Although I technically made up with the Hot Mess, things just aren’t the same. How can someone like the Hot Mess keep out the sadness? Girls like her can’t. By their very nature, a Hot Mess is kind of like a hurricane: unpredictable and ultimately destructive. I’m attracted to girls like the Hot Mess for the thrill, for the adventure, and for those brief moments of bliss that can only be compared to an eye of a storm.
I’m not even sure why I took the Hot Mess back. Perhaps because I know now I’m not her first choice (despite what she says) and I don’t feel guilty that she’s not mine either. I know that sounds terrible, like we’re using each other (and maybe we are on some level), but it’s more than that and I can’t quite explain it.
Last night Autumn was on my mind so I texted her before bed, “thank you for everything. Time with you felt like a wild rumpus.” I had just seen Where the Wild Things Are and my mind was still reeling with images of Max dancing in the forest with the monsters.
She called me about 20 minutes later. “Hey stranger,” she yawned. “A wild rumpus, huh?”
“Sorry, did I wake you?”
“No, no. Just doing some homework, but I’m over it. So time with me felt like a wild rumpus?”
I felt self-conscious. Perhaps she thought I was being pervy? “Uhh–uhhh,” I choked. “I didn’t mean for it to sound perverted!”
“Hahaha,” she laughed warmly. “I know–it’s from Where the Wild Things Are. It’s one of my favorite children’s books. I just wanted to know why you thought so.”
I sat up in bed, as if it would help me think clearer. “Spending time with you…was just what I needed to get out of my head. I spend a lot of time in my head, you know, like weighed down by everything…”
“I can tell,” she added, almost empathetically. “Sometimes I’d look over at you and you looked like you were thinking about a hundred things at once.”
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. People that I’ve been with in the past, they usually think one thing at a time, if anything. They’re only worried about the moment, but I can tell you think further ahead. It makes you quite thoughtful and cute.” I tried so hard to imagine Autumn’s face, illuminated by a cheap desk lamp I associate with college students. I imagined her leaning in her chair, staring at the screensaver on her computer. I wanted her much closer. I wanted this conversation to take place in my messy apartment, in my tiny bed.
We talked until nearly 2am when I remembered the time difference. “Call me tomorrow,” she said between yawns. “If you get bored or whatever. No pressure.”
I’m back in Hawaii, back to work, and all I want to do is escape back to LA. I almost feel like I’ve just returned from this important and self-exploratory journey, with a renewed sense of my place in the world. LA for me has been this magical experience, reminding me of all the unjaded optimism I had when I was younger. Thinking of Autumn now makes me want to desperately preserve this memory of us and keep it safely tucked away somewhere.
I texted the Hot Mess when I got home from the airport asking what’s up. I spent the first few hours sprawled out on my bed, my suitcase unopened, and my cat curled at my feet.
“Are you free?” The Hot Mess texted me several hours later. “Can we talk? I can come over. Just send me your address.”
“Sure thing,” I answered, “See you soon.”
“Hello?” I was groggy, fumbling with the touchscreen on my phone. The buzzer to my apartment building is connected with my cell phone, since getting a landline seemed too domestic for my taste.
“Hey, it’s me.” Her voice sounded anxious and yet sad.
“I’ll ring you up.”
I thought about straightening up before the Hot Mess came over, but I figured there was no point. I pushed my suitcase out of the doorway and splashed cold water on my face before I heard her knocking. When I opened the door, she seemed skinnier than I remembered. Perhaps I was used to the curves of Autumn’s body. Although Autumn was just a fling, just about getting wrapped up in a moment, I felt guilty letting the Hot Mess come over. I remembered the quick squeeze she gave me at the airport and I was suddenly overcome with regret.
“Hey stranger,” I said, opening the door. “Come in.”
“Thanks,” she said, slipping off her sandals near the door. “Sorry for coming over last minute like this.”
“It’s fine,” I reassured her.
She walked past me into my nearly empty living room and sat on the oversized (and barely used) couch. “I have so much to say,” she blurted out. “I don’t know where to start.”
I pulled up a chair from my dinner table and scooted it next to her. “It’s okay. What’s up?”
“When you didn’t text me the other night, I didn’t know what to think,” she finally said. “I thought maybe I had made a huge mistake with you the other night. It’s been really tearing me up.”
“I was actually in LA when you texted me,” I explained. “I just got back like….a couple of hours ago.”
She seemed surprised and then relieved, as if that were the only reason why I didn’t return her text messages. “Oh, I see. Why were you there?”
“For work,” I answered quickly. “Just for a few days.”
“Maybe I made a mistake,” she said, not even waiting for me to finish my answer. “Maybe we can try this again?”
Honestly, I had a hard time looking at her. It hurt to replay our previous conversation in my head now with the information that she slept with her ex soon after. She was a completely different person to me now, taking up space in my living room and in my life. I got up and sat down next to her on the couch, wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans. The smell of her hair, sweet and intoxicating, pulled at my stomach when she whipped around to face me.
