Skye Blue, page 8
part #6 of Firsts and Forever Series
“I am not.”
“So what did you do in Girl Scouts?” I asked.
Zandra looked at me and said flatly, “We got makeovers and baked shit. I’m not sure if that’s indicative of most girls’ scouting experience, or if it’s just that my scout leader was a totally sexist priss, but that’s what we did.”
“You said you went camping though,” I pointed out.
“Okay, ‘camping’ might not be quite the right word for it. We stayed at our troop leader’s cabin by some dull little lake a couple times. While there, we got makeovers. Oh, and baked shit.”
“How the hell did we get on this subject?” Christian asked, shifting position and tucking his long legs under him.
I replied, “It somehow started with Zandra saying she could find me a guy on that dating site in a matter of minutes. And I have no idea why you’d say that, Zan, because you’ve been on Luv2SF for months just like I have and you haven’t found anyone worthwhile either.”
“It’s easier for gay guys,” she said.
“What? No it isn’t. Why would it be?”
“I don’t know, it just is.” She was still clicking away on the keyboard.
I got up and squeezed in between her and Christian on the couch. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Let me see. You’re not just randomly setting me up with every guy that’s emailed me, are you?”
“Of course not. Unlike you though, I am actually reading your emails. There are forty-seven messages here and you haven’t replied to any of them!”
“Anyone with a gratuitous ab photo is an auto-rejection. Who’d go out with someone just because they spend way too much time doing sit-ups?”
Zandra shot me a look. “As if you have something against guys with hot bodies.”
“I’m not saying that. Of course a hot bod will turn my head! But do they really have to lead off with that? It makes me feel like I’m selecting a piece of meat, not a person.”
“I’m beginning to get why he’s still a virgin,” Zandra muttered, and Christian nodded in agreement. She turned her attention back to the screen, then said, “What’s wrong with this guy? He’s cute, smart, and doesn’t have an ab photo – well, at least not as his main image.”
I looked at the guy she’d selected and said, “Ew, no.”
“Why?”
“His teeth are freakishly white,” I said. “It’s alarming.” She stared at me with a raised eyebrow, so long and so hard that I fidgeted a bit and asked, “What?”
“You’re insane!” she told me. “You’re willing to reject a good-looking guy based on something that arbitrary? Come on! Look at his profile. He’s a professional, he’s only twenty-seven, and he speaks three languages.”
I glanced at the screen and said, “He’s a lawyer, so his three languages are probably Douche, Asshat and Sarcasm.”
“Just because he’s a lawyer doesn’t automatically mean he’s a douche. There are good lawyers too, you know, the kind that fight for equal rights, the environment, that kind of thing.”
“I know,” I said, “but that one just looks douchey.”
“I’m emailing him,” she said.
“No, don’t!”
“There’s nothing wrong with this guy! He seems funny, smart and self-deprecating, which you’d know if you’d ever bothered to read his profile. It won’t kill you to meet him for a drink.”
“It might. Wasn’t the main character in American Psycho a lawyer? I’ll probably end up hacked to bits in his tacky high-end apartment.”
Christian chimed in, “Okay, first of all, that was a movie. Secondly, he wasn’t even a lawyer. I think he was a banking executive or something. Besides, who’s telling you to go to his apartment? Just meet this guy for a drink in public and see if you click. What’s the worst that could happen?”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “I could be so blinded by those freakishly white teeth that I accidentally step in front of a bus while trying to cross the street.”
Zandra typed for a moment, then clicked a key and shot me a look. “I just replied on your behalf. This is for your own good, Skye. You don’t get out there enough. Or, you know, at all.”
“Ugh, great. Give me that.” I took the computer from her hands and began deleting messages in my in-box.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m making sure you don’t set me up on any more Douche Dates.”
She sighed and said, “Fine. But if that lawyer emails back, you’re going out with him!”
Once I’d cleared my in-box, I switched over to YouTube and began to search instructional videos on pole dancing. “Now what are you doing?” Christian wanted to know.
“Learning some new skills, hopefully,” I murmured as I clicked on a video.
“Why?” Zandra asked. “You’re already a good dancer.”
“I could just phone it in, but did you see what that Dare guy can do? That looks so fun! I mean, I get that he’s probably been studying dance for years to be able to move like that, but with practice maybe I could at least learn a couple tricks.”
“Again, why?”
I considered the question and finally shrugged. “I just think it would be cool to be able to do something that beautiful.”
“Well, okay. If you’re serious about it, I read about a studio in SOMA that offers instruction in pole dancing. I kind of wrote it off as stripper-wanna-be training, even though the article made it sound legit.” She pulled out her phone and tapped the screen a few times, then held it up to me. “This is the place.”
I noted the name and said, “Cool, thanks. I’ll check it out when I have enough money for lessons.”
“Hopefully that’ll be sometime after you get your welding gear out of hock, make sure rent is covered, and buy a few groceries,” Christian admonished.
“Wow, how do you do that?” I asked with mock enthusiasm. “You’re completely channeling my brother right now. It’s like you and River are psychically linked and he’s moving your lips like a puppet!”
