Page 94 of Man Cuffed
I think about it. “Nope. I’m okay,” I decide.
“You’re okay?” he asks. “No you’re not! You know what you are?” He doesn’t give me a chance to answer. “You’re a moper! You’re moping!”
“I am not!” I say.
“Are too!”
“Am not!”
And this, my friends, is how low I’ve sunk.
Lance just looks at me. “Moper,” he says.
“If you reach for another damn roll and toss it at me, I’m going to arrest you.”
It’s not a threat. It’s a promise.
Two minutes later, he tosses another fucking roll at me! This one hits my ear.
“Dammit!” I shout.
And then I just sit there.
And mope.
* * *
I have hada long week at work. I’m helping people, yeah, and that’s super satisfying and also super depressing. Because there shouldn’t be this many people who need comfort and guidance after going through a traumatic experience. There shouldn’t be this much pain in the world, and yet there is. I do the best I can. I’m making a difference, I think, a little at a time. One person, one family at a time.
When I get home at night, all I want to do is cook up something, pour a drink, and knock on my hot neighbor’s door. I want to tell her about my week. Ask her what she’s up to. If she’s lining up another acting gig, or if she’s ditched her restaurant work and has started somewhere new.
Only she’s not my hot neighbor anymore. She’s still hot, of course. But she’s not my neighbor, and she’s certainly not mine.
Ain’t life grand, getting exactly the thing you wanted? This was what I asked for, isn’t it? The beautiful and rich life of a single guy.
I grab a beer. Sit down. Grab a book.
This silence is killing me.
I look at my cell phone to confirm the date.
Meg’s been gone for twenty days.
It feels like a year.
Why aren’t I fucking someone new? I should be.
I open my phone, scroll through the contents. There’s a dozen or so hookups I could call, but instead I just start deleting them. One by one.
I have another beer.
* * *
You know what?Now would be an excellent time to talk to Lance! I miss Lance! Lance is my friend! I could call Morris, but I’m not quite ready for that step of the healing process. Actually, I’m not quite ready for that because I had too many drinks and Morris doesn’t drink.
I am, however, plenty drunk enough to call Lance.
The icons on my phone shimmy a little when I look at them. I hit the video call icon. It rings.
