The Crooked Treehouse
  • Tips From The Bar
  • Honest Conversation Is Overrated
  • Popcorn Culture
  • Comically Obsessed
  • Justify Your Bookshelves
  • Storefront

Honest Conversation Is Overrated

Actual Human Interactions Witnessed Or Overheard
In  Twentieth  And  Twenty-First  Century  America

Perspectives (Part 4: Majoring in Drama)

3/5/2010

1 Comment

 
#1 asks:despite the fact that he frustrates, I think that I've fallen for him  what defines "fallen" in your opinion?3:23 AM I'm looking for real responses here  not something contrived

When it comes to gravity, I'm stupid.  I don't know how or why it works.  I've heard things about the moon, and Newton's apple.  I've even fallen down stairs just to see if I could hit my head just right enough to figure it all out.  But I still don't know anything about gravity, other than, it works.

And, of course, I'm going to liken falling in love to gravity.  It's an easy analogy.  Both can be explained with graphs and equations.  Neither make any damned sense to most people.  Still, devotees of science and romance claim that they understand them.  Both get you through most of your life, while occasionally knocking you on your ass.  Both are bitches.

I've never really thought of either one of them having definitions.  Gravity is serious.  It's something that binds you.  Falling is an accident that results in gravity.

Here's something I've never been completely honest about.  Sora.

I was turning twenty-nine.  I'd been in stupid with Ben for months, and knew that if I didn't get in a relationship soon, I wasn't going to get over him, the way I never really got over Ryan (and I  don't mean I was going to kill him, though that thought certainly crossed my mind on a near-daily basis).  So all I wanted for my twenty-ninth birthday was to fall in love with someone else.

So when I was asked to do a poetry reading on my birthday, I said sure.  Why not?  Ben was out of town.  Celeste had plans.  And I tried not to make big deals out of birthdays, so I invited a few friends to my show in Rhode Island, printed up some books, and grabbed the commuter rail to Providence.  There, I met up with my friend Cheerio and blah blah, the show happened.  And the show went long.  Very long.  I'd planned a half hour set, including a reading of my first ever "chapbook", a hand scrawled journal I'd written when I was six.  Complete with stick figure drawings, and a count of how many Cherry Cokes I'd had to drink (it's a life long vice).  When I realized I'd been going for forty-five minutes, I asked how much longer I had, and the host told me to keep going.  SO I went.  And, at one hour, I stopped.  And the host asked me to do one more piece.  So I decided to do my hallucinating while waiting tables poem, which involves me wandering around the venue.  And, while wandering, I circled around a pole that had been obstructing my view of a certain section of the audience all night.  And on the other side of that pole was Sora.  He was staring at me.  Like, in a creepy way. 
STARING. 

At the end of the night, I was selling books, and talking with Cheerio and Zouzou (no relation to Zuzu, they just have the same phonetic name), when Sora approached me.

"HI!"

"Hi."

"This was my first ever poetry reading.  My friends told me it would be something I would really like, but I didn't think it would be for me, but I thought you were really really good, and I wanted to buy your books and see if maybe you had another show coming up somewhere that I could go to and see you again."  And then he just smiled.

"Uhhh.  Thanks.  Well, I don't have any other show shows for a month or so, but there's a big slam in Boston next Wednesday to decide who will represent Boston at the National Poetry Slam.  I'll be in it.  And, no matter who wins, it should be a really good show."

"Cool."  Stare.  Smile.  "Here's my Myspace profile, could you send me the info?  I'd really like to be there."  Stare.  Smile.

"Sure."

Stare.  Smile.  Walk away.

"Wow." Zouzou said.

"Yea."  I said.  "He was a little intense."

"A little intense?"  Cheerio said?  "He wants your dick.  Often."

And because I am completely oblivious, I said "No.  He's just really really into poetry, I guess."

Zouzou laughed.  "Hon, no.  That intense little drama student is completely besmitten with you."

I shrugged.  "I don't know if I could date someone who was majoring in Drama."