“Good news,” Christian said. “You and that lawyer have a language in common. You can bond over the fact that you’re both fluent in sarcasm.”
Eventually they left me to the pole dancing videos and returned to the muck of reality television, and I moved back to the chair so they could spread out on the couch. I’d kept the dating site open in another window hoping BoxerBoy might log on, but instead a message from the lawyer popped up. I sighed and told my friends, “Wally White Teeth wants to meet for a drink Friday night. I suppose you’re going to disown me if I don’t reply.”
Zandra was up like a shot, snatching the laptop from my grasp. She pushed her long hair out of her face and read the message, then said, “He wants to meet at IceFire, that bar near the Financial District. It’s pretty upscale from what I’ve heard. You’ll need to dress up a little, a t-shirt won’t cut it.” She dropped back onto the couch and starting typing something.
“Like I own anything else. Plus, I work Friday night.”
“What time do you get off?”
“Nine.”
“So you can meet him at nine-thirty.”
“This is a bad idea. We won’t have anything to say to each other,” I told her.
“Try it anyway. I’m telling you, this guy’s a good catch. He’s handsome, successful, and according to the second photo on his profile, also has a hot bod. What more do you need?”
“A guy I can talk to, for starters.”
“You can talk to anyone, Skye,” she insisted, then tapped a key and looked at me. “I just replied for you, he’ll be expecting you at nine-thirty. His name’s Ethan, by the way. Did you get a good look at his photo so you can find him in the bar? He won’t be able to find you, since you didn’t post a picture of yourself.”
“That’s another thing, he must just be randomly messaging everyone on the site. He doesn’t know what I look like and my profile is barely two sentences long. What would make him pick me out?”
Christian glanced at me over the top of his sunglasses. “This doesn’t have to be a big deal. Go meet him, have a drink, and be done with it. I kind of doubt you’re going to like this guy, but what do I know? At the very least, maybe you’ll end up with a funny story.”
“Okay, fine.” I turned and pointed a finger at our companion. “But no more, Zandra. I’m humoring you just this one time, but from here on out, no logging on as me and setting me up with random sleazy internet dudes. Promise?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
**********
When I finally got home that night, I went straight to my computer. It was really late, but I was hoping BoxerBoy might still be up. I’d been thinking about him on and off all day.
A huge smile spread across my face when I logged on and saw the little green ball next to his name. I clicked on the chat window and typed: Hey!
At the exact same moment, a message popped up from him that said: Hi! I was hoping you’d be on.
I kicked off my shoes and settled back against my pillows. Same here.
How was your day?
It was good. Started that new job. I like it, even though one of my coworkers is an ass.
That’s always how it goes, he wrote. There has to be that one person you just can’t stand. It’s the same at my job.
There’s an asshole at your job, too?
Not an asshole, he told me. Just the most irritating person ever. Oh my God, I just want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him! The worst part is that I actually find myself kind of attracted to him. I hate myself for that!
There was no reason why that should make me feel jealous. I had no claim on this guy. In fact, I didn’t know him at all. But there it was. I tried to push my misplaced jealousy aside and wrote: I thought you weren’t interested in dating anyone.
Oh, I don’t want to date him. I just want to bend him over and sink balls-deep into his cute little ass. After that, I want to go right back to hating him.
I grinned a little. So are you going to follow up on any of that?
God no, talk about a mistake. He typed for a minute, then sent: Is it weird that I’m talking about another guy? It probably is, isn’t it? I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.
Even though he was exactly right, I tried to play it off. No! Why would it be?
Because you and I have something, Homer. I feel a connection to you, and not just because you let me spill my guts for hours last night. If I were actually going to date again, you’d be the person I’d ask out.
That made me smile. I feel the same way about you. But in the meantime, if you feel you need to have hate-sex with your coworker, hey, more power to you. I was working hard on not coming across as jealous.
Like I said, I won’t really do it. I’ve slept with exactly one guy in my life, promiscuity really doesn’t come naturally to me. I only mentioned it because realizing I wanted to have sex with someone I can’t stand was such a WTF moment. Again though, sorry if that was weird for you.
You can tell me anything, I wrote. I want you to know that. Remember, this is supposed to be your confessional, the place where you can open up without fear of being judged.
Thanks, and right back at you. So far, I’ve been dominating the conversation, though. Can we talk about you? You had to sit through nearly the entire history of my one and only relationship in painful detail last night. Why don’t you tell me about your love life?
Because there’s nothing to tell, literally. I’m a twenty-one-year-old virgin. I’ve dated a fair number of guys, but it never went beyond kissing and a bit of groping. I’ve never even had oral sex, let alone anything beyond that.
Are you saving yourself for marriage?
No, not at all. I didn’t have sex in high school because I wasn’t ready, and after that, well, there was some stuff I was dealing with. I stopped typing and looked at the screen for a few moments, then hit send.
You’ve alluded to something in your past, something that seemed to derail you for a while. Do you want to talk about it?
