That Night
This was bad. Was it bad? It was a bad idea.
No. No, no, no. This was good. This was amazing.
I don’t know. This could be bad.
Well, it’s happened. Regardless of anything, now it’s happened.
I hope this turns out okay.
It’s fine. I liked it. Did you?
Yes. I did. But I don’t know.
I guess, well, we’ll just see what happens.
I guess, yeah, I guess we will.
But, for the record, I think this will be fine.
Fine. Yeah, okay. I hate that word, anyway.
I know. But, it will be.
If you say so.
And then that was that. Like a flash. Done, and done. Wanting something like that for so long, from one person, and then it’s done. We slept, only for a bit after that, like nothing happened, or maybe just pretending like nothing happened. I don’t know. I didn’t care. Did she? It wasn’t important or, at the least, not important enough to shake the feeling, this feeling, of, “Wow. I just won. This just happened. I’m the fucking man.” I felt bad inside, like, a little dark, like a black spot on my mind, as if maybe, I don’t know, maybe I did do something wrong. But she was there, and she wanted to, so what’s the problem? It was fine. I told her that. If you say so, she said. Fuck that. I hated that shit. Make your mind up, I thought. It’s not hard. Just say it, say whatever you’re thinking. We’re adults, right?
I got home. Late. So fucking late. I walked in, pulled the blinds tight, and hibernated. It was almost two when I woke up. Spent. I remember thinking, god damnit, this might suck. The repercussions of a situation like that, man, I didn’t want to think. I got up, got changed. The phone rang. Mom calls, says, how are you? How was your night? Good, mom. Thanks for asking? I heard you were out, she says. Your brother saw you. Just wanted to make sure you were okay. Yeah, mom. Thanks, I say. I’m fine. She tells me one night, after I visit, she says, “Take it easy, huh? These girls, all these girls. Don’t be that kind of guy.” I say, “I’m a sweetheart, mom. You’re crazy.” Jokingly. Lovingly, like it’s no big deal. But dad comes in after she goes. He says, “Your mom thinks you’re a man slut. All these girls, you’re kind of a slut, she thinks.” “Dad,” I say, “What can I do? Some of them just want it.” “I know,” he says, like it’s no big thing, like getting chicks it some sport. Bizarre exchange, but he gets it, I guess. “Just wrap that shit up,” he says, and I kind of lose it. I don’t know what to think, but yes, dad, like I’m stupid or something? I “wrap that shit up” because I don’t want “my shit” ruined like so many others, like you guys, maybe, I don’t know, but I know I don’t want that.
My phone didn’t go off, in the whole twelve hours or so I slept it didn’t go off. Thank God. I didn’t want to hear it, hear it from her, hear it from anyone, about what happened the other night. It was last night? Fuck, I was still so spent. I hit Adam up. He was there last night. He could shed the light on whatever the Hell went down. But he didn’t answer. Damnit. Alright, I thought. Time to wake up, make something happen today. So I went, got showered, got dressed, and drove to get coffee. Ninety-nine degrees outside and drinking coffee, hot as Hell and black as death. Passing the time, that was the goal. It was three or four or something close to that. Getting coffee, sitting outside, I ran into Jay, or he ran into me. I kept the glasses tight to my face. It was too bright, but he was in the same boat, I could tell. He said something about last night, something like what did you end up doing? He knew, and was just fishing for details, I could tell, but I wasn’t saying anything. “Alright, man. Take it easy,” I said, trying to move his ass along. He left, thank God, and I sat there trying to remember still just what the Hell happened.
