, recoiling it as if I had burned him, “Hey hey, don’t jump to conclusions. I never said I wanted to be in a relationship, I have no idea where I’m going to be in a year. I agree with her, it’s just not a good time to be putting a lot of time into a relationship that may not have time.”
“Then why are we talking about her?” I raised my eyebrows suspiciously, he may be able to fool his guy friends with the nonchalant comments, but I saw what was really going on. He had been dating a girl for a few months and she was wearing the pants.
He shook his head and shrugged, helpless.
“It just seems to me, that it shouldn’t matter if you don’t know where you are going to be in a few months..I mean if you meet a girl who really peaks your interest--isn’t it worth seeing where it goes before you determine it can’t go anywhere?”
“Nah. I mean, I don’t know. I guess if I was going to consider being in a relationship with anyone-it would be her. But I’m not going to bank on a future with someone when I’m not even sure what my own future is.”
His rationalization was legitimate, but it got me thinking about the beginning of relationships. We all have expectations but no guarantee, how would we ever start a relationship if we knew it was going to end?
“Well, no relationship has a guarantee. I can’t go out with a guy and ask ‘so are you going to be a dick in about 2 months?’ or ‘in 3 months are you going to get bored and start checking out other women in front of me?’ That’s the thing about relationships, it’s kind of like jumping off the deep end and all the while, just hoping the water won’t be freezing.”
I paused thoughtfully and then continued, stealing one of his french fries, “But I mean if it is freezing or you manage to break a leg upon contact, I’ll be here to help pull you out and hand you a towel. Or, take you to the hospital, which I guess in this metaphor would be some kind of strip club to take your mind off things.”
He laughed easily, “You lost me, are you saying she’s going to break my heart?”
“No, nevermind. It was just a metaphor I took too far,” I managed to reply as I was mid-swallow on a handful of ketchup covered french fries.
He laughed putting on a dramatically confused face, “Come again? Eat much?”
“Yeah, you’re hilarious. What I’m trying to say is, I just think it sounds shady that she isn’t willing to give you the commitment but has no problem taking all the benefits.”
He paused thoughtfully, “I guess. I guess for right now, it’s like she said last night, being happy together should be enough. Right?”
I nodded, “Yeah, sure. But it’s just weird because instead of playing house, your playing relationship.”
It made me feel slightly better in some sense that a handsome catch like James could have problems finding someone. Perhaps, it’s not that there is some kind of defect with single people or people who have problematic relationships: but more so, that we are all just trying to find the right someone to bank on a future with.
I looked over at James and smirked as he told me an embarrassing story about one of his co-workers, offering me another french fry. I realized as I ate it that in spite of all the confusion--in this moment I was happy.
I got back in my car and started heading home, I only had about a two hours before I had to go to the airport. I started envisioning what I wanted my own future to look like. As much as I enjoyed the spontaneity of my single life, I equally enjoyed the security that came with the familiar nook of Jason’s neck. When I think about Evan, my heart skips a beat in my chest. So what’s better--the spontaneity of the unknown, or the comfort of the familiar? Is it possible to have both? Something told me as I parked in the garage and looked at Jason’s sports equipment on the workbench that I couldn’t have my cake and eat it too. I needed to make a choice and when it came down to it--I wanted to be with someone who loved me, for me. Maybe James had a point, maybe instead of worrying and over analyzing about what that kiss meant--I should just be happy in the moment with Jason and forget all about Evan and..sparks. Granted, I would love to have a little bird sit down on my shoulder and tell me everything Evan was feeling--hypothetically, would there ever even be a future with Evan? Evan and I had sparks, but did he have a nook for me?


Chapter 5
“There is a more important question to be asking yourself. Why are you spending so much time thinking about another guy, that isn’t your boyfriend? Listen to yourself. I haven’t heard Jason mentioned much, Dump him,” Jessica’s voice came in loud and clear in spite of all the background noise over the phone.
I paused, sinking further into the bath tub, swirling the bubbles around with my finger, “Dump him? I know there are problems. If there weren’t problems I wouldn’t even be noticing other men in the room. But, is the problem between us or is it just me?” I sighed, staring up at all the cracks in my ceiling.
Truth be told, Jason was Prince Charming. He was successful, smart, thoughtful, the list could go on and on. He just wasn’t sexy, the excitement was lacking on the weekends and in the bedroom.
