Situation Normal. Atmosphere Breathable. Brainstem Injected. Dialogue Engaged.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007

A Late Valentine

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I remember that cold winter day you walked up to me in the bookstore and asked what I was reading. When I saw you (your red hair, your green eyes, those freckles) smirking at me, it took me a moment to regain my composure and stutter out the title. (A Prayer For Owen Meany, by John Irving) Of course I bought it. I still have that copy. It’s one book I’ll never give away. Not now. Not after you.

When I think about those first few coffee dates, the two of us sparring verbally, (upon the merits and flaws of formal education, isolationist foreign policy, mixed drink recipes) I feel hollow now, knowing that there will be no more brilliant conversation.

The first time we made love, you were so happy that I went down on you first. You said most men couldn’t or wouldn’t at all. I remember laughing right into your babymaker when you screamed “GGGGREAT!” like a feminine Tony The Tiger. You clamped your thighs on my ears and told me to stop laughing and get back to work. (all the while laughing yourself)

Towards the end of that beautiful lust fucking, when you were exhausted, the only sounds you could make were breathy little moans. I loved those. After we came, we laid there together, our eyes locked, me listening to you taking those deep, slow breaths, reveling in the afterglow, you stroking my hair and giving me little kisses, making our noses bump together. (I knew I was falling for you then, just like that)

I lived for those moments.

Maybe it was too perfect. I remember walking the corridors of the mall with you, feeling like the king of the world, the luckiest man, knowing you felt like royalty, too, when I had my arm wrapped around your waist. You in your scarves and gloves and goofy leggings all the time… you were so bright, so vivid, so blindingly beautiful in your own loud garish way. Sometimes so beautiful it hurt. That was a good hurt. (today I know only the bad)

Even your parents liked me, despite my dim future prospects and haphazard ways with money. They trusted your judgement, without question, knowing that if you’d chosen me, I must be good. Like you. You were so damn good.

I loved you even more for your frailties. You were convinced that you were bloating out, getting fat, going mondo porkwhale on me. I never thought that. I even liked the little bit of chubbiness on your belly. (which was nowhere approaching fat, trust me) I knew you’d work it off when winter ended, (with your strange love for jogging) but you were so obsessive about dieting, so concerned about looking good for me. I loved you for that. I even ate tofu and salads with you for a month, just to humor you.

I would eat tofu for the rest of my life to have you back. Hell, I would eat nothing at all if that’s what it took.

There was that night the thermostat broke and we couldn’t turn the heat off. It made us loopy, delirious, maybe a little deranged. When we had sex on the couch and you started screaming about burning calories and fucking faster and harder, until finally you started reciting the food you’d eaten that day and shouting “burning it off, burning it all off, oh yeah, burn burn feel the BURN!” I started laughing. You always made me laugh during sex. You made everything more fun.

I wish I could go back in time and tell you to watch out for that patch of ice. I wish I could tell you to drive more slowly, more carefully. I wish I could just ask you to leave work five minutes earlier, or later, and maybe your car would never have ended up underneath that truck. (did I lose you to bad luck, for no reason at all, or is there such a thing as fate?)

Now I’m all alone. Again. Everything the way it was, empty and pointless. Now though, it’s somehow worse. What’s the saying? Oh yeah. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone. (that’s the one)

I never got to ask you. I was summoning up the courage, bracing my nerve, orchestrating the best possible moment and situation to spring the question. I wanted fairy tale perfection. (now I know I waited too long)

Now it’s just me and this ring. Now it’s just me and my tears.

I wish you could find a way back to me. I need you so, so much right now.

3:04 PM - Bottle Rocket Fire Alarm


February 06, 2007 10:41 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

what the fuck is this schiza?

February 07, 2007 12:14 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...


February 07, 2007 11:05 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

love hurts

February 11, 2007 4:29 AM, Blogger Bobby said...

Damn man.

February 12, 2007 1:57 PM, Blogger Windjammer said...

If any of this story is even remotely real, I honestly feel for you. If not, then you are a master of the written word, and it opened up emotions in me that I have kept bottled up from my own girlfriend's passing years ago.

If I'd have just taken her to the ER, if I hadn't asked her to live with me, if I wasn't going to ask her to marry me...

If I'd have known more about the effects of smoking and diet pills and blod clots forming...

Who the fuck dies of a heart attack at 25 anyway? Shit like that has made me crazy the last nine years.

February 15, 2007 9:15 PM, Blogger karen gsteiger said...

This entry has been haunting me since yesterday.

February 16, 2007 7:24 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

well boyo, it's agreed now that your fiction is much better then your nonfiction. now write the fucking story i told you to, and stop being a stupid fucking cunt. it's hard i know. just do it. i'll be in chicago next week. so have it done by then, or you will pay in kicks to your underdeveloped groinal region.

February 16, 2007 7:26 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

oh yeah, gilo, can i pee in your mouth on camera? i'll buy you pizza and beer after. deal? maybe i'll even get you high. who knows?

February 19, 2007 6:36 PM, Blogger EcamirG said...

fewer vaginas in your stories. i think that that's the answer in a nutshell.

February 21, 2007 12:09 PM, Blogger Mishka said...

Wow, that was quite the different story from what I am used to reading are so talented. Great stuff as always.

May 20, 2007 11:51 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

You are fucking weird, man. I liked the story though. "I serve idiots" blog sent me this way and it was worth it. Blogs like yours make me feel like my life is so much better now.

Just don't kill yourself before I get my fill of entertainment from your writing.

May 20, 2007 7:21 PM, Anonymous Rebecca said...


this entry has a feel similar to the movie eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.


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