Tag Archives: relationships

May 21, 2012

Exposed

By welcometoflavorcountry

I climbed Mt. Mansfield in Vermont last fall. It’s the tallest of all the peaks in the Green Mountain state. The temperature at the bottom was mild – in the fifties, but not any colder than what one would expect for Vermont in early October. It was a stereotypically beautiful autumn day in New England, colored leaves and all. I was comfortable as my body got moving and blood started flowing beneath long-sleeves and an undershirt with a hoodie and stocking cap. I wore my jeans and hiking shoes and fought my way past groups of college friends and Quebecois that had emerged south of the border to treat Mansfield as though it was much greater of a challenge than it really was. Poles and Camelbaks. Extensive amounts of Mountain Hardware, North Face and Columbia gear. Commands relayed in French and me repeatedly saying, “excusez moi” or “pardonnez-moi” and sure that I was mispronouncing even those simple phrases.

Above the tree line are cairns to help the hikers find their way to the top. At times I was forced to scramble up rocks over six feet tall. Exposure was greater here and by now the height was over 3000 feet. The wind started to whip hard against my face as my body alternated between sweat and chill. Fingers started to go numb and layers were taken off and placed back on to combat the temperature fluctuations between my body and the outside air.

Eventually, though, when I found myself high enough, there couldn’t be enough layers and I wondered why I hadn’t brought gloves. I was famished but had no food. I carried with me some water but I was going through it all too rapidly. I began to get just a sense of what it might be like to climb Mt. Everest or some other great peak. And what it might be like to feel so bare that I would die up there. But preferably alone and not with so many Quebecois weekend tourists.

At the 4000-foot level there was a slight leveling out of the mountain and to my left I could see, up in the cold mist, a path that lead to the peak. There were people milling about, coming up, going down and moving around on the various trails. French and English were spoken and suddenly the serious Quebecois with their poles and wintry gear didn’t seem to be so foolish as the temperature had dropped to the low thirties. I couldn’t feel my fingertips.

I have always had a drive that spurred me to do things beyond where most people stop. That drive has never led me to the insane or suicidal but I’d like to think it has aided me in doing some greater things than I might have otherwise performed. And yet, when I reached that plateau, I knew I was in over my head. I hadn’t dressed appropriately and the slight, non-insulated, cotton pockets of a hooded sweatshirt weren’t doing anything to help fight the sting that the frigid wind whipped against my hands and ten fingers.

At this point I had no doubts about receding down the side of the mountain the way I came. The wind attacked me and I was left exposed above the tree line. It’s often said that the trek down a mountain can be just as hard as the way up because the body is worn and the mind isn’t as sharp. It fools itself into believing that the real work is done. I felt exhaustion and a sense of hurry the likes of which I hadn’t experienced in quite some time. But finally I made it down the mountain; my muscles screaming, my body drained but slightly warmed.

Being with you exposes and exhausts me more than any of that.

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February 2, 2012

She asked

By welcometoflavorcountry

She asked
if she could introduce me
as her boyfriend.
“You’re already putting your dick
in me,” she stated.
I mused on this fact.
Stroked
my chin.
Stared
into
the middle distance.
“Yes,”
I said
turning toward her.
“That seems fair.”
I didn’t tell her
that two weeks earlier
I had told
a group of strangers
with no hesitation
that she was my girlfriend.

2 comments   |  tags: , , | posted in Poetry

April 18, 2011

A Conversation #2

By welcometoflavorcountry

Originally from issue #21, August 2010.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re nosy?” she asked, in an annoyed manner.

“I’m just trying to be friendly. Believe it or not, I actually do care.” I tried hard not to be passive-aggressive but asking her about what she had been doing in NYC this past weekend seemed to have overstepped some sort of boundary.

“Whatever.” She had had enough of me. By now, that much was obvious.

“I’m not totally clear on what you expect from me but I –”

“Nothing. I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t want anything from you.”

