Out of Print

ghosta nova 👻🎸

Dave sat down next to me, It was the closest someone I knew well had been to me in a while; his sleeve brushing against my bare arm when he picked up his drink.

“How are you?” he asked, and I resisted the impulse to scoff. I smiled, and tried to think of something to say. He took a sip.

“Are you going to sit there and not talk to me?” I looked over at him and his eyes met mine, They were empty, as if he didn’t know me, or worse, that he did. The tension made me nervous, and I felt like crying, but knew that if I did that would only upset him more. I coughed, to give myself another moment to think.

“I’m fine.”

It was the first thing that came to mind. I’d probably heard someone say it once before. 

There was another pause, and I asked, “how are you?”

He took another sip, nodded and smiled at me. He said nothing, just looked at me, nodded, and smiled. I didn’t know if it was meant to be an answer, or why he would be insistent on a response from me when he also had nothing to say.

I wanted to go home. I thought about just telling him that and walking away, but then thinking of home reminded me of when he was my home. When I would walk out of a bar saying I was going home when I really meant I was going to Dave. I felt a lump form in my throat, realizing how much I missed that, and when I looked back at him he was just looking at me with those same empty eyes. I wished he couldn’t see me at all.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” He was making eye contact with me as he said it, but it still sounded so distant, like I was eavesdropping. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

He sighed, “for everything.”

“Oh”

“Oh?”

“Well,” foolishly saying the first thing that came to mind. “You already said that on my birthday card.” His eyes changed, it was anger. He turned in his chair and leaned toward me.

“I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry for what I did to you. I’m telling you I know what I did was wrong and that it hurt you. I should have done things differently. I would do things differently. I want to apologize.

What is it? You still won’t let it go, will you? You still can’t move on, can you?”

The more upset I watched him become as I sat there silently, the more I remembered the man I went home to. I remembered our fights, I remembered the bruise he had left on my arm the night he grabbed me, and shook me, and told me I was just a jealous bitch. I remembered his anger when he told me I was crazy, paranoid, and toxic. His certainty when he told me I was lying about my pregnancy. His eyes bright and focused, and in those moments truly looking at me as the things he thought I was. I watched as my own reflection showed up once again.

I wanted to put my hand on him when I spoke, I wanted to touch him as I said goodbye. But I didn’t, I smiled, “Dave, I don’t think you understand that I already forgave you. I forgave you everyday, every morning when I woke up beside you and got to choose to stay or go. 

I loved you so much, I was so sure someday you would stop pushing me away and would just choose me too. Everytime I used to fight with you, I thought I was fighting against the problems we had…I was so stupid.

But despite all that, it will never change the fact that I think of you as the man who ruined my life and when I look at you, all I see is how much I lost.”

Dave’s mouth was closed and twitchy, as if he was about to say something. He looked as at as if all of this was my fault, as if I had ruined his plan. He shook his head. 

“You know what, fine. You’re never going to let me do the right thing and put this behind us. Just, grow the fuck up.”

Unfortunately, it all still haunts me and sometimes it feels like it is pulling me back in when I have a particular nightmare, come across old notes, or hear a certain song. 

This tumblr was a way for me to collect and compartmentalize everything that built that story, but now it feels like a shrine to the poor characters whose story I could not see to completion. 

I’m sharing this now as a kind of reflection after ten years; maybe something for me to look back on another ten years from now if I choose to pick up this story again. 

In the meantime, there is always the seed from which this story sprouted, Cornered by Charles Bukowski.