The band had just finished playing when she walked into the back room of the bar, dressed like somebody’s senile grandmother: shapeless crocheted shawl, ill-fitting navy pedal pushers and gold lamé shoes. An angular girl, she was all jutting collar bones, elbows, and jaw. In the half dozen times I’d seen her, I hadn’t been able to decide if I thought she was attractive or just unusual looking. What she was, was young. Barely twenty-two.
But that’s not exactly where the story starts. I should back up.
Dinner had been my idea. I chose the restaurant (a quaint, charming little French place on Hudson), tweaked my budget to allow for quaint and charming, and made reservations for that Saturday night. We had plans to stop by a birthday party that evening anyway, and I thought dinner would be a good time to actually talk – not just run through our days in the instant messenger short-speak we’d become accustomed to.
“Are you asking me out on a date?” he’d joked, when I suggested dinner, my treat.
“We’ll see,” I’d said. He’d been distant for a while; I wanted him to know I’d noticed.
I was fastening the clasp on my earring when an IM window popped up. I shouldn’t call him, it said. Just take a cab to his place and we’d go to dinner from there. He lost his phone.
“I’m so sorry about your phone.” We were heading downtown in a cab, the rain soaked west side whizzing by outside. “Didn’t you only get it last week?”
“Yeah, but, uh, you know, I probably just left it at my brother’s place when I was helping him move.”
“Do you want to call him and ask?” I dug my phone of my purse and offered it to him.
“No. I’ll just go over and get itâ€_ later.”
After dinner, he kissed me goodbye and slipped me some money for the cab. Sunday was an early morning race, band practice and then a show at Pete’s Candy Store. And since he’d be out of touch all day, he’d meet me in Brooklyn.
And now we’re back where we began.
The band had just finished playing when she walked into the back room of the bar, dressed like somebody’s senile grandmother. She made a beeline for him as he left the stage, and by the time she crossed the room, she already had it thrust out in front of her.
“Here!” she chirped. “You left this!”
As I watched him take his phone from her, I felt the blood leave my face. Almost instantly, a hand clamped down on my wrist. Let’s go. Right now, my girlfriend said. Good idea, the other agreed. Let’s get out of here. But I was hot. In seconds I was on my feet and headed for the door.
He’d already made his way out to the sidewalk and stood waiting, one hand in his jacket pocket, shoulders shrugged. He looked embarrassed.
“What was that? You left this! What happened to losing your phone?”
“I’m sorry.”
“What exactly are you sorry for?”
“I’m sorry for being dishonest.”
“Holy hell! Did you just talk to me like I’mâ€_ your mother?”
It wasn’t what I thought, he said. He had gone over there to end things. To tell her it was over. Over? When was it on? I felt like I’d been punched in the face.
“And your phone fell out of your pocket and onto her nightstand? Jesus!”
That’s when he tried to hug me. But I wanted anything other than to smell his sweater pressing into my cheek or hear him ooze more lies. With my arms tight against my sides, and the words, Do not touch me, stuck boiling on my tongue, I pushed back and threw my forehead into his chest. It landed with a crack.
He stepped back, stunned. And I spun on my heels and stalked off toward the subway.
But that’s not exactly where the story ends, either.
(Fall, 2004)
Oh, I’m so sorry for this. I can feel your pain in our words. Remember your self-worth and move on when you can.
That was such a typical “guy” move on his part, and boo on him. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone head-butting someone else in real life except for soccer players!
I have a great T-shirt by David and Goliath that was bought in Hawaii that is perfect for situations like this one “Boys are stupid, throw coconuts at them”
I like the headbutt move. It has a little more panache than slapping him in the face or kneeing him in the balls.
It might have been I little more fun to aim for his NOSE though.
Here’s my ‘middle-of-the-story’….we went camping for my birthday. Best friend and him ended up getting drunk and kissed….I spit, YES spit, on them. Summer of 1999.
Stop reminding me I have a heart.
Beautifully written and, I’m guessing, far enough in the past to have dimmed the hurt. Thanks Fish.
Oh my gosh! I hate him for doing this… I love you for writing about it! What happened next?!?!
I think I will enjoy hearing your stories all the more now that I know you head-butted some jerk-Fabulous!
headbutt for the butthead
Nice story! I kicked a man (Spring ’00) and it was painful (for the both of us), but necessary. I imagine a well executed head-butt would have been more effective. I’m adding it to my arsenal.