“I wasn’t trying to suggest you did; I just don’t understand what happened to our friendship.” I was close to pleading.

“We never had a friendship,” she said coldly.

“Oh,” that was news to me. “So what was that when we were hanging out last fall?

“That was just two co-workers having a drink a few times,” she said matter-of-factly. I could tell this conversation was awkward and painful for her.

“Ah, I see. I guess I misinterpreted that night you went with me after work while I ran errands even though I gave you multiple chances to go your own way.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” She knew exactly what I was talking about. She was the one that had instigated our “friendship.” I may have asked her to walk out with me at the end of the workday soon after I started but she had been the one that kept following me around. At the time I found it sweet. Now…?

“Listen, I know you liked me. You told me that yourself. I’m just confused about what I did to make you be so cold towards me.” I tried my best to keep my face its normal hue and not to become flustered or angry. I wanted to let it all go and be straight with her. In my mind I had imagined a conversation something like this (although with better results than where this appeared to be going) but I didn’t want to have it at work.

“You didn’t do anything. Well, I dunno.” She was confused. I was too.

“Yeah, me either.” I didn’t really want to play the game anymore but didn’t want to leave things on a bad note so I mustered up all the courage I had. “I enjoyed when we started hanging out last fall. I thought–think; I still think you’re a pretty cool person. I don’t know what I did to make you not want to talk to me anymore and if I offended you or hurt you I apologize. I know we’re not going to be best friends or anything but if for some reason you do ever change your mind and want to get a drink or catch up/hang out–whatever. I’m still interested in being friends. I don’t have ulterior motives; I just think we have some things in common and I enjoy talking to you. So yeah…”

Her expression hadn’t changed. She was still defensive and angry. She had such a sweet smile but she never showed it to me anymore.

“I’m sorry we had to have this conversation at work.” I sighed with disgust. “I’m gonna let you get back to work now. Sorry…” I couldn’t find anything else to say and as my sorry fruitlessly trailed out of my mouth I backed away from the desk and turned. I walked back to the elevator and pressed the up button.

There was a part of me that wanted to call up my boss and give my two weeks notice. Who cared if I didn’t have another job lined up? There was yet another part of me that took a deep breath as I rode the elevator up to my office and realized how silly so much of life is. This too shall pass. I smiled. Was thinking that just another way of avoiding the deeper issues of hurt and pain? I didn’t know and didn’t care. Realizing the transitory nature of events such as this and given my ability to rise above it like it hadn’t really happened was the best coping mechanism I had.

I made my way to my desk and opened my email. I created a new message to my boss and wrote a two-word email: “I quit.” I attached my time card and walked out of the building. It was a crisp spring day and the wind wasn’t too harsh as I walked across the plaza, down Massachusetts Avenue and made my way home.

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February 3, 2011

I need some editors

By welcometoflavorcountry

Youthful dreams once directed me towards a notion that life in the city would be filled with sharp, crisp camera angles of me walking down the street alone, yet retaining confidence in myself.

Perhaps there’s a chill in the air and my breath is evident as it escapes my lungs into the sky. I envisioned romantic experiences whereupon my spirit would feel so alive, and trial and error would all converge in exciting new ways. My soul would never slow down and there could be films made of the adventures and excitement that dwelt in my experiences. Instead, I have found periods of severe boredom punctuated by intense moments of Ozzy Osbourne-like cries of “Am I going insane?”

There were going to be plentiful opportunities for love and connection with others. I would discover friends and have a cadre of folks with whom I could call and converse or meet up with at a bar. I don’t know where those notions came from. I’ve often tried hard to create things out of thin air. And when I at last find myself ready to attack my insecurities head-on and to adjust my behavior to take into account my previous neuroses, I discover that any hope of a sense of belonging I may have once had isn’t entirely existent.

My nighttime walks in the chill of November are alone. There is no endearing, semi-mysterious female there to hold my hand. I walk by myself and keep my eyes peeled for dubious individuals. This time in my life would make for the worst of films: filler material of the most banal kind.