I hesitated for a long moment, and then I took a deep breath and wrote: I tried to kill myself when I was nineteen. I’m so grateful every single day that I didn’t succeed. At the time though, I was in such a dark place, and I really thought it would always be like that. I was completely wrong, it turns out, and I love my life now. But I did that incredibly stupid thing. My mom, my best friend and my brother helped me pick up the pieces and got me help. My friend and brother are so protective of me now. I really scared them and I hate that I did that. Sometimes, I catch them looking at me with all this concern, like maybe they think I might do it again. I’m so sorry for hurting them like that. I hit send, then wrapped my arms around myself.
He asked: How are you now?
I thought about that for a while before writing: I still get depressed and anxious sometimes, but I keep it hidden because it terrifies everyone that loves me. It’s nothing like when I was nineteen though, and I know I’ll never try to kill myself again. Suicide is such a selfish act, it’s so hard on the people that get left behind. I didn’t know that then, but I do now, after watching what my attempt did to the people I love most.
A phone number popped up on my screen, followed by: That’s in case you ever need to talk, or text, or whatever. I totally understand what it’s like to be in such a dark place. After my relationship and career both imploded within a few weeks of each other, I really thought about killing myself. I got as far as climbing into the tub with a straight-edge razor to slit my wrists, but I was too much of a coward to go through with it.
My heart broke at that, and I told him: I’m so glad you didn’t do it. I reached for the drawing pad and pencil beside my bed and wrote his number on the cover. Then typed my phone number and told him: Use this whenever you need a friend.
Thank you.
There were so many emotions swirling around in me that it was too much to deal with. Instead of delving deeper, I just wrote: Wow, this discussion got really serious!
It did.
You know, I never talk about this, I told him. None of my friends know about the suicide attempt, apart from my best friend and now you.
No one knows I thought about killing myself either. Not that I had anyone to tell.
I hesitated for a moment, then wrote: This is going to sound stupid, but imagine I’m there with you and imagine my arms around you. I think we both need a big hug right about now.
He replied: That’s not stupid at all. Actually, I can practically feel you here with me. I’m tucked in bed, by the way, covers pulled up to my chin with just my head and hands sticking out so I can type. It’s easy to imagine your warmth and the comfort of you.
I smiled at that and got under the covers too. We both apparently reached the same conclusion, that the conversation had gone deep enough for one night, so for the next hour we chatted idly about nothing in particular, just to keep each other company. Eventually though he told me he was drifting off, and I wrote: I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.
That won’t be long. I’ve been tired all day, because somebody kept me up last night. :)
Who could that be? Was it our cat? He’s MIA, by the way, I told him as I settled in. I leave the window ajar for him so he can come and go as he pleases, and he’s out gallivanting tonight.
Is that safe? Maybe you should lock your window.
My eyelids were starting to get heavy. It’s fine. I went with the highly sophisticated dowel-crammed-in-the-sash trick, so it only opens six inches. Just enough room for Draco to get through. Oh hang on, I just remembered something. I got up and sprinkled some cereal in the mouse’s gilded palace while he stared at me, then filled a bottle cap with water and put it inside the cage before returning to bed. I just fed His Royal Rodent Majesty, even though I think he’s eaten about half a cup of cereal in a day. That can’t be good for him.
He hasn’t actually exploded, so how bad could it be?
I smiled at that and wrote, Good point.
He turned serious again with: I meant what I said earlier about that phone number. Promise you’ll call me if you need a friend to talk to, okay?
I will. I copied it down. Please do the same with my number.
I wrote yours down, too. I’m going to fall asleep soon, but before I do, I want to say thank you for opening up to me. It feels good knowing you’d trust me with something that big.
You’re easy to talk to, I wrote. The whole anonymity thing helps, like you said. But also, you’re a really nice person and a good listener.
You wouldn’t think I was a nice person if you met me in real life. I’ve put up a lot of walls since the break-up.
I replied with: That’s okay. I know the truth about what’s behind those walls.
He paused for a while and I began to think he’d fallen asleep. But then this message appeared on my screen: You can call me Mac. It was my nickname when I was a kid. I figure we’re not ruining the anonymity thing this way, but now you have something to call me.
I grinned at my computer. Thank you Mac, I’m happy to have a name for you. And you can call me Speck. That was my nickname when I was growing up.
LOL! Should I ask why?
I’ll tell you the story sometime, when I’m not falling asleep. I slipped out of my jeans and pulled the quilt over me again, then turned out the lamp on the big metal cable spool I used as a nightstand.
I look forward to hearing it, he wrote. Almost asleep. Good night, Speck.
Good night, Mac.
I kept watching my screen for a couple minutes after that, but apparently he really did drift off. Finally I closed my laptop and slipped it under the bed, then fluffed my pillow and curled up on my side.
A minute later, I let out a startled yelp when Draco leapt onto the bed and made himself comfortable on the pillow beside mine. “Hi there,” I said, reaching up to scratch him behind his ears. “If you’re going to be sticking around, I guess I should start buying cat food.” He turned his head and blinked at the mouse, whose palace was on top of an old, busted dorm fridge in a corner of the room. “No, that’s not food,” I told him. “That’s our roommate, the Royal Rodent. Eating him is not an option.”