"I think you're a little old for college students, anyway,"  Said Cheerio, who had just cursed me more than either of us could ever possibly know.

My new friend Mike offered to drive me back to Ben's apartment (I was catsitting Rufus while Ben was in Virginia), and on the way we discussed "the intense drama student", whose name I didn't have, but whose myspace profile, I did.  While we were talking, I turned my cell on, and noticed I had a message.

"Hey, Adam, it's Ben.  I'm still in Virginia.  Anyway, I saw this totally awesome pair of shoes down here that would be completely perfect for you.  And I know it's your birthday, and all.  Happy birthday, by the way.  And I was thinking about getting them for you, but they were really expensive, and I didn't know if I could afford them, or if you could afford them, so I decided not to get them, but I wanted to let you know that I was thinking of you.  Happy Birthday."

And that's why I needed to not be in love with Ben.  A really good friend would have bought me the damned shoes.  A moderately good friend would have called, regretted that they couldn't really afford the shoes, but would have bought them, and asked to be reimbursed.  A really good friend who was completely broke would have never mentioned the shoes at all, and just called to say Happy Birthday.  Ben was none of those things.  But I had been in love with him.  I didn't really like him very much, but I was in love with him.

It turned out that the message was very old, because Ben was already at home in Allston, when Mike and I arrived.  And we drank a little.  Shit was shot.  Ben sprawled out on his bed, and craned his neck in a way that someone had told him accentuated his jawline.  And I packed up my stuff, said goodbye, and Mike prepared to drive me back to the apartment I shared with Celeste and Sir Trick.  And it would have been a long night, sure.  It was a bit past midnight, but I could get in bed by say, twosih, on this now early morning after my birthday, except...except...except Mike's car was not at all where he parked it a scant half hour ago.  But right above where he had parked it was the number of a tow truck company.  A number Mike dialed while scowling at his phone.

Now I could tell you that while he dialed, and spoke, I was thinking only of that strange intense little drama student.  That my thoughts were pure or dirty or whatever.  But I wasn't thinking of the (I still think) hot guy who'd given me his myspace profile because he wanted to come up to Boston and have me do him.  I was thinking of Ben, who had been very direct about how he didn't find me attractive, how he didn't love me in any way.  I was thinking of him sprawled out on his bed with his head cocked at a funny angle.  How he had called to let me know that I wasn't important enough a part of his life for him to get me a birthday present.  How much I loved him, and his stupid goddamned chin.
1 Comment
Zuzu
4/14/2010 07:18:52 am

I am lmfao at ZouZou. And you captured her voice brilliantly.

Reply



Leave a Reply.

    Categories

    All
    Asterisk
    Awkward Non Sexual Situations
    Awkward Sex Situations
    Beckee
    Being Gay
    Being Insafemode
    Ben
    Big Honken Liars
    Brookline And Qughincy
    Celeste
    Clarissa
    Comics
    Communication Problems
    Comrade
    Dad
    Dallas
    David
    Deaf Culture
    Dmitri
    Drugs
    Ducks
    Dude
    Elvis
    Emily
    Fledge
    Fortune Cookies
    Fucken Love
    Gay Sex
    Gender
    Hahvahd
    Hampshire Damn College
    Health Problems
    Holidays
    Horrible Pizza Place
    Im A Drunk
    Internet Dating
    Jackie
    Jbob
    Jennifer
    Jeremy
    Jim
    Kevin
    Kimberly Hyphen Surname
    Kimberly Hyphen-Surname
    Landlords
    Literature
    Mr Hpl
    My Family
    My Father
    My Mother
    Odd Jobs
    Online Dating
    Opening A Bottle Rocket With Your Teeth
    Pets
    Poetry
    Police
    Politics
    Quarantine Time
    Rainbortion
    Random Inanity
    Retail
    Roommates
    Ryan
    Saint
    School
    Scotts
    Sir Trick
    Slam
    Slow Flashes
    Sora
    Steggy
    Theatre
    The British Invasion
    The End Of The World
    The Loop
    The Numbers
    Theo
    The Slut Across The Street
    Tommy
    Trick
    Unharry
    Vegas
    Victor
    Wiz
    Zuzu