It’s a series of shots of Kevin Spacey surfing the Internet for hours upon end, checking his Facebook page every 15 minutes. It’s Philip Seymour Hoffman reading a self-help book while riding the subway to and from work. It’s Paul Giamatti spending four hours on a Saturday morning under the covers of his bed in his small apartment, re-reading this sentence for the 35th time in order to make sure it flows just right.

If this has been relegated to the world of made-for-TV movies, then change the channel. If this is a film on the big screen, then we have a problem. You need to leave the theater and get your money refunded. This script should have never been written.

I thought there would be more late nights spent staying up talking with a cute girl in my bed. I thought I’d become a creature of the night like in college or grad school (the first time around, that is.) I would be somewhere else with someone whose eyes I could look into and admire. There would be nights of us out in the cold, huddled together to keep warm, witty banter rolling off our tongues, making one another laugh in an effort to take our minds off the frigidity. There would be shows and late nights at our favorite dive bar and riding bikes in the warm summer nights.

And I thought at its’ worst, I would find myself drinking Maker’s Mark on the rocks in front of my computer on lonely Friday or Saturday nights while I pounded away on this keyboard, writing – no, pouring out my soul for no one in particular to read. But it would be worthwhile and express the things I needed to say.

And somebody else would read it and know. And they would thank me for my words. He or she would say that I really spoke to them and that my writing was great. And I would humbly respond with a thank you and leave it at that. Or if I was really lucky, it would be a woman who fell in love with me through my writing and we could spawn something delicate – a correspondence that would be meaningful.

But I’ve already lived that portion of my life and had those adventures and instead I find myself mercilessly punching away on the keys for myself. And there’s no Maker’s Mark and there’s no ice – I don’t even own a goddamn tumbler to put it in.

I get asked why I write and it’s for myself. It’s always been for myself. I put it out there and hope someone reads and understands. I hope someone knows what I’m talking about – I hope that someone else has found their life to be disappointing in comparison to the film version they tried hard to make happen.

We don’t always get what we wish for, but that optimism for some kind of romantic climax in New York City with a woman you just met doesn’t seem to be happening and there’s a doubt that you may not even have a fun weekend in New York City with friends, let alone a romantic, life-altering episode. But we can try and make ourselves open to the possibility. It will come right before the divorce. And I’ll try my best to make that entertaining for myself as well as anyone else that might be watching.

4 comments   |  tags: , | posted in Non-fiction

January 17, 2011

Trying to Relate, Trying to Communicate

By welcometoflavorcountry

Originally from issue #10, April 2007.

“When you find the end of the road, you’ll know you’re there.” My father always used to say that. He told me his father used to say it to him. I never knew what he meant. I still don’t.

Two strangers can’t sit and share conversation anymore and leave it at that. It always has to be something more. I can’t write a poem full of cryptic metaphors and just leave it at that. My words have to be bursting with witty and graphic stereotypes, full of anger and urgency in order to get anyone to listen.

Relationships must seemingly contain a spark at all times and that’s that. A long-term commitment full of ups and downs and a true definition of love are not enough.

The present is never good enough for me. I don’t feel things the same way I used to, with highs and lows tied in with environments and sound. I can’t just live and leave it at that. My world needs more personal tragedies that mask themselves as something altogether different. Philosophical reflection, self-deprecation, and insufficiency: these are the high points of my life. And to think, some girls find that hot.

A love connection can never start with a girl coming up to me. I have to always make the first move, which seems tired and oh-so-overdone in my life.

I can say “thank you” for opening a door for me or serving me food, but I cross a line in an attempt to broach anything further.

Sometimes I’m the only one not losing my mind. I’m the glue helping to hold together other peoples’ lives. Other times I open up and start writing and it turns out I’m the one in trouble.

Some day I want to trap someone in my world and never let him or her go. I will make them mirror everything I’ve ever seen, felt or done. At this point in my life I find it hard to ever imagine not feeling alone. It’s a silent partner that will cause someone to eventually never reach me.

