Did I Say THAT?—Elaine Bonow

Did I Say THAT?
“Damnit, I hate moving. I just moved and now I gotta move again.” The cat paid me no attention what so ever. In fact, he kept preening his left paw, eyes half closed, licking and gnawing at some invisible snarl or imaginary bug hiding in the black fur.
To add to my misery it had started raining bad, not hard but steady and cold. “Damnit, I hate the rain. I hate the dark. What the fuck am I doing? This is all just so stupid.”
Mr. Bacchus stretched and re-curled on the couch. Tears streamed down my face again. I walked over to Mr. Bacchus and plopped down next to him. He startled. I grabbed him as he was arching to leap away from my needy hands.
“He didn’t resist but started purring and kneading my jeans. “Oh Mr. Bacchus, I really think things would have gotten this bad so fast.” Bacchus jumped off my lap preferring the warmth of the non-emotional chair leaving me to my own sad self.
Sinking into the cushions, I would soon be leaving behind, set me into a reverie. So what if he was so much older than me. I’m a college graduate for Christ’s sake. Not only that but I have been accepted to grad school. But that thought was no conciliation because school starts next week and the thought of moving back in with my brother is truly depressing. He’s such a dweeb.
I like it here up in this magnificent apartment. When Peter moved me in here I thought I had landed in heaven. I mean, my very own penthouse downtown. He was so thoughtful and generous. It really impressed my friends who thought I was crazy, who, I know talked about me behind my back and thought I was a kept woman.
“Are you kidding me?” Rach, that’s Rachel Davis, my former roommate said. “Peter must be fifty or older. He’s ancient and I have heard a lot of stories about him around campus. Just because he is Dean of the Psychology Department and one of the richest dudes in the city doesn’t give him dibs on young girls.”
“I know. Isn’t it so very exciting? He is so mature and awesome. He is polite and gentle. You know, old-fashioned. Plus he takes me out to the best places and buys me expensive clothes. He is so different from all the boys we know, yes, you are right, older and very debonair.”
“Yeah, old is right. He wears his jeans with a belt for Christ’s sake.”
“Well, at least he doesn’t look like a hip-hop wanna-be gangster like your Brian with his white boy pants belted around his thighs.”
We cracked up laughing and this memory made me smile a bit in the midst of my misery. I should have slowed my roll and played my infatuation with Peter a little less, a bit more close to my chest. But I thought if he wanted me I should throw myself after him especially after he took me to Paris for my graduation.
I mean, we stayed at the freaking George the Fifth. He bought me clothes and just like in that Bridget Fonda movie, he bought me a Kelley Bag. I had to text Rach, “girl can you believe this. Peter just bought me a Kelley Bag, a red Kelley Bag. OMG. I am in heaven.”
So of course, I moved right into the apartment when he asked me. How could I not? That bag cost a small fortune and that didn’t even include the clothes, the food, and the champagne. Sure I kinda felt like a whore, not really a cheap whore but a young, sexy whore. But what’s a girl to do. Rach told me I was just plain stupid that I’ll pay for this with a broken heart and a tarnished reputation.
“ You know Patty, you’re gonna get tired of sex with an old man, all that old grey body hair and flabby old balls slapping you in the face. Ugh. The thought of that makes me gag.”
Sure, I thought about that actually. I thought about that every time I had sex with him, especially lately. He had started using Viagra after the trip and the Viagra sex was weird. I mean he kept going and going. I had to lick and suck and squeeze him so hard. Then he discovered mixing Ecstasy and Viagra for these marathon sex-ssions and BOOM he became insatiable. I had to use sugar free candies to keep my mouth from drying out.
The memory of all that sex made me even sadder. “Oh Peter. We were having such a great time. I still can’t figure out what the hell happened.” Of course I was just talking again to the cat. “Bacchus I’m really going to miss you too. I thought I’d be here forever and he’s even taking you away from me too.” Bacchus didn’t even move.
Thinking about this made me wonder just what made our relationship go so wrong so fast. I mulled over what had been said over the past few weeks. He just sent a very terse angry text telling me that it was over and I had one week to move out and that I should never ever under no circumstances contact him again and to leave the Kelley at the apartment.
I tried to call, email, chat and Facebook but he just wouldn’t respond. I texted Rach. ‘Hey girl. I’m all packed.”
She texted back, “Good I’m glad this phase of your life is over. You’ve changed so much being with him.”
“I know you are right, as usual. I just don’t know what happened. It was all so sudden and weird.”
“What did you say to him anyway?”
“I didn’t say anything. He’s been in Germany for the past two weeks.”
“Well, you must have done something or said something.”
“When he is away we just text. I never actually talk to him. He says he is too busy to talk so we just text.”
“Sounds like he must have another girl stashed over there and doesn’t want her to find out about you.”
“Oh shit, don’t make me feel worse.”
“Well, reality hurts sometimes. Have you looked at your texts? Maybe it’s something you said and he didn’t understand.”
“Damn I never thought about that. Thanks Rach. Best Friends Forever, right?”
I never erase anything and I send text messages all of the time, everyday. I pressed the green and white icon for messages on my IPhone. All my friends and family were listed in order of who I last talked to. There was Rach, my mother Janie, my father RL short for Ralph Lee, my brother Earl. Since the breakup I really needed to talk to my friends and family.
Hah, there he was, a few pages back, listed by my pet name for him, Papa Bear. I opened up the messages and there was the last or I should say final message from him and my twenty plus begging messages: I’m sorry, what have I done, you know I love you, how could you be so cruel and on and on.
I scrolled back to the last text I sent before disaster struck. OMG. I can’t believe what I am reading. I thought my auto correct was turned off. No wonder he is so mad at me. What I meant to say was….

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About bbcstudiowrites

This blog is me archiving the BBC Studio Writers Workshop.

Posted on October 8, 2013, in Fiction, Seattle, Short Stories and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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