Thursday night with the girl of my dreams

Of course I picked the café with the downed wifi. It’s my negative state of mind, I tell you. Trying to roll with the punches—I shall not be deterred. Focus on this instead of that. My coffee was a little off, a little less delicious than normal. So was the muffin. They didn’t heat it up enough. Everything can be wrong if you look things in the wrong light, which I have the tendency to do. I need a new looking glass.

I also need a new motorbike. I’ve been saying that for a while. I love my bike, but it’s time to start seeing other people. I want to part on good terms, before I start to feel stuck and blame it all on her. Lately, she had been driving poorly. There was a loose wire somewhere and the electric was hit and miss. Also turns out she had some water in her carburetor. Poor thing.

My mechanic attended to her yesterday. Cleaned the carburetor and gave her a new battery. She’s running better, but there is still something amiss. That clicking sound is driving me crazy. I also just pulled into a pharmacy, pulled out the key and the engine was still running. Hmmm. put the key back in, turn on, turn off, wait and finally she shut off. Came back out, put the key in and the right signal light was on. Tilted the bike to the right and it turned off. Tilted left and it went back on. Sigh.

I figure when I get a “real” bike, I’ll appreciate it that much more. It’s like having a normal weekend after having a 1-day weekend the week before. It’s still not enough, but you appreciate that extra day sooooooo much more. I figure having a bike with fewer faults will be like a dream compared to one that always seems to have an issue—even if she has taken me reliably from point A to point B for nearly a year. You need a cold shower every now and again to really savor the hot ones. You need to experience some low points to revel in the high ones.

……………………

And here I am, nearly a month later, trying to pick up where I left off. Back at the same café—across the park from my street—eating yet another coffee and muffin. This time there were no complaints. Only maybe that there weren’t enough of either. But sufficiently filling they were. The only complaint I have is that I’m not getting to the café early enough. I prefer morning sessions, say 10am, not 1 in the afternoon. I took a wrong turn last night. That’s my excuse.

I was going to call it a night at 2am, relatively early for a Thursday (my Friday) considering I had just finished work at midnight. Still winding down I was, but I considered saving the fun for the next evening. I was a little indecisive and took a detour past a bar, which I have become well acquainted, to see if “she” was there. Surprised to find it open and her still working, I sat down for a pint of some pretty appalling local lager. She seemed remotely happy to see me, which reignited the flame that I thought might have been extinguished.

We chatted and I jokingly (but seriously) asked her to come back to my place. As you do. She had actually brought it up first a few months ago, but with the added disclaimer—no boom boom. I hesitated and when I came to my senses hours later she reneged on her offer. You snooze, you lose. This wasn’t a paying situation. This was more of a persistence pays off type situation. And well, maybe she was trying to figure me out. See where I live, see if I’m a “good guy”—see if I’m capable of supporting her and her family. I’m not capable in case you wondering. I don’t make promises and I don’t tell lies, but I do legitimately like this girl. Have for a while.

I sat there in disbelief after she nonchalantly replied “Ok.” She’s having some fun, I thought. This girl has never been so “easy.” I waited for the chuckle, but it never came. I wanted her to be comfortable so I threw in the same disclaimer she had months before. No boom boom, I whispered. I couldn’t believe my own ears. But really, I was ok with that since just being with her was enough. Sort of. I wanted to inhale the lingering perfume and the scent of whatever shampoo residue was in her hair. She finished at 3am. I could wait.

I (mistakenly) ordered another draft beer just to pass the time. 3am arrived and she had disappeared. I half expected not to see her again. This wouldn’t have been the first time my hopes were dashed, but she did come back. Yay! She had been brushing her teeth or something. I paid my bill and wandered outside wondering how we were going to do this. She motioned for me to go. Go where? I drove down the street and parked halfway down, out of sight for the most part. I rested my head on the handlebars and looked up occasionally to make sure she wasn’t sneaking by.