“He was so close and yet so far away – a real mystery.”

“Yeah, a big fuckin’ mystery. Talk to me about how much I love it.”

I put my head down to try and ignore people. I bring it back up to stifle my loneliness. Often times this makes things all that much worse. There are so many people I don’t know. And yet you can’t help but feel that it is a pleasant positive on the part of anonymity: no one will ever really bother you.

But I don’t always like who I am around other people. I am needy, not selfless. I demand too much. So I’m continually working on the things that will push me away from people. Drunk-like we stagger home. I can suddenly remember what it was like to turn 21. It was fairly ridiculous. No one likes to admit they’re wrong, no one at all.

No, you just can’t breathe anymore. It always has to be something more. Your mind has to spiral out of control along with it.

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January 6, 2011

Hey I Miss You (Part 3)

By welcometoflavorcountry

“So how did you feel about what happened the next day?” asked Jim.

“I dunno. I guess I started doubting myself to some degree. Not because we didn’t have sex but because it all seemed so surreal. It was like a fucking movie. I had wanted to treat it all so normally at first and now it just seemed out of control. So the next day the weather was shitty and we just lay around in bed being lazy and listening to records. At one point that day we were listening to this Sigur Ros album and for some reason the music and my emotions and the weather all got to me and I just started bawling. And Alex was like, ‘What’s wrong?’ and I said through my crying that I didn’t know. I guess I was feeling everything from the past few days so much that it just got me to crack. I had never felt so strongly about anyone before.

“She was really great about everything and held me and helped me feel better. But in the end Jim, I was still just 19. I really had no clue what I was doing and having not had a real serious relationship before this I guess I didn’t know how to handle myself.

“The next day or so we still had a good time and fooled around but we never ended up having sex. And I can’t help but think that as much as I had tried to treat this as a normal relationship, I had either built it up a ton in my mind beforehand or just wasn’t mature enough to handle a connection like that. You know, being so abstract in the form of the relationship and then suddenly being with that person coalesces into something fast, intense and totally romantic. In other words, much the opposite of what I had with Maria.”

Jim laughed, knowing all too well how that relationship had been and how different it was than the one in the story in which his friend was telling. Jim recalled things with Maria had happened slowly and were always quite casual between her and Paul.

“So what happened at the end?” Jim asked.

“Well, I got on my flight after a very tough goodbye and then I didn’t hear from her for quite a while. I mean, we had the token ‘How are you?’ emails but nothing where we talked about what happened or concerning that intense connection we made. And then the letters and emails stopped completely.

“What? Why?” Jim questioned, surprised.

“Well, I found that out about three or four months later. Around the time of my birthday I received this letter in an envelope made of a map of the New York City subway system. I seriously about started to cry. I figured she had some problem and had given up on me. I’m not the type of person to stalk someone so after sending her a few emails letting her know I was still there and wondering – sincerely I might add – how she was doing I just gave up. You can’t force someone to be friends with you.

“When I got this letter it was like being roped back in to all of those emotions and all that shit. It took me a while but finally I opened the envelope and read the letter. The whole thing was basically about how she was sorry but she had needed time to sort things out; to figure out what had happened and what we were. It was so sweet and romantic and it was just like old times. She even wished me a happy birthday. So after giving it a day or so, I wrote her an email telling her thanks and how sweet her letter was. We even talked on the phone a few times. But like Morrissey sings, ‘It just wasn’t like those old days anymore.’ Something in us had snapped and we weren’t the two people we thought we were going to be together.”

Paul starts to pack up his stuff, putting his Solzhenitsyn book in his bag and wiping up spilled coffee with a napkin.

“Hey, I just noticed the time. I’ve got class in half an hour,” Paul tells Jim.

“Well wait, what happened with you and Alex?” Jim asks, somewhat desperately. “You can’t leave me hanging like that!”

