my side

This morning my credit card is still at the bar. I stayed too late last night with three friends and at least that many pitchers of microbrew. I drank enough to completely forget the tab…on a Tuesday! Amnesia Brewing is hands-down my go-to place for beers, especially on a warm night. They've got picnic tables outside and a charcoal grill that makes the whole place smell like summer, even when it's not. The ketchup bottles, some turned upside-down, and portly mustard jars are set out by the grill on a plastic table cloth in a "come and get it" style that makes me feel at home. It’s the only bar I am totally comfortable going to alone. But, last night I was with friends. We were two girls, two guys; all good conversationalists. It felt like playing well-matched doubles. Because we're all single, we naturally talked about relationships. One of us has been on a serious quest for love--online, in bars, at the dog park; the other was still mending from a Christmas Eve break-up; and the third was contemplating the Peacecorps, perhaps (among other reasons) to avoid the whole coupling thing, altogether. And me, well, I was proudly proclaiming that I had just last week started sleeping in the middle of the bed. It's a few inches, but a big move for me. "Yeah," someone said, "I have a hard time with that just 'cause there's two pillows. So, I just use one. Then, I'm on my side." "Oh," I replied too quickly. "Well, I keep one pillow under my head and I snuggle the other one." Someone scoffed and I could feel the comments that were about to follow. I cut them off. "You know, I wrap my arms around one. Like an L-shape. I make a nest. I've done it since I was a kid" Shit, I had already told too much, yet I kept throwing out details about my sleeping postures--gasoline on the fire. "It's nice!" was my last brick on the bulwark. Then I shut up and let them attack. "No way. I'd never do that," someone said. "It's too pathetic. It would make me feel even more lonely." I took the crass pillow-humping jokes and ridicule and the conversation moved on, so did the night, until it was just me and one of the guys finishing off the last pints. He's not really a close friend, but he's comfortable, like the bar. I like him--almost enough to let him replace the other pillow; not to have sex, just to have somebody there. And last night, after all that IPA, I almost did. He lived near the bar, I shouldn't be driving--the circumstances easily let me follow him home. We sat in the front room of his old house. Since he's working on the bedrooms and he lives there alone, everything's been moved downstairs--desk and easy chair in the living room and a bed where a dining table would be. He made me a cup of tea and we kept the conversation up to avoid silent moments that might make either of us think too much. (However, thinking too much is clearly something I do effortlessly.) I could see his bed and the simple sight of it introduced options, like maybe I didn't have to go home to a half-empty bed. In those moments I really can't tell what makes me choose.

I left just before 1:00 a.m. I didn’t get closer to him than to hug goodbye, but in those moments I felt opportunities hanging over us like ghosts. And I left feeling spooked.

This morning my eyeballs were dry and my stomach heavy as I drove to work. I was trying to judge my choice--wondering if I’d done the “right” thing, worrying that I’d cracked a door when I didn’t want any open, feeling confused at how divided I can be even when I'm completely alone in my decisions. And why does it have to be such a big fucking deal? I'm not surprised that I can simultaneous long for some connection and stand stiffly protective of myself. In every situation you can do something or not do it, but somehow in that binary simplicity I see webs and branches growing in all directions. And there I am, in the middle and not sure what to hang onto. Yeah, maybe it’s inches, but it’s big to me. I think last night I realized that for now I need to just stay where I am—on my side.