Maybe Next Time

Maybe Next Time

A Story by Elan

“I say we steal a bottle of champagne from my father's cellar , go out into the bright encapsulating city that is New York ,  and f**k s**t up...together. Then we shall return from our hedonistic escapades and indulge in each other's bodies , to not only live up to the cheerful spirit of the evening, but to fulfill the undying lust that has been built from day one. Strengthened by the beautiful ignorance brought  about from the consumption of alcohol , as well as the " high" of love, a truly blissful slumber comes next as we interlock our arms and slowly fade away into oblivion. Through the stroke of the arm , or the sound of our lowering octaves , I sleep with my greatest friend against the cold. My companion and soulmate who makes my day ever so elegant and festive that it wouldn't even matter if I stayed in bed all day watching films with you. Holding your hand as we trek along the pavement,  gazing upon illuminated pine trees and the smiles on everyone's faces is all I ever wanted. Let it be known that I , Finn Jacobs ,  do not care what it is that we do. Just as long as we do it together. Your pain is my pain. Your happiness is my happiness. Life is worthless without you. My first, my everything , my soulmate.” 

"I love you", she says. I wanna keep you forever she says. Hug me till I can't breathe!!!!!”



My eyes open and stare blankly at the ceiling. Suddenly the old, carefully crafted message I once sent her sat at the tip of my tongue. The blue light from my cable box tells me that it is 3:36 and that any visible light would still strain my eyes. I close them again only to find that I have to piss. It's the little things in life that make me a dick to people. I crawl back into bed and attempt to enter the shielded reality of dreams , but my attention, I find, is diverted. 


Tomorrow I have to go to school and look at them. Pretend as if my heart doesn't ache and my mind is completely barren. I can't help but think of it. Her reaching down to use her mouth or his tanned fingers in her pants. But I broke up with her. I crushed her world and entrenched myself in her memories. Now I have the gall to hate her for moving on? Yes I am that selfish. No I'm not jealous. It is merely a matter of proprietary rights. She was, in a sense my property. I owned her virginity and was thus rewarded with obedience. Did I love her? I don't know and I don't care. How dare she f**k another guy?! Why didn't I see all her anguish when she found out I fucked that sophomore several months after we had split up. Seriously though, did I love her? Or did I just want her? To possess her body and own her soul? She certainly loved me. Her eyes always glistened when they met mine. The way she smiled at me. You could easily see the damage between her teeth but the crinkles in her face portrayed endless tenacity and hope. I was taller than her so she always had to look up at me. I liked that in a sense. She gave me eternal confidence. Especially when she got down on her knees and looked up from shallow height. We locked arms in the summer of eleventh grade. She called me cute and I appreciated the attention. 

Oh what a languorous daze beginnings are! 


Sooner or later , however, her allure depreciated and she became an old movie that I would see time and time again before I went to bed. I would welcome its familiar presence , and maybe even feign laughter, but my decision to go to sleep was never interrupted by my curiosity to see the ending. I no longer enjoyed having my head pulled towards her during sex. I just wanted to look at the body I was using. It felt wrong but I felt as if we were using each other. She was using me for emotional stability and I was using her for the same thing. However, our hearts only reached the desired medium through sex. It was the only way she could keep me , and it was the only way I could pretend to love her. 


When people would ask me why I broke up with her I would always offer the same half assed response: “ It was time for me to move on.” If they digged deeper however I would tell them that I was sick of walking down the streets of New York staring at women and treating them like statues in a museum. I’m not the type to slyly touch art and walk away feeling innocent so I had to abolish the rules. Many people don't realize that they have that power. But she's the only one that shielded my demons and destroyed my qualms! She spoke to my heart! In the darkness of my room I can admit that I miss her! There is no denying that. I anticipated my lament but never knew the degree to which it would hurt. “When does it stop?” I would ask my uncle over the phone.”when does what stop?”

“The pain” I said weakly.  He laughed. “It never ends kiddo. You just learn to deal with it. Time. Nothing but time removes the severity of what happened. You’ll walk away scarred but you will nonetheless be alive. Focus on your future. Focus on the twins you'll be f*****g just because you  can.” I chuckle for the first time in months. I thank him for the cliches(because they really do help) and fall into a deep slumber, only to wake up at 3:36 a.m. , mourning  the loss of a relationship I murdered. My dwelling gives me purpose in a sense but I realize that regardless of the choices we make, all we can do is just live in the tragedies of our memories , hoping for a happier ending next time. I turn on Annie Hall and go to sleep. 

© 2018 Elan


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Added on January 24, 2018
Last Updated on January 24, 2018

Author

Elan
Elan

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