Paul gets up and puts his cup, spoon and saucer away in the tub by the front counter. He swings back by the table, grabs his backpack and says to Jim, “Alex and me?”

“Yeah man, what happened?” Jim emphatically asks.

“After a few months of irregular contact I never heard from her again,” Paul says. “Besides, like I said, until today it’s not like I had even really thought much about her.” He shrugs and then heads out the door of the coffeehouse into the brisk autumn chill.

Disappointed, Jim looks back down at his writing and catches the sight of a small rectangular piece of paper lying on the floor by the chair where Paul was sitting. It looked about the same size as the bookmark Paul had been using and figuring it must’ve slipped out of the book. Jim picked it up and looked at it. Staring at it he sees it’s not a piece of paper, but a photo, cut down to make a bookmark. The picture was of Paul with a cute girl with black eyes and black hair, wearing an Ache shirt. Paul had his arm around her and both of them were smiling. Flipping over the picture Jim sees inscribed on the back a sentence: “I believe in desperate acts, the kind that make you look stupid.”

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January 2, 2011

Hey I Miss You (Part 2)

By welcometoflavorcountry

Originally from issue #10, April 2007.

“So, did I mention she was playing for both teams?” Paul asks with that smarmy look on his face that only comes when one controls the release of events in a story, dropping them at the most opportune time.

“What?!” Jim said rather loudly, drawing a few stares from nearby coffee patrons.

“Ohhh yeah,” Paul says with yet another sigh. “She went for girls, too. I guess her interest in me was an exception.”

“Wait a second,” Jim interrupts, “does that mean she and her roommates were – “

“Ha ha. No, no, no. Just friends,” Paul quickly pipes in.

“Okay, just wondering. Go ahead.”

“So where was I? Oh yeah. So we get to bed that night acting like we were all mature and weren’t going to do anything weird and really we didn’t, but when I woke up in the morning she was totally spooning me. I snuck out of bed and went to the bathroom, then went and lie on the couch for a while and read. Eventually Alex woke up, cute as could be.

“I won’t give you every last detail because honestly most of the trip was just us wandering around the city. We went to Brooklyn, the Bronx, did some touristy stuff and ate out at a bunch of restaurants. Being that it was spring break the weather was kind of sketchy some days but it wasn’t too bad. The second night she wanted to go see these bands play at some bar in Brooklyn so we went out there and snuck me in with my fake ID. I felt even more nervous than I probably should have been and could only think of that episode of Simpsons where Bart becomes a courier and the guy running the courier business says to Bart, ‘Well, you don’t look 25, but your out-of-state un-laminated ID is proof enough for me.’

“Thankfully I got through ok, but decided not to drink too much. Alex on the other hand, being a waif got fairly tipsy after a few drinks. It wasn’t really until the end of the night I noticed it. But she was exceptionally giddy and very flirtatious. After the show she held my hand as we made our way to the subway. On the train she put her head on my shoulder and dozed off. Her breath smelled like beer but not in an annoying way. It was actually kind of cute and she just felt right, you know?  I think that by that time, given all the buildup beforehand and what a phenomenally fun time I had had with her I was beginning to really feel like I was in love.

“I hate to sound like a teacher here, but let me tell you a couple of things I’ve learned about love, Jim. It’ll help my experience make a little more sense to you.”

“Ok, cool. Please proceed,” Jim says sarcastically, extending his upraised right hand towards Paul, the signal that says, “You have the floor.”

“Okay, so one thing I’ve learned is that you have very little say over when you’ll fall in love. Granted, you won’t fall in love with someone you hate or aren’t attracted to in some way, but most of the time it seems you can just be minding your own business in life and then it just happens. Another thing I’ve learned is that love isn’t prejudicial. As long as you’re the slightest bit open to someone being in your life and you’re slightly vulnerable with them, it can happen. I mean, it wasn’t really my ideal situation to fall in love with someone who lived hundreds of miles away and who normally found girls more attractive than boys. But it just happens and you go with it. The last thing about love is that when you’re in love, all those stupid pop ballads make total sense to you. Disney-era Phil Collins, Celine Dion, Rod Stewart: all freaking geniuses my friend. It’s pretty sad, actually.”

Jim laughed. “I guess that figures, though. They’d have to appeal to somebody. All of what you said seems to make some sense to me I guess.”

“Cool. So that night as we got off the train and made our way back to her place she got really close to me and while we were waiting to cross the street she looked at me and said, ‘I’m gonna take a shower when we get home.’ ‘Alright,’ I replied, looking away from her and at the crosswalk sign. ‘Do you want to take it with me?’ she asked with a big smile on her face. The crosswalk suddenly said walk but I was just standing there with my mouth hanging open. She started walking and I couldn’t move – I was fairly stunned. I mean Jim, come on, you know me – I’m not some naïve dude, but I’m definitely not a player, so when a girl tells me she wants to shower with me, it catches me a bit off guard. I mean, I guess when I flew out there I thought we’d do stuff but figured it more along the lines of making out a bit. Showering together always seemed at the time to me to be something that married couples only did together. I’d fooled around with girls before, but never something so intimate. Shit, maybe I was slightly naïve. I dunno.” Paul said that last part and trailed off, once again going someplace else in his mind.

“Dude, it’s cool,” Jim said, “I understand. No need to justify things to me.”

“Ok, well, anyway, seeing as to how she was slightly tipsy and all I didn’t feel quite right about it. So I told her, “Alex, that’s okay. I appreciate the offer but I think I’m just going to go to bed.’ She smiled and said, ‘Okay, your loss.’ Having dodged that bullet in the loss of my innocence I got ready for bed while she took a shower. She came back to her bedroom dressed only in her towel and I was about half asleep. She said my name to see if I was sleeping. All my half-awake mind could muster was a mumble. ‘Can we cuddle?’ she asked me. Fuuuck. As though I’m that naïve. ‘Sure Alex,’ I told her, suddenly waking a bit and sitting up. She had changed into some flannel boxer shorts and a t-shirt and hopped under the covers with me. ‘Like my shirt?’ she asked. ‘Oh you’ve got to be kidding me,’ I said. And there she was wearing an Ache t-shirt.”

“Which one?” Jim, always the consummate band nerd asked.

“It was the one with the Greek warrior on it.”

“Cool. I like that one.”

“Yeah, so next thing I know we’re making out and cuddling and I’m pretty sure it was only our fatigue that kept us from having sex.

“The next day we went back over to Brooklyn ‘cause I wanted to go to this bookstore over there. We had a really good time and I had this ridiculously good PBJ and banana sandwich before we went to another show of some local bands, this time at the Northsix. It’s one of the indie venues in Brooklyn. After the show we walked down the block towards the water. From the front steps of some boarded business we found the best view of the Manhattan skyline. It’s fucking gorgeous and we’re standing there just watching the city, not talking, and I put my arms around her. Dude, it was totally like something from the movies. So perfect.

“It was fairly late by this time, so we headed back and experienced one of those totally typical things that can only happen in New York. The subway was kinda crowded, so when we saw two open seats we thought we were in luck. Then we noticed the huge pile of puke lying right in front of the seats, narrowly avoiding a very gross finale to our evening. As we stood there, it suddenly became our job to warn people at every stop about the puke. Unfortunately some couple didn’t heed our warning. While it sucks to step in puke, seeing the reaction on people’s faces is hilarious. So after that we quit warning them.

“When we got back to her place we were in a good mood and we started to watch a movie and we snuggled and all of that kind of thing. Finally things got kind of heated and we ended up going pretty far but stopped short of having sex.”

“Why?” Jim asked.

“You know, I really have no clue. Don’t get me wrong, what we did was great, but I guess things just weren’t right. Eventually we fell asleep.”

1 comment   |  tags: , , | posted in Fiction

December 30, 2010

Hey I Miss You (Part 1)

By welcometoflavorcountry

I’m really not sure how I feel about this story anymore, but figured I’d share it anyway.