In perfect timing, her question interrupted by bubble-bursting, “So when was the last time you had sex?”
“Mm..sex or good sex?”
“Sex should always be good.”
“Not when you have to get up early in the morning.”
“Dump him.”
“Oh come on. All couples go through a rut. It’s not realistic to be in a serious relationship with someone and not have the sex dwindle a little bit. Life happens.”
“Married couples! For couples who have been married for 10 years. Who have already had 10 years of mind-blowing, amazing, sex. They are entitled to a rut. Not a couple who has only been dating for a few months. Snap out of it, you sound like some kind of Park Avenue spouse who has popped out 4 children. Hello, who are you and what have you done with my hot friend Delaney?”
I sighed again, closing my eyes. I could not remember the last time I had felt incredibly sexy. I have always had this fantasy of a man walking through the front door, pushing me up against the wall and ripping off my clothes: Buttons flying, heavy breathing, cantwaittogettothebedroom amazing sex.
“Unrealistic. I think we’ve just seen too many movies which in turn lead to Hollywood inspired fantasies of what life is like. What relationships are like. I’m not Hollywood and I’m not Park Avenue. I’m..well i’m totally lost.”
“You’re not lost, you’re lacking lust.”
“True. Painfully true. So what do I do?”
“Do what any self-respecting girlfriend does. Knock a couple cocktails back, put on your sexiest underwear and pounce him when he gets home. Show him your Hollywood fantasy.”
“With Jason? I just can’t imagine him being passionate.”
The words hung in the air, like the bubbles I wanted to pop them. Instead, I finished shaving my legs, watching the foam slide off the razor. Then, it hit me, that not only was my relationship in a rut--so was I.
It just wasn’t going to work, “This is so bad isn’t it?”
As my bestfriend for over 10 years, I couldn’t believe she could stand me. I had never been a girl who would settle for someone while I waited for the one. That is how people got hurt. As the truth washed over me, I still knew I wasn’t ready to give up on my someone when I had no one, “Black bra and panties, or red?”

Chapter 6
After wedging my car in between two oversized Cadillac escalades, which I could only assume were filled with soccer bags, cheerleading pom poms, and children’s DVDs, I turned off the engine and the let the Kings of Leon keep playing. As I angled the rear view mirror lower, adjusting my cleavage in my black push-up bra, I started feeling nervous. After this weekend, would it be possible for things to go back to normal between us? I had never been a good liar, but is an omission really a betrayal? I had decided that red was too feisty and reminded me too much of the Scarlet A on my chest, literally, whereas black kept it simple and sexy. I wore my favorite black summer dress, clinging to my body subtly without overdoing it.
A cool blast of air conditioning greeted me as I went through the automatic doors and over to wait for the elevator. A happy couple stepped out, barely mid-make out session before the doors opened intrusively. They giggled passed as he tugged her forward into a playful hug. Disgusting. In truth, it made my heart ache a little. Would Jason and I ever be that couple; blissfully, obnoxiously, PDA happy?
I stared at my reflection in the steel doors, smoothing my hair and applying his favorite vanilla lipgloss. Jason rarely complimented my figure, but when he did I knew it was sincere.
Ex-dates in the past had made that mistake, the over-complimenting faux pax. Jeff, for example, a handsome guy from a loaded Italian family--he had everything going for him. That is, until I answered the door and all he could say was, “Wow, Delaney James, you look just amazing. Really stunning.”
Compliments are great, in moderation, after awhile it becomes overkill and superficial. He continued on, unabashedly admiring my ass in my jeans, “Are those True Religions? Or Rock N’ Republics?” My jaw almost hit the floor as I sputtered the response, wondering how his metrosexualness had gone undetected. Nothing worse than getting a shopping partner when you wanted a real man to get down and dirty with.
I looked up at the screen with the departures and arrivals. I squinted, trying to differentiate all the flights coming in from New York. I moved to outside the security entrance, a shiver coming over me as I thought about the stress of the security check point. I glared at the man staring placidly at the x-ray scene, just waiting to ruin someone’s day by taking their liquid necessity after they traversed the rat-race red ropes.
An older man smiled up at me, his plaid pants and worn v-neck sweater, reminding me of my pop-pop. I smiled back, “Who are you waiting for?”