Eventually she came back on her motorbike, hair blowing in the breeze. All slow motion like the movies. She had slipped into something more comfortable. Damn, I was hoping she was going to do that at my place. She was ready to rock n’ roll. We drove silently in the direction of my house, with her occasionally taking the lead. What are you doing, ya fucking idiot…you have no idea where I live. She seemed a bit cocky behind the wheel.

I made sure to zoom ahead and motion prior to making turns so I didn’t lose her. That would have been a waste of two draft beers and a couple hours of sleep. The horror! We got to my house, parked the bikes, locked the gate and climbed the stairs. Finally, a girl who didn’t complain about climbing three flights of stairs. Not that any girl has ever done that. She came in and immediately started eyeballing the furniture. You live here? Alone? How much you pay? Too much. As I’ve had to say to myself silently before, shut the fuck up.

Poking around some more, you have air conditioning? Not seeing it at first, she was momentarily dismayed until she saw it hiding up in the corner. She motioned with her lips to turn it on, which translated to crank that shit on high. Fuck, it’s not even hot, but whatever you say. I was whipped. She looked around even more. No tv? Fuck. I showed her where it was hiding —behind the clothes drying rack and under the yoga mat. I haven’t turned it on in months and I really hoped not to see it flicker into action tonight.

Turns out it was just a question. It was time for bed. She was already in her pajamas—the same clothes she was wearing— and motioned toward the bed. Sleep. I took a final piss and came to join her. It was like an elementary school sleepover. We held hands and I got high for a minute. I inhaled the toxins in her hair and I snuck a kiss. She didn’t like that. Sleep! Alright, alright, but that’s no fun. I tried, but I’m no good at sleep. Especially not when there’s an attractive lady next to me.

I tossed and turned and tossed some more. I got up to use the toilet. That second beer! I tried to sleep again to no avail. I could only see her lying there like sleeping beauty while the bags grew bigger under my eyes. I could only focus on the air conditioner making funny noises. I usually wore earplugs. I also usually slept with my head between both pillows. Tonight I didn’t have that luxury. Dammit, this pillow is too big! It’s too cold! The mattress is too slanted!

It was getting late, maybe six or seven. I had to pee again. I was started to get angry. Not at her, but at my inability to fall asleep. My fault for inviting a pretty girl to have a “sleepover.” Who does that? I took my earplugs, my pillow and a spare comforter into the living room. And I set up on the floor. Put the couch pillows on the floor and closed off the space with my laundry rack so I wouldn’t feel “naked” lying there exposed in the middle of the floor. I checked Facebook and did the online crossword before hiding my laptop in the kitchen cupboard. I contemplated jerking off into the kitchen sink, but thought that was little dirty and then tried to sleep, alone, again.

She woke me up at 11. She kind of scoffed at me as I lifted my head, drool stuck to my cheek. What? There was still some misplaced residual anger. Go away, I thought. That’s precisely what she was doing. She rattled off some Khmer, which I was not in the mood for. She asked, I think, if there was a lock on the gate downstairs. Huh? She said it again even faster, as if I might get it this time. I don’t know, I mumbled. She put on her dirty fuzzyheaded slippers and shuffled out the door. Better than heels I thought. At least she doesn’t look like a prostitute.

I laid my head down again, with relief, and then quickly thought I ought to accompany her downstairs. I wiped off the drool, slipped on some shorts, a baseball cap and my flip flops to catch her with just enough time to open the gate and say goodbye before she skedaddled on out of there. I barely had enough energy to mumble bye. I wearily walked back past my landlord and his family having breakfast—ok, lunch—who undoubtedly thought a transaction had just taken place. I don’t give a fuck anymore. 

Went back to sleep for a minute—barely able to contemplate what had transpired over the past eight hours even though I had been awake for most of it. I rubbed some collagen into the bags under my eyes, tweezered out the gray hours and put on my Sunday best—a pair of shorts and a t-shirt—on a Friday to take it all in. There wasn’t much to analyze. I went home with ‘the girl of my dreams’ but failed to fall asleep to have more of them. A memorable experience for all the wrong reasons. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemies.