He was waiting in front of the bar when I arrived. We had both shaved; me, my legs and under-arms, he the scattered stubble that had littered his face on our last encounter. We had hung-out countless times before, but somehow we both knew that tonight would be different. We each had plans, or at least were open to them.
“Hey” I smiled, “I finally made it!” He glanced at his watch, ten minutes after our agreed upon hour.
“It’s about time” he joked.
“Parking’s a bitch.”
“LA” he shrugged and opened the door. I led us to the bar counter and ordered two Jack and Cokes. We preferred to put on a thick layer of liquid armor before peeling off one another’s clothes. Four rounds and several cigarettes later we stumbled onto the street arm in arm trying to steady each other from gravity’s sinister pull.
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We finally arrived at the door of his apartment. 32B. He fumbled with the keys. It was cold and I was growing impatient. He located the correct metal sliver and slid it easily into the keyhole. He twisted it to the left. It gave a slight click and he pushed the door in. I walked into the welcoming warmth of his tiny apartment. Tidy as always. In the living room, a small brown couch, one side slightly indented marking Randal’s usual place, was facing a large flat-screen television. Game counsels and a DVD player sat in the shelf of the TV stand that supported this focal point. Just next to it was a case neatly displaying a library of DVDs, video games, and books. Upon entering we both removed our shoes. Randal headed straight for the bathroom while I traipsed to the small kitchenette. I grabbed two beers from fridge and popped them open with my keychain. Though I was quite inebriated I feared that my blood alcohol level had decreased dramatically during our 45 minute travels and I was eager to preserve the buzz as long as possible. I carried the bottles back into the living room where Randal reclined on the couch’s left-most cushion. I handed him a beer.
“Thanks. You wanna watch a movie or something?”
“How about some music?” I suggested.
“Sure. I just gotta grab my computer.” He lifted himself off of the couch and reached the bedroom door in just a few strides. I followed him inside and took a seat on the corner of his neatly made bed. As he was lifting the laptop he turned and saw me “oh…uh…o-okay…” He blushed. Clearly he wasn’t expecting me there. I could tell that the sight of me on his bed filled him with both excitement and anxiety. This delighted me. I took a swig of my beer as he tried to decide upon some suitable tunes. He chose a song and turned to me for approval. I looked back at him invitingly, just long enough for him to notice and then quickly turned my attention back to the smooth, cold bottle in my hands. He took a seat beside me and nervously stared at the small round opening of his bottle, scratching at the label with his thumbnail. I tilted my head back and took a long drawn-out drink. I brought my face level and swallowed. His dull, hopefully eyes were burrowing into my light, unfocused ones. He seemed to be searching for courage or perhaps permission to make a move. I jumped up. “Bathroom” I announced and swept out of the room smiling at the shocked disappointment on his face.
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I enjoyed standing on his pedestal to be admired. The way he looked at me, his intense interest in my most fleeting thought, his eager need to please me; all provided a high I had never before experienced. I became obsessed with his obsession.
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One evening as we sat nestled on his worn brown couch, Randal shouting answers at the glowing television screen, “Who is Richard Nixon!” I posed the question that had been bothering me for a few weeks, “do you think we’re boring?”
“Huh? Hold on, it’s almost a commercial.” I sat sulking as he missed the last few clues before Alex announced the break. “Sorry, whadja say?”
“You didn’t even know them anyway!” I huffed. “I asked, ‘do you think we’re boring?’”
“No. Why? Who said that?” He looked at me curiously. “I’m having fun, aren’t you?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
He looked at me slightly hurt. “Aw, come on, Jeopardy rocks!” His disgustingly textbook smile tried to placate me. I rolled my eyes.
“Yeah Jeopardy’s cool. But I meant in general. All we ever do is sit around your apartment, watch Jeopardy, play you’re stupid video games, drink, drink, drink!” I shouted holding up my nearly empty beer. He paused to watch the unveiling of the Double Jeopardy categories. I took the opportunity to go to the kitchen to grab another beer.
“Okay, so stop drinking so much,” he retorted when I returned.
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean? I bore you?”
I gave a nervous smile, “well…yeah…”
“Fuck you Kelsey!” He snarled.
I chuckled, “So sensitive Randy.” I placed a cruel drawn-out emphasis on the last word
“Ugh! I hate to be called that!” I felt a twisted grin on my face. Frustrated, he continued screaming, “I’m trying to watch something, just let me enjoy my boring life in peace!”
“Fine!” and with that I threw the newly opened bottle at his head and stormed out of the apartment.
He called later that night. I sat at my computer, mid keystroke, when I was startled by the Fruging of my phone. Randal’s name and face appeared on the screen. I answered tentatively, “Yes…?”
He was totally wasted and his voice was cracking. “I’m…so…sorry…babe,” he sobbed. “I shouldn’t…have yelled…an...an...and kicked you…out…like…that.” I listened silently as he took deep gasping breaths between every few words. He paused to gather himself and then continued more fluently. “I was stressed from work, I…I…I didn’t…mean to take it out on you.”
I considered his apology in silence. Listening to his nervous breath, I took my time before responding. He deserved to suffer just a bit longer. “You’re really drunk” I finally spoke.
“I know…but I…I…I I really am sorry.”
“How about we talk it over tomorrow when you’re a little more coherent.”
“Yeah!” he exclaimed eagerly, “Over lunch?”
“Sure. I’ll text you a time and location tomorrow.” I ended the call before he could get another word in.
At 12:30 on Tuesday afternoon he met me at a café near my coffee shop. He had a small red cut just off center on his forehead a few inches above his left eyebrow. There were dark circles under his eyes; the result of tears, too little sleep, and too much alcohol. I was impressed that I could have such a profound effect on a person.
“So yesterday…” he started once our waitress trotted off after placing our plates before us.
“Yeah, let’s talk about yesterday.”
“Uh…I’m sorry. It was really terrible and I shouldn’ta got so upset so easily.” His voice was thick with shame and sincerity.
“No, you shouldn’t have. Though I guess I shouldn’t have provoked you either. But you are way too easily provoked.” I half-apologized.
“Yeah, I know. I’m really sorry.” He repeated. “If it helps, you have pretty good aim. That bottle you threw hit me square in the forehead and then totally drenched me in beer.” I tried to not to let slip a satisfied smile as I imagined Randal sitting on his couch in complete shock, his forehead stinging with pain, cold beer running down his face and soaking into his white T-shirt. “But hey, I think that was our first fight. See we’re mixing things up already! Still bored?” He joked brightly. I laughed. “I am sorry you’re bored though…”
“I’m not bored per se, but, I mean…” I took a second to choose my words carefully, I was feeling slightly bad for upsetting him last night and didn’t want to further injure him, “I feel like we do a lot of the same stuff over and over, and while I do enjoy it, maybe we can add some new activities to our lives.”
“No, I know.” He conceded. “I’m a very routine kinda guy. I tend to get stuck in ruts. But I’m totally willing to try to be a little more adventurous. Just tell me what you wanna do.”
I smirked, “are you giving me complete power?” He looked slightly nervous. “Any crazy thing I suggest you’re totally up for it, guaranteed?”
“Er…” He stammered, a bit worried about what he may be agreeing to. “Well…uh…I don’t know about totally up for, but I’ll definitely give your suggestions serious consideration.”
“I suppose that’s the best I’m gonna get from you” I couldn’t help myself from throwing in just one small insult. I stood, “Well, I gotta get to work. I’ll let you handle the check as part of you apology,” then I strode out of the café.