He laughed sheepishly, tapping his cane, “Nobody special. What about you?”
I cocked my head to the side, “Nobody special? Well, I’m actually just picking up my boyfriend.”
His snicker caught me off guard, “Not one of those lesbians? Seems like all you young people are lesbians or gays.”
My eyes widened briefly, so much for cute old man, “No..no not one of those.” With that, I politely turned my back and moved over to the airport Starbucks nestled between a newsstand and the touristy desert store. My savior, lit up in green lights, from any further unwarranted conversations.
I picked up a black coffee for myself and a Carmel macchiato for Jason, that was the first drink he ordered after we met. We had walked together from the park and tied Bachi beneath his seat and sat outside, talking about our lives, favorite movies, politics, religion, Bachi--it was the first real conversation I had had in a long time. That’s what I loved about Jason--his maturity, his direct approach to life, he was safe. I chewed on the tip of my nail, thinking about what a fool I had been to risk losing him.
I smiled to myself contentedly, carrying the drinks over to the coffee condiment stand, putting one bag of Splenda in his and two in mine along with some vanilla powder. So maybe Jason and I don’t have fireworks per se, but we respect each other. We were like those two ships, but instead of passing in the night, we were parallel. I pulled out my phone to check the time, his flight should have landed by now. Just as I was dropping it back into the abyss, the phone vibrated from a text-- Evan.
When am I going to see you again?
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Just as I was going to press delete, my obnoxious “Sexy Back” ringtone started filling the area around me. I knew there was a reason my phone was perpetually on silent, all my ringtones were obnoxious and picked on impulse. My fingers punched the keys blindly trying to answer the call and end the humiliation, the cup slipped and the black coffee spilled onto my arm as I tried to save it from falling, then as my body jolted from the flesh searing heat--the phone dropped out from my pinky.
The phone spun around on the brown tile, I could feel daggers being thrown in my back as all the business men already too hopped on caffeine grew more and more agitated, muttering “Turn it off, God, Turn it off already.”
I crumbled down to the floor in an awkward squat, “I’m sorry! Sorry!” I hissed, trying to make sure my dress kept all things hidden. The last thing I needed was an accidental peep show.
I finally managed to pick up the phone, “Hello?”
“Dee? Where are you at? I’m standing outside security.”
“Oh babe, I’m at the Starbucks, be there in a second.”
“No worries, I see you now.”
Great, here I was attempting to make a glamorous appearance and instead I was squatting like a dog, just perfect. I threw the phone into my bag, thinking how it would have felt better just to throw it into the coffee, against the wall, or even at one of the assholes who didn’t bother to help me. I scooped up the coffees and turned to see Jason.
He looked so official and handsome in his khakis and white button up shirt. He actually looked older than 27, he looked tired and haggard. He worked too hard, and it was showing.
“Hi beautiful, I missed you.”
His arms felt so secure around me. Jason would lose sleep before missing a work out, and his hard chest showed it. He gave me a soft kiss on my neck and a loving pat on my butt.
“Missed you too stranger,” I gave him a quick kiss on the lips, extending the Carmel macchiato proudly. He stared at the cup, muttering a confused thanks.
“Remember, from our first coffee date?”
“Yeah, remember how much indigestion I got from drinking it? Do you realize how bad coffee is on your body?” He scoffed, chucking it into the garbage can as we walked towards the elevators.
“Oh, well I would have drank it, you didn’t have to throw it away.”
“You’re blonde is showing, didn’t you hear what I just said? The last thing you need is to become one of those people addicted to caffeine. Don’t be so simple,” he laughed, squeezing my hand tenderly, “So, how was your weekend?”
I stared up at the top of the doors, watching the elevator come back down. We definitely weren’t ever going to be the couple that had stepped out earlier. I sighed, “Pretty uneventful, just went out with Sara and Amber.”
“How trashed did they get?”
“What do you mean?”
“They are pretty much alcoholics, really, you should try and find some classier women to spend time with. Think about how that makes you look.” He sighed, staring down at his Rolex impatiently. “Jesus, how long does it take the elevator?”
I was still processing what he had said about Amber and Sara. He had come out with us when we first started dating, and never again. Now I guess it was making sense, he thought that anyone who had a few drinks at a bar was a raging alcoholic. My friends could be rowdy but never sloppy, what’s so bad about having a good time? I found myself saying it aloud.
