Wednesday: Writing

I believe that in addition to being Countdown Day or whatever (It was actually only a second), today might also be the one year anniversary of the "fight" which commenced the break up of Yours Truly and the Love Of Her Life (I only know this because I stumbled upon the entry in my Livejournal recently). We lived together until our lease was up, and, a year later, I still don't really understand what happened, just that it was really over, and I'm still searching for some sort of closure, progress, and enlightenment.

It's good that I can and like to write, so I can work this stuff out in strange simple inventions.

Enjoy.

One day my best friend and me got really high, drank one beer each, and then took the bus from Hollywood to Venice Beach. It was a lot of time to talk.

"Oh my god," she said to me, "I heard the craziest thing."

Baited, I said, "What!"

"So you know that friend of mine? The one who's been with her boyfriend for like, five years? Well, they broke up, and guess what, the boyfriend turned into her vagina."

I tried to imagine this. "Did it have his face or something?"

"No, I think, it was like, the vagina looked normal, but it could talk to her in her head, and it was her ex's voice."

"Oh mannn."

"Anyway

...when they had been together, they had been very much in young impetuous, naive, and optimistic love, and they burned right through it. They smoked a lot of cigarettes and they smoked a lot of pot and they had a lot of sex. They were together through college and one time, when he spent three months away in Europe, she cried to hold him in her arms again at the airport. They went home and made the closest thing to love that they could understand.

But the love died, or it changed, or it simply went away, and neither had the wisdom to cope. Then the day came when he put all his things into boxes piled in his car, and drove away. That night she laid on her back in bed, numb, and she absently reached into her underwear.

"Hey!" she heard, "Hey what's going on!"

The ex-girlfriend started.

"This is your...this is your...oh my goddd...."

"Wait, are you my...?"

"VAGINA."

"Well, that's weird," she observed.

"Look, this is going to be difficult for the both of us."

"God, I miss you already."

"But I'm right here!"

"But I need my space."

"I do too. If you respect mine I'll respect yours."

They did their best to obey their mutual rule, but the ex-girlfriend often cried and begged that they get back together, and the ex-boyfriend would fall silent, almost lifeless, and the ex-girlfriend felt as if her body were very far away.

But sometimes the ex-boyfriend would help her masturbate, plucking on nerve endings as if she were a harp, and she'd sing like a well-tuned violin. He would see the memories floating in her head and fish them out, sweetly describing the moments of sexual ecstasy. They did that together even though it always ended up hurting.

Other times he'd subconsciously creep into her skin, standing her hairs on end as her very flesh recalled the feeling of his body. She could almost smell his hair, which had always smelled wonderful. She could even imagine his weight in her arms. And then the ex-boyfriend would wake from his sleepwalking and everything would knot up in her stomach.

The real problem arose when the ex-girlfriend started dating. As her ex-boyfriend was residing in her vagina, she encountered the expected problems. He was jealous, he was hurt, he was desperate, he was angry, and he was totally and utterly and cruelly dismissive.

One time the girl met someone she liked.

"I like this guy, so please, respect my space."

"Does he make you happy?"

"As happy as I can be right now."

The ex-boyfriend promised, but when the ex-girlfriend and her new partner started to remove their clothes from each other, the ex-boyfriend accidentally let loose a sob. He whispered, "I used to touch you like that...."

It was so quiet that the ex-girlfriend mistook it for her own thought. Her partner asked, "Is everything all right?"

The ex-girlfriend took a gulp from the glass of whiskey on the bedside table. "Yeah."

They kissed against the headboard, and the ex-girlfriend's partner put a hand on her breast and began twisting her nipple as if he were searching for a radio station.

The ex-boyfriend rolled his eyes. The ex-girlfriend said, "Oh, you don't have to do that." She hoped that his lack of skill in one form of foreplay was compensated in another.

They wrestled in the sheets for a while, and the ex-boyfriend was jealous to feel the ex-girlfriend's response. But he held his tongue.

Finally her partner put his penis inside her vagina, and the ex-boyfriend made such a gagging sound that the ex-girlfriend froze and said, "I'm sorry, but I just can't do this."

He complied, and they repeatedly apologized to each other, the whole time looking only at their clothes as they reassembled their modesty. She sent him out the door and it was like ripping a Band-aid off - initially lingering, languishing, and then one swift hair-pulling yank.

"I can't have sex with you!" the ex-girlfriend said.

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to. He just felt all wrong."

She sighed. "Maybe. It's so hard. You always felt so right."

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"I know. It's okay."

....so that's what I heard. Isn't that the craziest thing ever?" My best friend's eyes were wide.

I whistled and leaned back, putting my arms behind my head. "Sure is."

"Hey, is this our stop?"

I looked out the window. "Yup, this is the one." She pulled the cable and it rang. The bus lurched to a stop at the corner. We climbed off.

"Let's go find a place to smoke."

"And then let's get vegan desserts."

"Hells yeah," I said.

Writing July 8 2009