Originally from issue #10, April 2007.

“You know, there is seriously a good chance I may never fall in love,” Jim says to his friend Paul looking up from his writing.

Paul, a scrawny college senior with black messy hair slightly hanging in front of his eyes and sporting a yellow Bad Brains t-shirt with the band’s ROIR tape cover on the front, glances up from his book while still trying to finish the sentence he’s reading. He mumbles a “Hmm?” only half paying attention.

“I said there is seriously a good chance I may never fall in love,” Jim, repeats himself, this time more firmly. Jim is the nerdier counterpart to Paul, with wire-rimmed glasses, short brown hair and wearing a button-up collared shirt. While not masking his interest in all things computer-related it does belie his more non-mainstream music tastes which range from Mr. Bungle to James Brown and old Green Day.

“I’d rather doubt that,” Paul says skeptically. A few seconds of silence pass before Paul adds, “Wait, you’ve never been in love before?”

“Uh, no,” Jim says hesitantly.

“Wow.”

“Why, have you?”

“Yeah, a couple times. Don’t worry though. It comes easier to some of us than others. Besides, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Why do you say that?” Jim asks. “Did you have a bad experience with it?” Jim finally puts down his pen on his notebook. Sensing that this is leading to a deeper conversation, Paul loosely places the bookmark in his book and lays it face down on their table at the coffeehouse.

“I wouldn’t say either experience was bad, per se, it’s just that love is a very intense emotion and often times it will turn you into someone you’re not. Later on, months or years down the line you wonder why you did what you did or said what you said.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard all that before,” Jim responds. “I was hoping you’d have some other insights beyond that.”

Paul laughs a quick “ha” and then says, “Afraid not man. What makes you think you’ll never fall in love anyway?”

“I dunno. I’m just not feeling the possibilities I guess. It seems like my life is all such a routine: school, work, sleep. It’s hard to imagine anything else.”

“Yeah, I hear ya,” Paul says, blowing on his still steaming cup of coffee.

“Does that really help at all?” Jim inquires, motioning to Paul’s hand holding the cup of coffee.

“What?” Paul asks, looking at his hand holding the piping hot cup of java. “Oh. Uh, I dunno.” Paul takes a sip and the warm liquid burns his tongue. “Ahh – still too hot,” he quips, rubbing his tongue around his mouth.

“So what are you reading, anyway?” Jim asks, pointing to the book lying face down in front of Paul.

“Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn.”

“Any good?”

“I have no idea. I literally just started reading it.”

“What class is it for?”

“Modern Russian History. Solzhenitsyn was a political prisoner in the ‘40s and ‘50s in the Soviet Union. He also had internal exile imposed on him.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, according to my professor’s definition today in class,” Paul thinks for a second, “it’s ‘the detention of people in specific places by force.’ It’s within the person’s own country, but usually out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Ha. If that was a condition of the mind, I think it would be vaguely synonymous with love,” Jim quips, laughing. “Speaking of, do you mind if I ask what happened with the two relationships when you were in love?”

“Not at all. The most recent time was just last year with Maria. You remember her, right?”

“Yeah, totally,” Jim replies, recalling the girl a year ahead of them in college with the choppy brown hair and piercings in her nose, ears and lip. The seminal indie rocker minus the elitist attitude. She broke up with Paul after graduating and moving way. The two of them had been going out for a couple of years. It didn’t come as much of a surprise to either one of them when it happened, but it certainly didn’t make it any easier on Paul. He spent a good three days in his bedroom, coming out only to use the bathroom and to get the occasional glass of water. Jim was finally able to coax him out to go to a house party where Paul promptly got incredibly blitzed, fucked some girl he didn’t know and puked all over someone’s bed. It was one hell of a rebound.