Wow! wow! it’s amazing the kind of BS that can come out of a guy’s mouth. Good for you for kicking his ass! Have had a similar problem that involved cellphones. And somehow, if you notice, problems like him leaving his cellphone in another girl’s place didn’t exist some ten years ago – when cellphone hadn’t existed. Cellphone existence has changed the old rules of cheating – in the time when girls couldn’t keep track of the whereabouts of their boyfriends. We girls would think that it’s the means of communication, but to some jerks it’s the means for cheating – if you know what i mean.
Wagner is such a dick.
Your story made me tear up, and if I wasn’t at work could have cried. I feel your pain, as I’m sure alot of us do. Unfortunately.
I got that “I’m going to be sick and and the floor has just fallen out from under me” feeling when reading this — an all too familiar situation
good show on the head butt
Gasp! I’m waiting breathlessly……
You cracked his breastbone. Awesome.
How totally Zidane of you. I’m impressed. (Actually, I suppose I should say that Zidane went Fish on the other guy, being that it was your move first. Good on ya!)
You Rock! Head butting! I love that you stood up and said Hell no!
I know that it hurt. Unfortunatley a lot of us have had similar things happen. I wish that I had done what you had done.
Thanks for being brave.
Musicians! Never again. Except for Jon Bon Jovi. But only for one night, that’s all.
Maybe two.
And with this story we see your evolution from the Miss Piggy chop of 2002. All joking aside, very well written. If I’m ever in Brooklyn. I’ll have to watch out for you.
I look forward to reading the rest…
You’re so bada**! LOVE IT!
I loved the set up too, where you were careful to include the “uh” in his excuse for “losing” his phone.
i feel sorry for you. u wrote the thing beautifully….u r such a genius.
Estimada Pez,
I am so glad that you shared that story! I had been waiting to hear it.
is that J?
Simply awesome…waitng for more
“Tee-hee, domestic abuse! Girl Power!”
I have a question. Was sir hal yours originally? When did you give him to Ari?
What? Sir Hal is, quite currently, mine. Hes sleeping on my feet as we, err, I type. Ari Hal-sits when I’m away, if that’s what you mean…
Ohh… my confusion! Sorry!
Sounds like a musician or bartender. I hope like hell he’s not 35 or so. Then, that’s a dirty ole man in training. Karma, my dear, will bite them in the ass.
I don’t get men past 30 juggling women. By then, you’d think they’re secure or man enough to know what they want and go for it. Usually, when they’re in “anything goes” mode, they go for anything but especially women who don’t think much of themselves. That way they’ve got the power. They equate their self-worth with how many bees they can attract than the quality of those alliances. That you would be so upset says that you really thought about being in the relationship. Nothing wrong with caring. Better to emotional than numb by the blogging musician narcissist. I love the fact that he whines about our world being me-obsessed and then he has photos of himself all over his site talking about how important he is. Yuck. You won by getting out. Be happy!
You. Rock.
You are so cool! Good on you for taking that emotion and making him feel it through physical, women 1, men nil!
xxx
i’d probably have kicked him in the beets…but that’s just me
Mine texted me from a friend’s phone to tell me he’d left his cell on my bathroom counter. I hadn’t seen him in three days. He’s someone else’s problem now.
I am not sure what is worse, in this amazingly diverse world we live in. One that countless woman go down this road or that nice guys find it hard to meet woman to get upset about thee kinds of things.
The truth, a nice guy will go to be on time 4 out 7 days a week as he values his sleep and the routine of early morning exercise. One would have to put the desire to meet new woman first inorder to achieve that ideal of “love”, the world seems to say so at times.
The next thing for me would be if that article was about the life of the author of this blog i would be curious to know if her life can can ever be simple, without fuss. In pain her creative genius shines, who or what would she be in love ?
Does love silence others ?
The only thing in the world that ever made me stop thinking was a woman, when just being next to someone made me happy.
Sadness was felt when my thinking stoped, but that i laughed at.
To aim for his nose? Kick him in the “beets”? Come on. Do you girls really think anyone has a right to break someone’s nose or injure them over adultery? What if the sexes were reversed? Domestic violence is WRONG, people.
OK – I used to read this blog a long time ago and had stopped for awhile, BUT I came back on today and have been randomly clicking around the months and various postings.
This one made me spit coffee out of my mouth at work because I started laughing so bad. I just recently moved to New York and have dated several men where a head butt would have been entirely appropriate.