Mean Rubber

Photo by Tory

Much like most of humanity, I’d like to think I am ultimately of some value. The optimist in me finds joy in assuring myself that when it comes down to the simplest of terms, I am indeed fantastic, at the least likeable. As for my peers, it seems when someone isn’t interested in their supposed eminent lovability they immediately assume is it a malfunction on the other person’s part; the other must be damaged, incapable of achieving such an emotion. Considering my recent love affairs include being deserted for a married woman, getting a double yeast infection then being deserted and flying a man across the country to see me…to then be deserted- I am starting to develop the suspicion that I am possibly the common factor, the incapable.

Then last week, while I  finally wasn’t searching for it… I met Him. Adorable, intelligent and Southern, he was such a breath of fresh air in this suffocating city! Date #1 went flawlessly, ended in nervous giggles and a peck on the cheek. We made tentative plans to meet Saturday night and I was giddy with excitement.

Thinking I was FINALLY not going to mess this one up, I kept my mouth shut (aka kept my little fingers from their text obsession) alllllllll day. I tend to (erroneously) think everything I say is hilarious and worthy of sharing, therefore my at-that-time love interest is consequently bombarded with my commentary numerous times throughout a given day. Oops. Because I liked this guy, I ignored him- that’s how it works right? According to plan, Boy texts me at 1am. Even in my drunkenness, I know I should not go back to Hoboken with him as he suggests.

I go back to Hoboken with him as he suggests. Except- I don’t travel with him because he has taken the PATH without me while I was leaving one of my good friend’s birthday parties early and in a cab rushing to him to meet him. Because I am as desperate as I appear to be, when he calls me fifteen minutes later ALREADY IN HOBOKEN and persuades me to make the trek alone, I obey.

The station is full of intoxicated couples groping and giggling. I immediately feel as if everyone has spotted me and they can sense my pathetic loneliness. I sit in a corner, on the floor- I am not worthy of the love-filled benches. While waiting on the platform, alone and my face at butt level, a man comes up next to me and farts- it smells terrible. He then says aloud, “Shit, I farted and it smells terrible.” An hour later the train finally rumbles through, I am traumatized and very nervous- but the awaited snuggle is my driving force. He will be the love of my life, I can feel it.

He is not waiting for me on the street like he promised. I call eight times before he answers. ‘Where are you?!’ he demands.

‘I am here!’ I exclaim excitedly.

‘Take a cab here.’ He instructs.

I take a cab there. ‘You be good tonight!’ Cab Driver jokes as I pay him and hop out. Boy’s building is beautifu1! So is the lobby I see through the locked door! I bet his apartment is just as perfect… and his so is his bed… and his lips…

The text-messages that follow:

-I am outside silly! You didn’t answer your phone, come get meeeeeeeeeee !!!!!!!!

-[Pet name I made up, this moment, despite knowing him for one week] come and get your damsel! I am distressed! And drunky!

- I can’t wait to see you! Stop playing! Come get meeeeeeeeeee. Kiss kiss kiss kiss kiss

- I might sleep on the ground if you do not hurry.

-Fuck, you are not coming

-OK, I am OK! I still want to see you soon! You must have fallen asleep. I am perfectly fine and I will make it back (the 20 miles) to the PATH train (at 3am, current time).

After 30 minutes of half-cold/half-panic attack shivers and THIRTY FIVE unanswered phone calls to Boy, I give up. I come to terms that I will not be seeing Bed or touching Lips. A highly intoxicated man named Dwayne happens to stumble by and sees me crying pathetically outside the pretty lobby. Dwayne has no idea why I am weeping but yells, “He doesn’t love you! He’s in bed with another woman!” Thank you Dwayne. As much as I want Dwayne to go away he is the only other life form I have seen in the past hour. I rationalize that it’s OK if he murders me Ted Bundy style, it is better than waiting out here alone- and Boy will feel extra bad in the morning if I am bloody and in pieces on the sidewalk. Dwayne can barely speak he is so inebriated, so I refuse his offer to drive me back to Queens. Instead, we walk together to find me a taxi to get back to the PATH train. “Rule #1,” murmurs Dwayne, “no crying!” “Rule #2,” he continues, “no crying!” Despite the repetitive ‘rules’ that continue until we spot a cab, I come to care for Dwayne because he loves me when no one else does. I think he thinks I am his wife because he keeps saying, “You are my wife.”