“There is a difference between having a good time and being irresponsible. Come on, Delaney, you aren’t in college anymore. Time to act like adults, settle down.”
The elevator doors opened and we stepped in, “What floor?”
I was about to call him Mr. Rogers, because I felt like he was preaching--him and the crazy old man in plaid, but instead I said “Oh shoot, um..” I dug through my purse searching for the piece of paper, “I think 5...um I’m not really sure. Just one second.”
“Check your inside pocket.”
Sure enough, the little paper was there, 3D.
“Level 3, row D.”
“You should really organize that thing.”
“Do you have anymore snide remarks to make? I’m sorry my friends and my purse aren’t good enough for you. But what do I know, I’m just a blonde.” I snapped sarcastically, rolling my eyes, leaning back into the cold metal wall. The cool silver felt good on my back, I could feel the tension returning to my shoulders. As generous and kind-hearted as Jason was, he was also incredibly judgmental and serious. I realized now why I hadn’t gone out in so long, it wasn’t worth the third degree questioning I would receive from Jason when I got home.
He pulled me to him, putting his arm around my neck, it just felt heavy instead of comfortable, “Don’t be silly, I’m sorry, it’s just how I feel.” He kissed my forehead, “I’m just tired from my flight, that’s all.”
I leaned into him, giving in was easier than fighting, “So you didn’t want to go get dinner then?”
He sighed, “Not really, I’d rather just chill out on the couch, open up a beer, and watch the game. It was a pretty crazy couple of days.”
“Oh, well, is there room for one more on the couch?”
“Absolutely, but you’ve got to give me a neck massage in exchange for the seat.”
He reached and took the keys from my hand, always preferring to drive. He said my driving made him nervous, something about accelerating into turns instead of decelerating. All I knew was that I had a license and zero accidents, that was good enough for me.
I retreated into the passenger seat of my own car, turning the radio down while watching him adjust the seat.
“So tell me about New York.”
“Pretty good, it’s nice to be home though.” He paused, looking at me pensively, “I have some big news, I was going to tell you over dinner but since that’s not happening, I guess now is as good a time as any.”
My stomach turned, I looked out the window watching a plane take off before turning back to stare at the hard outline of his face. His jaw clenched and his eyes danced in excitement, “I got a promotion. A big promotion,” he tapped the steering wheel for emphasis.
“Really?! That’s fantastic, congratulations baby. You deserve it.” I squeezed his hand and patted his leg affectionately.
“Good, I’m glad you feel that way. The only thing is that I’m going to have to be in New York for the next few months. You know, just to help the new branch take off.”
My stomach turned again, “A few months? Wait, so you’re moving back to New York?”
“Well, for now. But you know, eventually I always wanted to raise a family back East. It’s where I grew up and it’s my home. Here is just, well just for now. So it might be a good time to plant some roots. What do you think?”
Plant some roots? Raise a family? My heart raced, I looked over at him and I abruptly felt like I was driving with Miss Daisy. Suddenly, that image of the crazy cat lady popped into my head. Jason was amazing, successful, and family oriented. Isn’t that supposed to be the ideal man for a girl like me? Most women are just trying to find a guy that will actually take them on a date, let alone settle down with them. I wished I could call Sara or Amber. Instead, I settled for sending them telepathic S.O.S’s from the passenger seat,
“Well, you know, I’ve never even been to the East coast, so I can’t say I agree or disagree. But this is a big change, I’m not really sure I understand.”
“Dee, I know we’ve only been dating for a few months, but don’t you think this presents an opportunity to start our life properly?”
“Start..our..life?”
I hadn’t even officially started my own life.
“Well my parents got married after only dating for one month, and she didn’t even speak English. When it’s right, it’s right.”
Jason’s parents had a unique story, his Dad was on vacation in Mexico when he saw his mom walking the beach with her younger brother. He said that the minute she came into his line of vision he knew he had to know her, talk to her. So his college buddy, who luckily spoke fluent Spanish, translated for them all night in a bar along the beach in Mazatlan. After he got back, he started taking Spanish classes-went back and asked for her hand in marriage. Her parents were resistant at first, but apparently, after he came back three times they saw how much they loved each other. Contrary to my own personal experiences, that love, the big love, is out there. I just wasn’t sure if it was in the car, with us. My heart began to race, so loud I could hear it thunking in my head.
