The One Time He's On Time
I've decided this is my blog, I can post what I want.
I won't lie, sharing my writing is like cocaine for me (don't worry Mom, I've never done coke). But it's highly addictive.
Every time one of you reaches out and tells me you've read it, you relate, or any type of feedback- my heart explodes and I jump with joy.
So from here on out, I may occasionally share some of my short fiction pieces. I hope you like it :)
Prompt- Write about someone who is chronically late arriving on time
The One Time He's On Time
“Erin, please just stop for a second”
Fight or flight mode immediately activated, flight it is. I push my way through the sweaty crowd with my heart racing more than the bass thumping throwback tunes.
“Ay, must be the money” screams the dance floor or the sludge floor as my friends and I call it. There’s no less than 50 drinks spilled on it a night and I doubt it’s ever been mopped.
The party garage, which is always gross and suffocating unless you pregame hard enough, feels like it’s closing in on me. Maybe I pregamed too hard.
Sarah was down for the shenanigans as we slammed down the first 3 shots, faces squinted, chasing the cheap bottom shelf vodka with Red Bull. We cheersed to “you deserve better”, “chicks over dicks”, and “fuck him”. But suddenly it was, “Erin, you need to chill” when I poured shots four and five.
Getting stood up by Kyle again required numbing. It was him I was supposed to be pregaming with. At least he sent a text this time, “Hey. Meet you at the party. 12.”
No sorry. No explanation.
Sarah picked up on the first ring and was over before I could even explain what happened.
“I know I’m wasting my breath and you will continue to do what you want, but all I’m saying is the Erin I met last summer would’ve never let some prick stand her up, show up late, or generally disregard her feelings even once. Let alone a dozen times. Go ahead and cheers to that on your own because I am not blacking out tonight. That shot is for you alone”
The shot burned as much as her words and memories they stirred up. I was different last summer. And the eyes that met mine like a magnet walking into the garage was why. Those hazel eyes ripped through me and stabbed the wound I’ve been pretending wasn’t there.
I pregamed hard, but Joel’s presence hit me harder. What is he doing here?
That last conversation between us was meant to be the last conversation we’d ever have. Men don’t get to wreck me into a million pieces and then see what I look like after I haphazardly put myself back together.
I made it outside and took a deep breath trying to convince my body that I’m not actually under attack. One would imagine stepping outside would lead to breaths of fresh air. In my panic, I forgot where I was. Here, it’s all second hand smoke. Cigarettes and weed. I could use a joint right now, I look around for a familiar face.
Who shows up to these garage parties is always such a mixed bag. I learned the hard way not to smoke with randoms, although right now I’m desperate enough to throw caution to the wind.
“You got a lighter?” There he was leaning against a tree like he didn’t have a care in the world. Cocky as hell.
“Joel, seriously. I don’t want to talk”
“We don’t have to talk. I know you. You’re looking for a smoke. It’s just a smoke. “
I’m feeling too many things at once.
Mad at Kyle. He better show up.
Wrecked by seeing Joel.
And drunk.
I spark joint and inhale, turning my back to him as if this could ever be ‘just a smoke’.
I puff more than half of it to get a rise, but he says nothing and the weed is going straight to my head.
I pass it back while looking down at my shoes.
“What are you doing here?”
“Can you please just look at me?”
Even with my eyes down I can tell it’s taking everything in him to not reach out and touch me. The sad thing is everything in me wants him too, but I shouldn’t.
The world blurs when our eyes meet. I consciously stand up straighter and lift my chin. This doesn’t affect me, my twisted mantra on a loop.
“Erin, I’m sorry.”
I just continue to stare feigning unamused.
“It broke me, too” He said and his tear filled eyes were convincing.
Our romance was swift, blazing, and all consuming like a wildfire. We never called it what it was, but we both knew. Until he severed it with no explanation.
I woke up naked and alone in his bed which was red flag number 1. It never went like this. Joel was the type of guy that would hold his bladder forever because he didn’t want to disturb me. I laid there listening for any sounds in the apartment. Nothing.
I threw on his faded Taking Back Sunday t-shirt that was always my favorite, it was a running joke that it would leave with me one day, and replayed the night before.
Wine. Pizza. How to Get Away with Murder playing in the background. Smoking. All the teasing, foreplay, and grand slams a girl could dream of.
Where is he? What could’ve gone wrong between then and now? I’m not always such an alarmist but my gut says something’s up.
The apartment is empty. I call but his phone is in his room. There’s nothing to do but leave. I pull on yesterday’s shorts, folding my underwear up and shoving them in the pocket. Grab my bag to head out the door and there he is.
Joel is sitting outside the door in his boxers, legs outstretched, head back, looking defeated.
“What the fuck?” I whisper.
A million thoughts run through my mind. His dog died. He doesn’t have a dog. He got fired from his job. He hates his job, that would be a blessing. Bad news about his parents? That could be it.
“I can’t do this anymore”
“What? Sit on the ground in your boxers? Yeah- I agree. Get up, weirdo. Let’s get brunch.”
“I can’t see you anymore. We have to stop.”
“What are you talking about? Where is this coming from? You don’t mean it?”
I have genuinely never been more confused. With Joel, I felt a sense of security I didn’t know existed. I was so certain of what he thought of me. This doesn’t make sense.
“Erin, this is hard enough for me to say. I’m sorry. I need you to go.”
“Fuck your sorry” I turned and walked away, consciously holding back the tears because with them, I knew a sob was building. I’ve never let a prick see me cry before, I won’t start now.
This wasn’t the way I imagined stealing his shirt.
That was 6 months ago. I haven’t seen or heard from Joel since. That conversation has wrecked every moment of solitude I’ve had since. I’ve moved on, obviously. But I haven’t been the same.
Sarah is right. Before Joel, I ate men for breakfast. I’d smile and play cute, get what I wanted then leave them. Ghosting was my specialty. But then it happened to me with a man that made me believe in love.
Everything has been lukewarm, at best, after.
Joel is why I couldn’t care enough to end things with Kyle. His inability to look at a clock, show up on time or at all, or even check in on me didn't matter because deep down, I believed I deserved it.
Kyle was good enough. Good enough is all I’d ever aim for because I had perfection and it ruined me.
“Then tell me why, Joel. For six months now, I’ve been tormented on what I could’ve done to warrant that ending. I think myself to be pretty smart yet I’ve come up with nothing. What the fuck happened? Why?”
I don’t know if I’m yelling or whispering. I look down at my phone because making eye contact would release the dam and I don’t want to cry. It’s 11:58.
Kyle’s not good for much, but his jealousy runs deep. I let this thought run through me because who knows if he will even show up. I have time for this. I need this answer.
Joel reaches out with both hands, nearly touching the sides of my face. I look up to find him biting his lip, his eyes pleading and nervous.
I’m on edge. I’m falling. I could easily be his again. Please give me something that makes sense.
“Erin! Who the fuck is that?”
This would be the one time Kyle shows up when he said he would.