The Tingle

A Story by Casey A.

Not sure if this is any good, would love some feedback.

God d****t, I could have sworn I was prepared for this.

That was all I could think of when it hit me - when she hit me. I was in my car, driving home from my first day of classes when I got a text from her saying she wanted to end it. She was at college now, she said. She wanted freedom, she wanted to never have to worry about what I'd think. Why didn't you feel that way after a week, or a month, or a year? - I thought. I pleaded, begged, the whole nine - but the toothpaste wasn't going back in the tube. I could have sworn I was prepared for this, I thought.

I used to sit there, on a couch or chair or floor. I'd sit there and think to myself, what if it ever happened? What if, on some odd chance, my faithful and seemingly perfect girlfriend were to pull a complete 180 and break it off with me after three years? It seemed impossible, improbable, unlikely to the point where it felt silly to think about. I'd be fine, I said. I had it all figured out. I would say to her that I didn't want to be with someone who didn't want to be with me, and it would be easy so very easy say because it would be so true. I wouldn't beg or plead. On the contrary, I thought, I'd feel better to be rid of someone who didn't really like me so that I could move on to better prospects. I would be fine! I was prepared, and if the time ever came, I would be rational and under control. It would be easy. I had figured it all out.

I had not figured it all out.

So I spent three months on the floor trying to figure it out. I tried sobbing, but that didn't figure it out. I tried not eating or sleeping, but those didn't seem to do much either. Mentally obsessing didn't really help me figure it out either. I went to a shrink - they were supposed to know how to figure it out. They did not. Instead, they and everyone else fed me the same recycled jargon that I'd fed them when they had their problems. That I'd be fine. That I'd move on. That she was useless, and nothing, and that I shouldn't ought to care about her anyway. It helped, but what I really needed was something more. What I really needed was the tingle, and they hadn't heard about it yet. Neither had I.

I first learned about the tingle when I was on Saturn. Strike that, I was in Saturn. Strike that, I was in a Saturn - with my friend Erica. Erica does not look like Jesus. She wears glasses, and has blonde crimped hair and a teal chevy cavalier (Jesus drove an Accord). She has eyes that I don't remember the color of, but I'm sure if I did they would be particularly special, because eyes always seem to be. She is peppier than you would think Jesus to be. And probably more fun at parties. Alas, she is still Jesus, because she is the inventor of the tingle. She told me about it on Saturn.

We were talking about nothing. About how stupid parents can be. About how annoying it is to show a dumb person a great movie only to be met with a dejecting sigh. They were words, meaningless. We talked about fights. Then she said it. She said dealing with painful situations was like sitting in a cold car. You feel cold no matter what. It's inescapable, biological. But sometimes, you can focus on the tingle you feel in your fingers and think to yourself - hm, that's a cool feeling. And there it was, the Tingle. These, too, were just words, and they were gone as soon as they were said.

The next day, I'm sitting on my couch minding my own business, and slam, a memory of my ex walks up and punches me in the face. It's only December 18th, but all of the sudden it's Christmas, and New Years, and Valentine's Day and Labor Day all at once, and I'm alone for them all. I look at the empty space next to me and it glows with tiny specks of golden dust - remnants of something that has just left. I am tired, and lonely, talking to people at parties and telling them just how much I'm not tired or lonely. I look again at the dust next to me, it glimmers and shines and mocks me. She is gone, and with someone else all too soon. You weren't good enough. You never were. You are alone, and things stay the same. It hurts, and then it hurts some more, and then the sheer fact of it hurting hurts until I close my eyes and shudder a little. The dream collapsed for just an instant, and when I opened my eyes it returned, identical. Well, it seemed identical. It felt identical. The empty space beside me looked and hurt just the same. I stared at the space. A minute, two minutes, ten. The space was not the same. What used to be a void was now a placeholder for something new. What used to be taunting dust became an alluring reminder of what was to come. Who was to come. I focused, pictured myself with someone new, at Christmas and New Years and Valentine's Day all at once. For each, it would be better. It was beautiful, wonderful, it was alright and I would be alright. I would be happy again, happier than I'd ever been with her or anyone else. It was, well, a really cool feeling, and all I could think when it hit me was: God d****t, I could have sworn I was prepared for this.

I smiled.