While waiting for the train that comes once every half hour, the train that I missed by three minutes because I dropped my silver dollar buying a ticket and a homeless man dove on it, the train that only I am waiting for because everyone else in mother fucking New fucking Jersey is sleeping, drinking or having sex- I start laughing hysterically. ‘This is so beneath me!’ I laugh. Stinky McGee homeless man attempting to sleep on a near by bench yells, “whoever is fucking making that noise better be quiet or I am GOING TO COME OVER THERE AND SHOOT YOU IN THE FACE.” Because clouds of shit-stained dirt float from his body with his every move, and because do not like being shot in the face- I poop my pants with fear and sit miserably in heartbroken silence.

Just as I start to drift off into an awkward sitting-on-a-bench-with-a-drooping-head slumber, a velour goddess dances by my peripheral view. I look up to see a woman with the biggest ass I have ever come across, with the tightest purple jumpsuit hugging it. She seduces me with her eyes and because I have a staring problem I, again, am not willing to correct- I continue to watch. Her silent dance is just for me and she closes her eyes and lets the music (only heard by her) take control. Soon she is jumping! I am convinced she is a siren! Unfortunately, this jumping forces the zipper down on her velour sweatshirt and her two tube-sock shaped boobies pop out and say a quick, ‘hello!’ to me. She swiftly ropes in the beasts with both arms and we share an awkward glance of terror. I have embarrassed the prostitute on ecstasy.

Upon my arrival in NYC, I must then walk 10 minutes in my hooker boots to the E train.

It is not long before someone joins me on the bench I have chosen once in the station, and I am confused why they have decided to sit in the seat directly next to me- there are many available benches. Because my new friend is a 250 lbs woman, we are sitting very closely. After such a night I long to be touched- even if it is just an arm fat-roll. I am her Rob and she is my Big. She is breathing heavily and I assholeishly assume it is because she’s large and walked the length of the platform. False. Big is crying, which progresses into a loud sob. I tend to touch strangers so I rub her back with my adjacent hand and ask ‘Are you alright?’

‘I’ll be OK, I’ll be OK’ she studders through her blubbering.

Before I have time to remove my right arm off Big’s back, she has surrendered to her suffering and leans fully into my little arms. I am cradling Big, this is something I have never done before so I am nervous and tenderly continue to rub her back. I assure her all is well. I am lying, I have no idea why she is even crying

As if a shooting star through the darkest of nights, my E train arrives and I am freed of Big’s distress. She is happy and totters to the train and I am happy and finally on my way home! And once I am off the train my bed will be so close and I can sleep in it! Who knew this basic commodity and liberty could sound so fantastic… when I could have just gone straight to it instead of going to Hoboken! The only thing that excites me more than my imminent slumber is the guaranteed apology Boy owes me. He will definitely have to do something spectacular to redeem himself. Maybe he will even come to see me and spend all Sunday here! I can hardly fall asleep anticipating the impending gifts, apologies and maybe even SURPRISES awaiting me in the morning.

Throughout the night, perhaps early morning, I hear my phone vibrate but I continue to sleep; if the text is from Boy I can savor it when I wake up. I’m not desperate here- he has to wait for ME now. I love this!

The text was from Boy. One measly fucking apology text- followed by continued ignoring, topped off with a blocking on Facebook. Fuck.

It’s Sunday night and the beer spilt on my boobies at my friend’s birthday party the night previous still remains. I am not wearing a bra, my hair is an afro and Full House is on the TV. The couple I live with are drunk with love and wine, giggling about as they make dinner for us. Because I am the third wheel constantly, they call me their ‘daughter.’ I am eating ice cream out of the tub, drinking wine from the bottle and waiting for dinner with my ‘parents,’ braless.

I am now confident that I am indeed the flawed one.