“So yeah,” Paul responded, flickering through all his memories of a two year relationship in the course of five seconds, “you know that situation. The other time I was in love was before Maria – it was a very strange experience to say the least.” Paul leans back in his chair and exhales, staring blankly at the book in front of him. Nervously, Jim chimes in, “Hey man, if you don’t want to talk about it that’s ok.”

“No, no. It’s cool. I just haven’t talked about it much – hell, I haven’t thought about it in forever. It almost seems like another life,” his voice trails and for a split second he’s somewhere else. Paul wipes his hand over his face trying to clear his thoughts. Suddenly he asks Jim, “Do you remember the band I was in a few years ago?”

Ah, how could Jim forget Ache? Named after a Jawbreaker song, they were the toast of the indie scene in their college town for their two-year existence. Culminating in a couple of regional tours, an EP and an album, Ache was a good mix of punk and indie rock. Their live show was always a good time, usually degenerating into a full-on party with at least one band member drunk. What else could you expect from a band full of college students?

“Paul, I was at half your shows dude. Of course I remember.”

“Oh yeah. I guess that just seems like so long ago I haven’t thought about most of it in a while.”

“That’s too bad. You guys were good.”

“Thanks. Anywho, I was the guy in the band answering most of the email from our website and so I’d get the occasional email from some fan from somewhere in California or Texas who heard our stuff either online or some other way. They’d write and I’d write back just to be nice and answer any questions they might’ve asked.

“Anyway, one day my freshman year I get this email from a girl in New York City. She’s a student at Columbia and seemed sincere and friendly and after the initial email we kept writing, talking about our lives, schools, what inspired us and so on. Well, this went on for a few months and before I know it we’re talking on the phone a few times a week and sometimes for like four or five hours at a time. How I kept from failing my classes is beyond me.

“The girl’s name was Alex and she was a junior and lived in an apartment with a few roommates in Manhattan near the campus. And as weird as it may seem for people to meet over the internet, that’s totally what was happening. We were getting to know each other better and she really liked the songs I was writing and I liked that she was older and bookish. And you know how it is meeting someone over the internet.” Paul quipped, knowing his friend had made quite a few friends in the online gaming community.

“You can really get to know them to some degree but usually only what they want you to know. So after months of phone calls and emails and us opening up to one another and eventually sharing our feelings for one another, she told me I should come visit her in the spring since we both had the same spring break.

“So I bought my plane ticket and when spring break came I flew in to JFK and took a cab to her place. Here I was, nineteen, by myself in New York, and about to meet some girl I had primarily communicated with over the internet and spend four days with her.”

“Had you ever been to New York before?” Jim asked.

“Yeah, once with my family when I was about ten,” Paul replied.

“Okay. So is this the part where you tell me Alex was really a 48 year old man who weighed 300 pounds?” Jim questioned, laughing.

Paul smiled. “Hardly. Of course we had traded pictures beforehand. She looked pretty much like she did in her pictures: maybe 5’2” or 5’3”, short black hair, black eyes, just incredibly cute. I finally got to her apartment and she buzzed me up, I lugged my bag up the stairs and knocked on her door and there she was, finally before me. She gave me this big hug and squealed out, ‘Paul! It’s so good to see you!’ I hesitated for a moment and then returned her embrace. And it was right at that point that I thought to myself, ‘You know what? I’m gonna treat this just like anything else. I’m not going to make this weird. I’m just going to pretend this is like a normal relationship.’

“And so there we were. She introduced me to her roommates and then I was all ready to crash out on the couch since it was late and I was tired from being in airports all day. But as I threw my stuff down on the couch she just looked at me and said, ‘What are you doing?’ I told her I was pretty tired and was going to crash on the couch. ‘Oh no,’ she said to me in a really coy voice, ‘you’re sleeping with me tonight.’ I swear dude, my penis went from half mast to full-on raging boner like that,” Paul said, snapping his fingers.

Jim laughed. “Nice. You’re one lucky guy.”

“Oh, just you wait,” Paul replied with a half-tortured smile. “This story only gets more fun from here on out.”

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