“I just, I don’t know, this is a heavy conversation. This is a, life changing conversation..I’m not sure I’m ready for life changing..conversations..now.”
“What do you want your life to be? The same thing forever? Alone?”
I started to panic. He was calling into question all my relationship issues, my baggage. Suddenly, it wasn’t Jason’s baggage filling up the backseat, it was mine. I looked at my hands, noting the one chip in the nailpolish where I had been chewing my nails waiting for him at the airport. I was always nervous, on edge, around him. Does nervousness translate to butterflies? I gulped. I had never envisioned myself actually getting married. I tried hard several times, but I just couldn’t picture it. It scared me. Not marriage per se, but that I couldn’t fathom getting married. Granted, my age could be an excuse, people claim ‘they just aren’t ready’ or ‘they are just too young’ but I believe even those people have fantasies of walking down the aisle, locking eyes with their beloved, their chosen one. But, with the rates of divorce as high as they were--did such a love really exist anymore? Jason was offering me security. Jason was offering me a life shared, he was offering me himself. Why couldn’t I do it?
“No, of course not. I hate even being alone for the weekend. It’s just, are we your parents--is this Mazatlan?” I shifted in my seat, hearing the leather squeak, I had started sweating from nerves without realizing it. I readjusted myself uncomfortably, impatiently.
“Mazatlan?”
“Mazatlan, you know--your Dad learned another language to be with your Mom.”
“Oh right, right. Well no, I think this is two adults talking about their options. An opportunity has presented itself, and I’m willing to start taking steps toward our future.”
“But, I mean--if we were even going to really talk about this-I’ve never even been to the East coast. I’ve lived here my entire life. Here, here is my home.”
“Why are you getting so intense? It’s just a conversation, I’m not asking you to move to a foreign country. The East coast is just a few hours away by plane. They speak English too.” He smirked, brushing my arm affectionately in an attempt to calm my nerves. He picked up my limp hand from the center console, stroking my ring finger. I closed my eyes tightly, it was the first time in my life I had wished I had an amputated hand.
The last minutes of the car ride felt like hours, days. I was overly aware of each breath I took, that saying about taking deep breaths and counting to 10 was officially bullshit. I started picking at the chip in my nailpolish until three of my fingers were nailpolishless, my mind was replaying Jason’s business proposal, I was a promotion bonus. I bet the girl in the elevator wouldn’t get a business proposal, she’d get a romantic proposal somewhere on an isolated beach with candles and tears. I was getting an offer to move to the East coast, which made me want to cry thinking about the accent and subway.
“You’re quiet, are you okay?”
“Mm, I’m fine--but I think that coffee gave me indigestion.”
The lie sounded ridiculous to me, but I knew it would be appeasing to Jason and his health-fanaticism.
He offered a knowing nod, shaking his head, “Remember that next time you want to throw money down the toilet on overpriced coffee that is exploiting a poor family in Colombia. And what really pisses me off is their whole bit about bettering the planet, they only use 10% of recycled products. What really gets me going, is the dumbasses who buy their Ethos water. It’s just a water company that they bought--those children will be waiting a long time for that money to get sent their away. God people are just so oblivious to what’s really going.”
What the fuck? I leaned back into the seat, almost wanting to bang my ahead against it until I was unconscious, to stop thinking, to stop hearing my own thoughts for one second. In truth, I just loved that Starbucks was reliable--I knew what I was getting. I knew how amazing that Carmel macchiato would taste. Was I settling, even in my coffee choices?
“If I don’t buy coffee, how is that going to help the exploited farmers?”
“Vegetarians don’t eat meat, but atleast their hands are clean of murder. They can go to sleep at night happy with their life choices. It’s a matter of principle and morals.”
Did I mention Jason was also a vegetarian? We..he ate a lot of tofu. Personally, I am relatively indifferent to meat, so going along with the tofu dinners had been easy at first. After having a weekend away from him and secretly indulging in Taco Bell, he seemed uptight and a little condescending. His convictions about human rights and animal rights had seemed endearing at first, now it just seemed patronizing. I did my part, I would buy the coffee brand that said they gave more money to the actual farmers--I had never meant to starve a family with my coffee purchases, I just liked coffee. I rubbed my temples, the temples of an animal murderer.
