Protracted Bildungsroman

She turned me down.

I laid it all out there tonight. I rang her bell at 2am. Invited inside, I witnessed her friends snorting coke and fucking one another indiscriminately. Casual orgies polluted my peripheral vision, but I remained focused on her. She and I ignored the drug/fuck fiends.

She had more important issues on her mind. She was depressed. (She always is.) I praised her virtues, tried to give practical advice, or inspiration, or whatever qualifies for those categories. I tried to be good for her.

They all left.

She put on magnificent stockings and pranced around, working her Swedish ancestry for all it was worth. Great legs. We talked for hours. I know everything she won't tell anyone else. I know her better than anyone. Maybe we're too honest with one another. Entirely possible. So I told her the truth. She looked at me sideways.

I chased her before, a year ago. She said no. I should've stopped there.

After that, I wanted to give her the cold shoulder to protect myself, but every time she rang my bell, I opened my door.

Eventually she chased me back, half-heartedly. Things happened, but I was just an intermission. I got attached. She cut that off. I was naive, baffled. I sequestered myself.

One day, she showed up, ready, hands on. I was skeptical. Skittish. I said no. (I wouldn't accept her all drugged up and desperate and emotionally bare, no matter how much I wanted her) I wouldn't fuck her cheaply, even if it was her birthday.

Tonight was the last chance. We really connected. (in my pathetic mind) I'll be moving away at the end of the month. Time to put up or shut up. So I said it. All of it. She had this look on her face, like she'd just shit her pants. Not what I was hoping for. Turns out I'm just an also ran, no matter how much (I think) we connect.

Fuck.

Okay. Bye. I've always stood alone before, so it's no big departure now. I'm not gonna bleed. I know better than that.

I'll miss her. Maybe one day we'll cross paths again, but I hope not.

During the short walk home I saw Klieg* lights behind a neighbor's front yard fence. Two Colombia College students had a blue tarp covering the little front yard. Upon interrogation, I learned they were filming a student project, a short film about a frustrated granddaughter and her Alzheimer's stricken granddad. I exclaimed jealously, wishing I had a role in their early AM activity, but alas, I did not. I continued down the last twenty steps of the sidewalk until I reached home, alone, primed for one last whiskey.

Here I am, one man, a keyboard, and a penchant for confession.

I'm bewildered. I think I'll just never get it.

When I left, she looked heartbroken to see me walk away. I just don't understand anything.

<*Klieg is an exaggeration>