The · River

The straphanger I was, I'd look over her shoulder and say, "Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday. I don't know." She'd look at me skeptically over her glasses and the rest would be history. We'd have epic fucks and there would be snacks, to quote Andrew Bird. I would drink with her and we would read to each other and take long aimless walks talking about the world and we'd lay on the grass and watch for shooting stars and she would be beautiful and I would be smart and in awe of her.

Now, I mostly want to be left alone. I took Cerberus to FedEx tonight to show him a basic field transfer. As we left, he said to me, "There's like a hottie in there." I laughed. There is like a hottie in there. All the drivers go widdershins over her. They flirt, they vie like a pack of wolves for her attention. I don't. I never did. You see, she's not smart enough to spread mayonnaise, let alone carry on a conversation involving words not of Anglo-Saxon origin. I warned Cerberus of this and we moved on.

I mostly want to be left alone. I hardly feel worthy being in the presence of my friends, let alone an amazing creature like the one I want to fall in love with. I don't have elaborate criteria anymore. The scourge of loneliness and the desire for communion war at my soul like Russia and the United States in WWII. They hate each other, but they recognize the common enemy.

The enemy is Charon's happiness.

There are times, however, when I fool myself into believing that a relationship will cure what ails me. I have been deluded in the past. The answer is a voice, words, or even a warm body lying next to me. I don't know what I really want. I think, honestly, that I want to be left alone. But I don't want to be alone. Like Greta Garbo. I want my faults to be accepted and my virtues extolled. But I want my faults to be accepted. I am awful with money. I tend to ignore things that are distasteful to me. My masochism extends to things sexual. I am weak; I am frail. I allow fermented yeast poo and a poisonous leaf to ravage my organs, and I do not care. I am hard to anger, but if you manage to anger me, woe betide you. I laugh too easily. I am notoriously easy to entertain, especially if you are a pretty girl. I make a show of being aloof, but I really am not. I am a fraud, and I am a liar. I am a coward who has occasional flashes of valor and bravery.

Relatively soon, my body will begin to show signs of my true character. It is the virtue of youth that one's true personality can be hidden by a healthy complexion. We've all seen old people with wrinkles that betray their temperament. You can tell if they lived a happy life by the patterns the rifts and valleys make across their cheeks and forehead. You can also tell if they lived a tortured life.

The old saw your grandmother told you about not making faces because you'll stay that way is true. It just takes a little longer than she let on. She knew from experience.

She just wanted you to be happy.