“Did you want to go to your place or go to mine? I’m indifferent because I’ll probably crash right after the game. It’s already half time anyway.”
In truth, I just wanted to be alone so I could call the girls. A few hours ago I was talking to James about hook ups and clubbing. Now I was talking about getting married and starting a so-called “real” life, playing grown up. Shouldn’t this be the happiest moment of my life? Baggage, baggage coming out the sunroof. Baggage was suffocating me.
“How about my place? I left Bachi inside, so I’m going to need to let him out.”
“Sounds great, do you want Chinese or pizza?”
Chinese or pizza. That was a more straight forward answer, something I could rely on my gut for. What sounded better? Chow Mein, fried rice, orange peel chicken, sesame chicken or did I want spicy chicken wings, supreme pizza coated in red peppers? Jason had to be completely aloof if he thought I would get indigestion from drinking a mild black coffee, my stomach was the fort knox of spice and caffeine.
“Pizza would hit the spot. Let’s get the loaded pizza with some chicken wings.”
“Anything for you, my darling.”
I managed a smile, turning back towards the window, watching the city fly by. The best and worst part about summer was how long the days were. It would stay bright until about 8 PM, the sky a bright orangesicle. Sunset was beautiful, but right now, I just wanted the day to be over. I wanted a night of sleep to ruminate, I wanted to wake up and be clean. Clean of my guilt, clean of my baggage, clean of my past.

Chapter 7
“Fear is the heart of love”
My mind was racing. I was thinking about him. I was thinking about us. I hate saying his name, thinking his name, feeling it. Nick.
Nick and I had been College sweethearts. I had planned our future, the names of our future children, sometimes I would even imagine what they would look like. It’s pretty sick, considering how love phobic I am. But with Nick, I was a different person. Arguably a more naive version of myself. I was goo-goo eyed, mushy gushy, I was head over heels in love. He had burned me, ruined me. Now I began to wonder if I would ever get that optimistic, free-falling, loving part of me back. Was it all just ashes now? Was I damaged beyond repair?
I inched out of the bed, moving slowly not to shake the mattress. The bed felt cold that night, yet, the cool sheets were like a haven from the heat outside. Jason slept on his stomach with his face pressed into the pillow, sometimes I worried he would suffocate. Once I even googled what different sleep positions meant, apparently Jason was very comfortable with himself or something like that. Whereas, I, like most women, slept in the fetal position--fearful of being exposed, vulnerable. Bachi acknowledged my movement with a yawn from the floor, stretching out all fours, before sighing and resting his wet nose back onto his comfy bed. If I wouldn’t have woken Jason up, I would have called Bachi an asshole.
I snuck across the apartment from my bedroom into the kitchen on my tip-toes. I’m not even sure why I was being so quiet. Part of me didn’t want Jason to know I wasn’t sleeping. I didn’t want to deal with the questions of ‘what’s on your mind, tell me all about it.’ The other part of me wanted to divulge everything, all about my past, all about Nick, all about how he would have really liked the old me. I took a bottle of water from the fridge and stepped out onto my balcony. The sky was still bright from the full moon, but I couldn’t see any stars. I set the water on the little wooden table, wrapping my fingers around the rod iron porch. I let my body relax, feeling the warm summer breeze blowing my big sleeping t-shirt.
It sounds strange, but I can feel him. I can feel Nick sometimes, the wounds are still fresh, palpable. It had been a year and a half and I was mending my war wounds.
I lied earlier when I said I had never actually thought about getting married. Of course I thought about graduating college and getting married to Nick. We had been together for four years, it was the natural progression I wanted my life to take. I was sure, I was certain--he was the one for me. It wasn’t a love at first sight like Jason’s parents, but it was an immediate curiosity. Nick was my complimentary other half. I remember sitting on a bench on the mall, having a stressful conversation with the cell phone company, when I saw him skate by. Now that I think about it, it’s completely ironic because he treated his whole life like a free, easy ride. Perhaps that is what killed us, the fact that he was too focused on the moment, thoughtless and impulsive.