“Okay,” I managed the push out. But I didn’t mean it–I was somewhere else.
I’ve decided to take a break from my normal format to do a writing prompt. Feel free to post this prompt and your responses on your own blog (or even here in the comments!). I’d be curious to see how others respond.
livejournal writing prompt:It’s often said that the simple things in life are the most precious. What small pleasures make you the happiest?
I love listening to music on a good pair of headphones. Not those tinny sounding ones that you stick in your ears. I mean those oversized ones that make your head look small and they sound like there’s a concert going on in front of you. Some of my favorite memories of DC are actually of listening to music while walking. In the winter, I walked from my apartment to downtown Georgetown each day in the late afternoon, my ipod blasting, and then forced myself to write for an least an hour in the shopping mall there. Looking back now, those were probably some of my favorite memories of DC.
I know this sounds silly, but you know what really makes me happy? When I eat something that I’ve been craving forever. Sometimes I’ll randomly during the day I’ll crave something specific (like Japanese honey toast from Shokudo) and if I’m lucky I’ll swing by Shokudo after work for happy hour and get to devour one. Even if I get sick later (because I’m lactose intolerant), I’m content for like the next week.
Finally, my ultimate small pleasure is when my cat is affectionate. Chompers is like her name sounds, wild and rawr-y like a dinosaur. She’ll let you carry her in all kinds of weird positions, but she’s not a lap cat. She think she’s human and will have no problem sniffing my food when I’m eating, just to make sure I don’t have something she wants. Chompers likes to hang out in the living room, sprawled out on my sister’s old bed (which she has now taken over), but always comes back later to check up on what I’m doing. Sometimes when I’m writing in the bedroom, she’ll paw at my side and squeak, just to let me know that she’s there. The other night she fell asleep on the bed on my foot. She never sleeps on the bed, she always retires each night to this two block tower bed I bought for her. But that night, she slept on my foot and it was perfect.
I didn’t see the Hot Mess’ text messages until Autumn and I were on the way to the airport. I had meant to text my co-worker again, but instead accidentally clicked on her name in my inbox.
Autumn was in the middle of telling me about a Greek restaurant in San Francisco she really loved and she knew I was distracted. “Is everything okay?” she asked, the car sluggishly moving through traffic.
“Yeah, of course,” I quickly answered. “Just texting my co-worker.”
The first text message just said: I miss you.
I avoided looking at the other two, exited out quickly, and then wrote to my co-worker that I’d meet him at the gate. “I’m sorry, you were saying?”
“No, nothing important. Just talking about a restaurant. Sorry there’s so much traffic. I hope you’re not too late.”
“Nah, it’ll be fine,” I assured her. “Plus, it was worth it.”
She smiled then and it lightened the mood in the car. When we arrived at the airport, I could tell she didn’t know whether or not she should get out of the car. She hesitated at first, but then turned off the car, switched on her hazards lights, and met me on the passenger side while I pulled out my lumpy luggage.
I grabbed her hand and kissed it. “Thank you for everything,” I told her.
“Is it weird for me to want you to call later?” she asked. “Crap, don’t answer that. How embarrassing.” She shook her head, letting her hair cover her face.
“I’ll call you when I get in,” I told her. “I’ll be back in March or April to move and I hope we can get to know each other more. Does that sound weird?” I felt nervous, which made me say socially awkward things.
She wrapped her arms around me while I steadied my suitcase, then kissed her tenderly on the crown of her head. It was weird saying goodbye, especially to someone I barely knew and still felt connected to.
She kissed me on the lips, an affectionate peck, gave my shoulder a quick squeeze and waved goodbye.
I tried to memorize her face before I turned towards the check-in line, but she was already gone.
While waiting at the gate with my co-workers, I finally went through the Hot Mess’ messages.
The first message read: Are you up?
Followed by: Just saying hi.
And then the one I saw earlier: I miss you.
I skipped messaging her back. I decided I wouldn’t deal with her until I was back in Hawaii.
I rarely sleep after I’ve been with someone. It’s hard enough sleeping somewhere unfamiliar (like the Holiday Inn in LA), but having Autumn next to me in bed throws everything off for me. She didn’t hog the bed, in fact, she barely moved throughout the night.
Autumn fell asleep easily on her stomach, her delicate back glowing from the bathroom light. Around 4am, I rolled quietly out of bed to turn off the light and felt my way in the darkness back to her. Her perfume was flowery and I could almost taste it when I tenderly kissed her neck before getting comfortable under the covers.
“What time is your flight at?” she whispered. The light peeked through the off-white curtains. I must have dosed off for a few hours.
“Three, I think. Supposed to be leaving the hotel by noon so I can check out and all catch a cab together to the airport.” I rolled over on my back and folded my arms behind head, letting out a tearing yawn.
“I could take you to the airport,” she offered. “If you want.”
I leaned over a kissed her forehead. “Are you sure you want to sit in LA traffic for me?”
