The Day After I Moved Out Of My Parents Place

Ana and I went to a bar where Jimi Hendrix used to drink and drink a lot. We went in after the large man checking IDs asked me exactly how many hearts I planned on breaking tonight and I responded none. We walked in and were a foot and a mile shorter than every sophisticated, 30 something beautiful person in that bar, covered in old framed photos of Grace Kelly, Bob Marley, and some other influentials. Beautiful people sipped gin and tonics and laughed close to one another's faces as we tried to find a place to cram into in the corner so we could talk above the music. She told me how she didn't see this coming: her pseudo-boyfriend wasn't really working out and I could see her faith in that distant thing called love or a connection fading out as quick and as fleeting as the belief was. She sipped her drink through a tiny red straw as I took mouthfulls of beer and told her I wasn't sure about anything anymore because moving around made you lose your balance, and I was so sick but sure about suitcases that boxes made me scared and boy there sure were a lot of them in my apartment currently. She finished her drink quickly and told me she had to get home. I didn't finish my beer, but still put on my coat and told her, maybe I'd catch her next weekend. I walked past the fabulous people smoking cigarettes and walked the longer way back to my apartment because the weather was warm for April.
I called her once I got back to my place and asked if she was alright. She cried on the phone and said she wasn’t sure she could do it. Do what, I asked. Do anything anymore, when will I ever find someone else I can be with, you know, just be with? The universe is a bitch and she think she owes not a person anything and that’s how lots of intelligent people end up dying alone. I let her pause. Well we all die alone, Ana, I said. Not loveable people she sobbed. You’re a loveable person, I said. I’m a loveable person too, I added. I’m fat, she whimpered.
“You’re not fat,” I said.
“Yeah huh I’m fat.”
“You are absolutely not fat. Now, listen, I know right now things--”
“Aleks can I can ask you for your advice, and please be honest because I count on you for these things.”
“Yes, Ana, go ahead, what.”
“Do you think,” she sucked snot into her throat as she finished, “I should slash his tires?”
I paused. I laughed for five minutes in-between Ana telling me to fucking shut up and say how I really felt.
“Fuck yeah I think you should slash his tires,” I said.
“Really?” she said, excited.
“No you idiot.”
“Oh.”
“You really think I feel like bailing you out of jail this weekend?”
“I already walked around his parking lot for three hours yesterday trying to find his van while he was at work but I couldn’t find it--”
“My God, you are actually legally insane. Really, you’ve lost it.”
“Fuck off.”
“Oh you fuck off.”
She sat and sniffled, trying to hold back giggling so she could sound more angry.
“Ana.”
“What.”
“You’ll be okay.”
“You weren’t okay.”
“When in twenty two years of existence have I been okay?” I laughed.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, and you’re right, but guess who’s still breathing.”
“Not Sylvia Plath.”
“Okay I’m not even going to ask how that relates to this conversation but if you’re going to make me come over and make sure you don’t close your head in the oven and miss bailing you out for causing pancake parties on ex-boyfriend’s tires I--”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For, I don’t know, being there or some shit,” she said.
Silence fell over the phone.
“Yeah, you know it.”
“You deal with a lot of people’s crap, especially mine.”
“Well, you know--”
“I don’t. But thanks. For loads of things.”
“It’s really no problem. You alright? I really should be going. Work tomorrow, yanno.”
“I’ll get there. And you don’t have to say it, I know you’re there if I need anything.”
“Spot on.”
“Night Aleks.”
“Night.”

This Day Got Me Thinking...

The light slid in through the train window, the trees were whipping past and my legs had fallen asleep, half stuck under Owen’s own legs. The plastic grey train seats were covering what drained liquid turned the floor sticky, and my shoes gripped the back of the seat ahead of me so that I might steady myself against Owen’s sleepy weight. 8:30 AM and we both found ourselves traveling from his house in Camden to New York City so I could work and he could wander into bike shops. I remember my right hand wound up in his hair, his left hand tucked into mine, softly rubbing my thumb. I had asked if he wanted to listen to INDK or Oi Scouts and he batted at my hand instead telling me he’d rather just talk. I told him I’d rather not work. I looked out the window and saw two boys running the same direction of the train, waving sticks and plastic swords in the air, stains running down their shirts, their lips open wildly in impressive smiles.

“I think it would be really nice to try to help people,” I said.
I felt his body shift as he swallowed his spit and answer with a soft, “hm?”
“Help people. You know,” I said.
He cleared his throat and scratched his nose. The little boys waved to the train as they failed to catch up to the bulleting wheels.

“Yeah, no I got you. It would be nice. Lot of people want to do that though. Think you could really get anywhere with it?” he said.
“What do you mean get anywhere with it?”
“Nothing. I‘m sure you‘d figure it out.”

I pushed the hair out my face and my foot started to tap the floor at increasing speed, and to Owen’s discomfort.

“Did I say something wrong?” he said.
I looked out the window and said nothing.
“Ah, what, Aleks come on. You know what I mean. I guess I just never thought that was really your thing.”
“My thing? Yep. You’re right.” My eyes wandered and tried their best to concentrate on the clouds outside. I took a quick breath.
“I don’t think that’s exactly fair to say. Just because you want to do firefighting doesn’t mean I don’t have my own ways to like, contribute or--”
“I didn’t mean--”
“You did. But you did mean that. You mean to take me as a selfish person. It’s fine,” I moved my arm out from behind his head and adjusted myself closer to the window, away from his legs, “I just don’t understand why someone as open and honest and helpful and kind like you would ever want to be with a self-concerned, self-involving and ill-intented person like myself; is all I’m saying.”
“Jesus Christ Aleks I’m--”
“No, no. Really it’s just fine.”
Next stop is Maplewood, next stop, Maplewood. Please remember to use the cars with the stairs that lead to the platform; we will I repeat, we will not wait for you if you are in the incorrect car. Maplewood next.

The silence lasted the rest of the train ride. The silence on the subject lasted the last year of our relationship.