We ultimately met through my roommate at his fraternity party. After a couple of cheap beers, I was completely enamored by his casual confidence. He was mellow, laid back and silly. Sometimes we would laugh so much that the next day my stomach would be sore, I hadn’t laughed like that in a long time. I sighed wistfully, resting my head on my chin. The tears welled up in my eyes and looked up, blinking furiously. It rolled down the contours of my face, eventually landing on my lips. Salty. Another one followed.
I pulled my sleeve over my hand and wiped my cheeks, looking up at the moon in dismay. A year later, he still made me cry. I looked down at my fingers, would I be happy if Nick was offering me a ring instead?
I think it makes me a masochist. To be so totally in love with a guy who could break me so easily, thoughtlessly. And yet, I had a secure, devoted man offering himself to me and I was hesitating.
Let me clarify, I never shared my hopes with Nick. I never talked about a family, kids, except when we would joke about how good looking they would be. It only occurred to me because his entire family were mirror images of each other. I had always envied those families, my family didn’t look alike and we definitely didn’t share the same interests. His family was a unit, and it made me want a big happy family too.
But he would talk, he would talk about spending our lives together. When it ended, he stared at me speechlessly, “I never thought we would break up. Ever.”
The words still haunted me. We had quietly had the same goals, the same hopes. Never feeling the need to say them out loud, because they were, in spite of everything, understood.
I just don’t know how he could have done that to me, to us. After everything. Despite what happened, he still claimed he wanted to be with me. He could change, things could change, our relationship could change. I wanted to believe him, but I could never trust him again.
The worst thing was wishing I had never known. It had hurt in places I didn’t think existed. I sat alone on a couch at our pre-graduation party trying not to cry. The music had been pounding so loud I could barely make out the words she said. The alcohol had made her feel like being honest, pouring her heart out, apologizing. They had slept together a couple of times but she swore she didn’t realize he and I were serious. Of course, after she found out how long we had been dating she stopped responding to his texts and calls.
I just never understood what I hadn’t done to make him happy. She wasn’t pretty, she wasn’t special, but she was worth throwing it all away. She felt sorry for me. She pitied me. After she finished confiding in me, I stared at her cooly feeling a part of myself die. It was the kind of conversation that left you breathless, motionless, numb. I found solace in the fact that I held it together in front of concerned eyes. I guess all his friends had known, just didn’t know how to tell me. The worst, most painful part, was feeling like that girl. The girl who deserved pity. I will never be that girl again. I will never put myself out there to be crushed like that.
Amber’s mother had always told me “Marry a man who loves you more than you love him. It’s the only way to do it.” I had thought it was absurd when I was dating Nick. We were both just so madly in love with each other. I had smugly mentally noted her error, I had found someone who loved me as deeply as I loved him. Life’s little joke I guess, at the end of the day what I learned is that, love isn’t enough. Love isn’t enough to keep two people together.
Because, you see, I really did love him. I loved him more than myself, and yet I couldn’t forgive him. Although I still love him, through and through, I can’t bring myself to forget. I want to forget, I want to forget her face and the images--but I can’t. They are permanently with me, somewhere locked away. I shook my head, sucking in as much air as my lungs would fit, holding it, and then releasing it into the night. I pretended it was all my hurt, flying out of my body.
I picked up the bottle of water and scoffed, what was I doing? How did I get here? I looked over the edge, four stories up, I could just jump and end it all, not have to deal with any decisions. Then again, I looked down at the cushy green grass below and the glowing swimming pool, I would probably screw that up and just break a leg. Then I would have to explain why I would jump off a balcony- “Ah, yes,” they would say, “Poor girl just lost her mind after her boyfriend proposed, he had just gotten a promotion you know. She could just never get over the past, she had baggage.” I imagined them, whoever ‘they’ were saying the word baggage with finger quotations. I put my back against the rod iron, looking into the meticulous kitchen and at the beautiful white orchid Jason had bought me, “Perfect, just like you,” he had said.
I had always loved flowers, like most girls. Nick never bought me flowers, not once, not on my birthdays or Valentine’s Day. Nothing. On the other hand, Jason had bought me dozens upon dozens of beautiful bouquets, roses, and plants. I complained about Jason being too mature when all I had wanted was Nick to stop being immature. I was finally in a grown up relationship and I was acting like a child. Were we all alike, me, James, Jessica and Sara? Digging in our heels at the first sign of commitment? Unwilling to put ourselves into anything that had a foreseeable expiration date? Was it them or was it us? I sat down and curled up on the lounge chair, suddenly my eyes felt as heavy as my heart.