“How embarrassing,” she said, changing the subject. “Today I’ll have to do the walk of shame!”
“Nobody will notice. You look great,” I said, getting up from bed to check the time on my phone. I had 3 text messages from the Hot Mess, so I tossed my phone in my open suitcase. “Do you want a shirt to wear?”
She pulled the covers up to her neck, as if suddenly embarrassed. “Yes, please!”
“Why are you being like that?” I asked, shuffling through my clothes for a clean shirt. “Like I said, you look great. No clothes needed.” I tossed her an extra sleep shirt I packed, a tattered gray George Washington University shirt with a stretched out neck. “Is this okay?”
She sat up, letting the covers fall into her lap, exposing her beautiful smooth skin before slipping on my shirt. It was clearly too big for her, the shoulders draping over her skin, but she looked cute anyway. “Did you go to George Washington for school?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “Majored in religion.”
“Are you religious?”
“No, not really,” I laughed. “Weird, I know.”
“How come religion then?”
I zippered up my hoodie and sat in the chair next to her side of the bed. “When I was younger, people would always say that gay people are going to hell. It said so in the Bible. I didn’t know anything about the Bible, so I could never argue back. I’m not particularly religious, but I spent such a long time worrying about whether or not I was going to hell just for being gay! So I decided to study religion academically. So I could have my own answers.”
“And? Do you have your own answers now?”
“Yeah, I guess. I will always remember this story my professor once told me. He said a guy asked two rabbis, ‘summarize everything in the Bible while standing on one foot.’ The first rabbi smacked the guy and sent him on his way, saying he was being ridiculous. The second rabbi, who’s supposed to be well known and I don’t remember his name, stood on one foot and said, ‘treat others how you want to be treated. The rest is just commentary.’” I explained. “Are you hungry? I think the hotel serves breakfast until 9:30am. I could go down and bring us back something to eat.”
“What a great story,” she sighed. “I can go with you to get food.”
“No, you stay here. Enjoy the bed and the television. Just tell me what you want to eat.”
She smiled, her eyes turning in to familiar rainbows. “Surprise me.”
The breakfast bar was less glamorous than the concierge advertised. Overweight families and old couples stood in line for stale-looking breakfast meats and neon yellow scrambled eggs. I grabbed two apples and a small box of cheerios, stuffed them into my pockets, and headed back to the room.
Autumn was still lying in bed when I returned. She was flipping through television channels, stopping at TBS when she recognized the Friends theme song. I crawled into bed next to her, dumping my loot in the space between us. “Sorry, breakfast here sucks. Would you care for an apple or an apple or perhaps some questionably old cheerios?”
“Apple, please.” She reached for the apple, examining it with her thumb before taking a bite. “Do you like this show? We can change it.”
“No no, I love Friends! Which character are you?” I asked.
She paused thoughtfully and took another bite. “Rachel, I think. Or maybe Monica, I’m not sure. What about you? I bet you’re Ross.”
“So I’ve been told, but I don’t see it.”
We spent the morning together in bed, reciting our favorite lines from Friends over a pretty pathetic breakfast. She didn’t seem to mind, though. After the Friends double episode, I finally dosed off with Autumn’s head on my chest.
I woke up with my mouth open and I feared I had been snoring. Autumn had fallen asleep as well with arm draped over my body and awoke when I kissed her head. “What time is it?” I whispered.
She checked her watch and dropped her arm back on my stomach. “11:17.”
I sat up. “Crap, I gotta pack and take a shower. Did you want to shower?”
“Yeah, is that okay?” she said, sitting up. “Is that weird?”
“What? No. There’s extra towels in the bathroom. The housekeeper left like five extra ones.”
She stood up, the bottom of my t-shirt clinging to her upper thighs. I told myself I should pack first, but I ended up following her into the shower.
With 8 minutes to spare before checkout, I skipped folding my clothes and just jammed everything into my suitcase, took out my cell phone and texted my co-workers that I’d just meet them at the airport, and zippered it shut.
“Thanks,” Autumn said, handing me back my t-shirt. “Your shirt smells nice. Like your cologne.”
“For a minute I thought you were going to tell me I smelled.” I was too lazy to unzip my suitcase, so I threw my t-shirt in my carry-on.
“Oh, walk of shame, here I come,” Autumn said, fixing her skirt in the mirror. She looked fantastic like the night before, even with her hair wet and messy. “I just want to say, I don’t normally do this. You know.”
“Neither am I!” I added. “So I apologize, I have no idea what the etiquette is for this kind of stuff?”
“I don’t know either!” she shrugged.
I pulled her in by her waist and kissed her with all the hope of a lovestruck teenager. It was 12:04, but I didn’t care.
I Won’t Make You Eggs in the Morning is my response to all those cheesy pick-up lines you hear. Sometimes I go on a bad date and sometimes I’m the bad date.
I may not know a lot of things about dating, but I know I’ll never tell a girl I’ll make her eggs in the morning.
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