Somewhere between my bra and my hoodie, I realized I’ve never lied to you, ever, and so I think you should know this, and learn it:
I love you the most, but you’re not the only.
There is one who curls up on my bed and ticks theology. We take String Theory and make it Cat’s Cradle, bending formulas of space and place until they’re just another excuse to kiss. It’s fun but I lie awake at night and wonder if the galaxy enjoys being used as a pawn for a fun night in my underwear. I suspect the answer is “no” so I keep the curtains shut to blank the stars, in case they see me and go, “No, this isn’t right.” I never give into him and we wrestle until he gives up and passes out, and I curl away. In the morning I feel like a little kid who’s just won Monopoly. It’s a smile like that.
There is one who knows he looks like a movie star, and that makes me hate him. He pouts until he pounces, and growls “why don’t you care” when I roll him away. I wish he were boring because I’m afraid of his face, he’s too beautiful, but we talk about art, and film, and the crumbles of people who used to get better drinks than us at parties. He tugs at my hair and my hands and my hem, but I kick him away until we’re both bruised and then sleep on his chest so we both breathe the same. In the morning I feel like I have a cool date to the prom. It’s a smile like that.
There is one who smokes cigarettes in the church confessional. He calls me from Tokyo hotels to play a new guitar riff. He found me Hello Kitty band-aids. He makes me wear sunglasses with him on the subway. We jump on the bed with music too loud and our wine stains the ceiling, and then he traces my wrist-veins with his fingers and talks about a house in Nashville, in Montreal, in Mexico. “You can have your own bed,” he taunts and I tell him that’s good, since he refuses to leave mine. We sleep outside the lines, him on the covers and me under them. In the morning I feel like I’m getting ice cream for breakfast in a blanket fort. It’s a smile like that.
But last night I was alone, and I had a dream that I was with you, the way I should be with you, and it didn’t feel like a win or a game or a party. Your scratched arms were my borders and your breath was my clock, and I was like, good. And I can’t quite mount the feeling to the wall, not yet, but I think its closest partner was relief.
In the morning, I woke up and I was alone. It felt like something had been stolen.
I sobbed and then I went to brunch and ate amazing toast. I kept myself outside all day and had my phone switched off. And somewhere between the tea and the sidewalk, I realized something else: You’re the only person I’ve never lied to, and that’s a big deal.
I think I’m trapped in the city, at least until summer. It’s cracking my heart, but it’s pretty set. Get here before then so we can drink wine and dance on the couch. Maybe after two bottles, we’ll admit what has to happen.
[SONYA WALGER - AM I THE IMAGINARY SOCIALITE?]