    Archives

    October 2022
    September 2022
    August 2022
    July 2022
    June 2022
    May 2022
    April 2022
    February 2022
    December 2021
    November 2021
    October 2021
    September 2021
    August 2021
    July 2021
    June 2021
    May 2021
    April 2021
    March 2021
    February 2021
    January 2021
    December 2020
    November 2020
    October 2020
    September 2020
    August 2020
    July 2020
    June 2020
    May 2020
    April 2020
    March 2020
    February 2020
    January 2020
    December 2019
    November 2019
    October 2019
    September 2019
    August 2019
    July 2019
    June 2019
    May 2019
    April 2019
    March 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018
    November 2018
    October 2018
    September 2018
    August 2018
    July 2018
    June 2018
    April 2018
    March 2018
    February 2018
    January 2018
    December 2017
    November 2017
    October 2017
    September 2017
    August 2017
    July 2017
    June 2017
    May 2017
    April 2017
    March 2017
    February 2017
    January 2017
    December 2016
    November 2016
    October 2016
    September 2016
    August 2016
    July 2016
    June 2016
    May 2016
    April 2016
    March 2016
    February 2016
    January 2016
    December 2015
    November 2015
    October 2015
    September 2015
    August 2015
    July 2015
    June 2015
    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015
    January 2015
    December 2014
    November 2014
    October 2014
    September 2014
    August 2014
    July 2014
    March 2014
    February 2014
    January 2014
    November 2013
    October 2013
    September 2013
    August 2013
    July 2013
    May 2013
    April 2013
    March 2013
    February 2013
    January 2013
    December 2012
    November 2012
    October 2012
    September 2012
    August 2012
    July 2012
    June 2012
    May 2012
    April 2012
    March 2012
    February 2012
    January 2012
    December 2011
    November 2011
    October 2011
    September 2011
    July 2011
    June 2011
    February 2011
    September 2010
    August 2010
    July 2010
    June 2010
    April 2010
    March 2010
    February 2010
    January 2010
    December 2009
    September 2009
    January 2009
    December 2008
    November 2008
    October 2008
    September 2008
    August 2008
    July 2008
    June 2008
    May 2008
    April 2008
    March 2008
    February 2008
    January 2008
    December 2007
    November 2007
    October 2007
    September 2007
    August 2007
    July 2007
    June 2007
    May 2007
    April 2007
    March 2007
    February 2007
    January 2007
    July 2006
    May 2006
    December 2005
    November 2005
    October 2005
    September 2005
    August 2005
    July 2005
    June 2005
    May 2005
    April 2005
    March 2005
    February 2005
    January 2005
    December 2004
    November 2004
    October 2004
    July 2004
    June 2004
    April 2004
    March 2004
    February 2004
    January 2004
    December 2003
    November 2003
    September 2003
    August 2003
    July 2003
    June 2003
    May 2003
    April 2003
    March 2003
    July 2002
    June 2002
    April 2002
    January 2002
    September 2001
    July 2001
    March 2001
    February 2001
    October 2000
    September 1999
    June 1999
    December 1998
    October 1998
    September 1998
    August 1998
    July 1998
    June 1998
    January 1998
    December 1997
    August 1997
    June 1996
    February 1996
    November 1995
    August 1995
    May 1994
    January 1994
    December 1993
    June 1993
    January 1993
    December 1992
    November 1991
    April 1991
    July 1990
    May 1990
    April 1990
    January 1990

    RSS Feed

      Need To Get In Touch With Me?

    Submit
All work on the Crooked Treehouse is ©Adam Stone, except where indicated, and may not be reproduced without his permission. If you enjoy it, please consider giving to my Patreon account.
  • Tips From The Bar
  • Honest Conversation Is Overrated
  • Popcorn Culture
  • Comically Obsessed
  • Justify Your Bookshelves
  • Storefront