Chapter 8

My face felt hot, too hot; my skin felt like it was burning. I shot straight up, shielding my eyes from the blaring sun above me. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, squinting around me to get a sense of my bearings. I was on the balcony. More specifically, the lounge chair. I stretched my neck backwards, it had a kink only possible from an uncomfortable night’s sleep and an excess of stress. One of my neighbor’s waved with a big smile while he watered his plethora of rare plants, fan-fucking-tastic. I almost wished I was on the grass below, out of my misery.
I walked into the kitchen and my crazed reflection stared back at me. My hair was matted like a bird’s nest and my cheeks and nose were a freshly burnt red. Attractive. Jason’s consistent snoring filled my ears as I wandered into the hallway, still delirious from my pseudo-city camping trip last night. I snuck into my bathroom quietly and turned on the shower. The best thing to cure my Nick hangover would be a hot shower, wash him off my skin, down the drain and away from me.
I scrubbed myself clean with my aromatherapy body wash, letting the water work its magic. My life would be perfect if I could just live in the shower. No one to bother me, nothing to confuse me, and my aromatherapy to calm my nerves. I have actually done some of my best thinking in the shower, it is the most quiet place in the world, or at least in my world. Sometimes I imagined my problems as mud on my body, and with my new high-tech shower head from Bed, Bath and Beyond I could spray them off and down the shiny silver drain. As I rinsed the conditioner from my hair, it occurred to me that my awkward obsession with the bath could be rooted in the hours of imaginary Barbie water adventures I had in my bathtub as a little girl. Ken would always rescue Barbie from the menacing foam sharks, whales, and save her from drowning just before she got sucked down the drain. Maybe Jason was right, maybe it was time to stop playing Barbie and start playing grown up.
I put on a clean pair of cotton boy-shorts and a Hanes v-neck I had stolen from Jason a couple months ago. I combed through my long wet hair, putting in product that I just liked for the smell but also appreciated the loose wave it helped my hair hold, beach-chic. I was fresh, clean, and ready to crawl back into the sheets with Jason.
I looked at the silver clock on my nightstand, 11 am. A couple days ago I was crawling out of bed and into trouble, now I was backtracking in the hopes of getting some normalcy in my life. I leaned against the door frame, biting my lip.
Jason looked so angelic when he slept. His lips were always slightly parted and his dark hair looked exotic next to his tanned skin. He claimed he always had a nice tan because of his Greek ancestry, I would logically maintain it was from his hour run to the gym everyday.
I want to love him, part of me does love him. The problem was my love was different from the stereotypical storybook love. I was guarded, stubborn and sometimes selfish. I’m just not sure if my love is good enough for a normal person who is capable of the naive love. I closed my eyes and contemplated going to a therapist.
I envisioned Jason and I sitting in the therapists office like that opening scene from “Mr. And Mrs. Smith”--two people who only knew the superficial, fluff, version of the other. I would eventually throw up my hands and declare proudly, “So I’m a little twisted and emotionally unavailable. Show me one person on the street who isn’t.” And the therapist would point to Jason, tell me he had his shit together and I was the one screwing everything up. I scrunched up my nose, what a bitch.
I shook my head and walked back to the kitchen to make a large pot of coffee. It was one of those days were I just wanted to caffeinate myself to oblivion, knowing full well it was going to be a day of emotional hoopla. Talking about my feelings, his feelings, our feelings. Talking about our present, our future--emphasis on our. I just wasn’t cut out for this type of thing. Weren’t girls supposed to be the ones who liked to talk things through, want to know what you are thinking, what you want for the future? Maybe I attracted men who were like women, to compensate for me being more like a male in my emotional make-up. Grow up, Delaney. Adults communicate.
Communication: the root of all evil in the lifespan of my few, scattered relationships. I thought about my little black book , my number, and who I would possibly want to spend the rest of my life with. Nobody came to mind, nobody from my past, present, or prospective future. How could I find my soulmate when I had no idea what he would look like? Be like? Was Jason my soulmate and I just didn’t know it?