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Another ending — By Mack

She doesn’t even use the recycling bin.

It was a few months ago.

We’re walking back to the apartment. There’s all this tension. The conversation is awkward and flat. Somethin’s up. Somethin’ she needs to say but either doesn’t want to or doesn’t want to deal with the fallout. I’m 98% sure she’s about to break things off.

I’ve felt this coming for about 3 weeks. Last week I crossed from suspicion to being pretty damn sure. The change in the texts, that’s a big red flag. When you first start, they’re like Christmas presents. You’re damn hungry for them. Over time you relax, but they still got that hint of excitement. That immediacy to respond, when that goes, then you know you’re in trouble. Granted, people get busy. Involved. They’re “going through something.” But if they’re still into you they’ll find a way to get back to you. They’ll give you an “authentic response.” Not a cookie cut one. And the divide grows from there.

We’re a block from the apartment. 98% sure. It’s funny because there’s still 2% of me that’s still in denial. Maybe it is all in my head. Maybe she really is going through something. For some stupid reason I think that if I get her back to my room, get her in my bed, I can somehow fix it. I don’t know, remind her of the physical connection? Maybe I just want her one more time.

Then she stops. She looks down. Brushes her hair out of her face. Then looks up at me. It’s this moment, this second, where I’m sure it’s coming. But it hasn’t happened yet! She’s still mine! This look is coming from one place, the place of her being my girlfriend. When she opens her mouth and says what she gonna say, it’ll be from somewhere else. Foreign. Independent. And I won’t be welcome anymore.

My mind has jumps to a month ago. The last “good” time we had together. I say good, I mean fun. I had already started to figure the break up was coming. But it was something I could still fix back then. We’re outside the hospital, playing like 6 year-olds along the fence of this closed cafe. Her eyes were so different then. Filled with…I don’t know…some kind of wonder. It was like she was drinking me in.

She hops off the fence, grabs my hand, runs across the street demanding we lie in the grass. The thought of an ant or spider crawling on makes me roll my eyes. As I light my cigarette, I wonder if she’s too young for me. But it’s too late, she pulls me down. She gives me that look again. It makes me feel like some sort of diamond. Girls don’t usually make me feel precious. It is a damn sweet memory.

In the now. She begins to speak. The thing that I hate, is that what she’s gonna say, it changes that memory. Like, corrupts it. Making me question it. For a while, I just assume it was a lie. How could she be so damn in love with me then and now…nothing?…”thanks for playing, here’s a copy of the home game.” I’ll eventually figure it was a misunderstanding.

She says the words I know she has to say. All of a sudden I’m so damn hot. I glaze over a bit. She talks. When I was younger man I might have pleaded and begged. When I was younger. but not quite that young, I might have attacked her. Been vile. If I did truly feel like she was the “one” I might lay it all on the line pouring my heart out. But deep down I know she wasn’t. At least not from our relationship so far. What’s funny is that I really wanted her to be the “one.” But I’m starting to believe I may not be capable of feeling that for anyone. So instead of all those other actions, I just…comply.

We reach an understanding. As much of one as I think we can reach. And we have that goodbye kiss. That take in all and everything you can. It is a mix of sweet familiarity and the pain of euthanized hope. I feel her tears on my cheek as we pull away half an inch. Just breathing, thinking, feeling. Lingering in hesitation to let go. That uncomfortable heat returns. It’s an anxious feeling, but I stomach it for as long as I can. We eventually
we do let go and slowly back away from each other.

Thank you’s and pleasant words are exchanged. I ask her what she’s going to do. She says she’s gonna stay at a friend’s tonight. Then I clarify, I mean with the roommate situation.

“I’m moving out.”

“Gonna go to Brooklyn or somethin’?”

“Actually, I’m going to move back to Seattle. I’ve been thinking about leaving New York for a while.”

So long…

It’s the 2nd gut bomb of the night, but I didn’t see this one coming. I figure it’s for the best. I watch her leave for her friend’s for the night. There a good breath of relief. The anticipation of doom is finally gone. But of course I’m sad and somewhat angry. But mostly sad. I’ll miss Jill.

-Mack-ified for your enjoyment.

 
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Posted by on November 2, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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But you move on. –by Mack Jack and Jill

Jack’s not doing so well.  He met this girl a few weeks ago. She was pretty hot actually. Some French girl. I was pretty surprised. Happy for the guy. But I knew it wasn’t going to work. 

 So this bitch used Jack to get back at her ex-boyfriend. 

Jill really didn’t like her.

It’s so nice to have someone to cuddle with while you watch Spirited Away. I was practically cradling her.

She was like 19. Why do older guys always go for infants?

I told Jack to keep a distance.  Have fun with her. Stay in charge.  But you can’t tell a thirsty guy to stop at a shot of water. 

I couldn’t believe she came so far to see me the first time we met up. She trained through half of Manhattan in rush hour to get coffee with me for like 15 minutes.

She just wanted a place to sleep outside of her dorm where she could smoke.  

He waited for those text messages like they were orgasms. 

She couldn’t for the life of her tell the difference between your and you’re. And God did she used “lol” so much.

I mean I get the need to have a little fun. But I think Jack falls into things. 

 Jack’s always going to take it to heart. Everything’s gonna be personal to him. He just can’t take it for what their worth. 

I knew exactly what Christmas gift to get her.

I’m always watching out for that turning point.

There’s that moment when you know you’re just wasting your time. 

When you can tell they aren’t attracted to you anymore…the text messages stop coming so fast…they’re not so excited when you plan to meet up. When you know you’re no longer the priority…

That’s when I end it. It’s better to be the dumper then the dumpie. It’s all a game. If you’re not having fun, stop playing. 

I had this friend from Paris. She said there isn’t even a word for dating in French.   

It felt so good to make her laugh. She used to be so pissed when she came to see me. The train was late, her phone wasn’t working, her ex said something mean to her. But in ten minutes I had her smiling.

It’s not real. There’s no substance there. 

That’s the beauty of these little short romances. You can be whoever and you can make your partner feel as good as they need. They’re like little escapes from reality.  

She was a brat. She threw tantrums. And the way he’d sit outside with her every time she smoked. It was like he was her puppy dog. 

She visited him when he was sick. It was too sweet of her. That’s when I knew Jack wasn’t keeping her at a distance. 

She would scratch my shoulder. With her nails. Lightly. It tickled. And I like the way she smelled. I did laundry yesterday. When I got to the shirt she slept in, I considered not washing it. I smelled it again. I think the laundromat is the one place you can smell clothes and not look like a weirdo.

But you just gotta dust yourself off. Get back out there. This wasn’t some long term relationship. Turn around time should be an hour and a half. Tops.

Jack’ll wallow. He’ll blame everything on himself. “What did I do wrong?” “Why wasn’t I good enough?” He’s sensitive. He’s not built for flings. You can tell that after five minutes of talking to the guy. I mean he still does the chivalry stuff. 

You never know how to look at yourself. You wonder about your accomplishments. Did you win them because you are bad ass or because no one else showed up? Maybe the judge was pissed at the other guy for some stupid reason. Are our miracle successes indicative of our progress or mere blips of chance?

It’s not about them. It’s about you. It’s your ride. If they wanna come along, great. If not, fuck’em. Then kick them to the curb. 

“You can’t hurry love. No you just have to wait. “

I’m just so tired of starting over.

Happy Winter Solstice. 

-Big Mack Attack

-Jack Out

 
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Posted by on December 21, 2011 in By Jack, By Jill, By Mack, Dating

 

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