Recently, my life has been a mess. This high speed train had finally derailed.
Let me start from the beginning. Once upon a time, when I was a happy and care-free individual, I had just arrived home from my European adventures. When I finally settled in, I decided to go with my friends and tell them all about it.
I was so nervous. I hadn’t seen them in three years. We met up at a bar on 15th and 10th. When they got there they looked the exactly the same as I had left them, yet somehow different.
After we drank our first round, I decided to tell them of my experiences in Europe. A few of them rolled their eyes, the rest seemed indifferent to my stories. I asked them what was wrong and they replied saying that I had become very arrogant. I was shocked and confused by their behavior. I had done nothing, nor have I said anything to appear remotely arrogant. So for the most part I sat quietly and listened to their stories and jokes (which I most certainly did not understand).
While my now former friend Colin bragged about how many business deals he had made that day - or something along those bourgeois lines - I made eye contact with this mysterious figure who had just entered. My heart raced faster than the whirled wide web. But I kept cool.
Hours later (pretending to still be interested in the dribble my friends called conversations) I grew ever so bored. I noticed the mysterious figure again noticing me from the bar. I waited thirty seconds or so to get up to go to the men’s room.
When I returned, refreshed and clean, I sat next to my mystery guest and ordered a drink. As I reached for my wallet, I saw a ten dollar bill thrown right in front me. Someone had just bought me drink. I said, “Thanks, stranger.”
“Why be strangers?” I heard, “I’m Rich.”
“Oh really,” I replied with a raised eyebrow. And so, the night became much more interesting from that point on. After the bar had closed and we had gotten to… know each other better, we went back to his place and the rest is history.
We began to see a lot more of each other over the next few weeks and then it started getting serious. It got to a point where I couldn’t stop thinking about him and wanted to spend every aching moment with him. It was one of those ghastly mushy romances you’d see on TV or in movies. I couldn’t believe it either. I guess love makes one do crazy things.
This must have been the grandest time of my life. Far better than anything I experienced in Europe. Rich really knew how to treat a guy. He was always so sweet and always always always so very romantic.
One day, on our first anniversary, he asked me to move in with him. I was in tears… I screamed… I panted… I was so excited! Of course I said yes.
This is it. This is the one. “I found my moving buddy.”
The following week, I got a phone call. My aunt Molly had died. Rich couldn’t get out of work, I told him it was alright.
I flew out there to the Mid-west and stayed for a weekend. When I came back, I just wanted to lay in his arms. As I walked in and dropped my bags, I was mortified. He was screwing not another man, not a woman, but a dog. We don’t even have a dog! What kind of a sicko is this? Is this the man I’ve just spent the past year with? This pervert? I didn’t even know what to say. I wet my pants. I knees were trembling, I wanted to faint.
When I had regained my strength, I yelled and screamed and I hollered. I was in tears. He said it was nothing, he was just trying it out for the first time. I didn’t care, I picked up my bags and left. He begged me not to leave, I didn’t say a word, didn’t even look at him. I couldn’t go back home. My parents haven’t spoken to me since I moved in with my “boyfriend.”
I had no one else I could turn to. So I rented a hotel room in a shady little hotel across town on St. Mark’s Street. I checked in and cried myself to sleep.
I woke up the next morning on a pillow completely soaked in tears. I thought to myself, “Never again.” Never again will I let someone get so close to me. Never again will I let myself be so betrayed. My city, my home, my friends - all so estranged to me now.
A week later, I couldn’t stand that dirty wretched hotel room anymore. I booked myself on a flight back to Paris. The only place I truly felt welcome. Paris, my adopted home. I returned there. And I’ve lived here ever since. Alone.
