life ain't nothing but
bitches and money.


he cleaned his apartment because he knew she was coming over. he swept the floor, washed and dried the dishes, and he even scrubbed the tub. scrubbing the tub was the worst part because it required physical labor - getting on his knees - and if he didn't scrub it hard enough, there was no point. it would still look brown and stained. he wiped down all mirrors and windows and vacuumed the few areas where there was carpet. he made sure all his clothes were hung, and the dirty ones in the laundry basket. he had to do laundry. he took out the trash, making sure beforehand to separate the recycling. everything had to be just right.

a few months back, he bought some furniture. he knew that he at least needed a couch and a television if he was to entertain guests. he didn't know how to make dinner, so he ordered take-out. it had been a while since he'd had someone over. in his mind, he was still new to this. he went to the store to pick out a bottle of red wine. he didn't know how to choose a good wine, so he just went with something that had the coolest-looking label. it also had to fall in the price range of somewhere between $15 - $20. he bought the wine, and the clerk carded him. he was twenty-eight years old.

finally, she came over, and she had a bottle of wine with her. he thanked her for coming over, and insisted that she sit, sit. he served her dinner, and she asked if he made it. he admitted that it was take-out, and she acted like she was fine with it. maybe she was. he asked her about normal things: how work was, how so-and-so was, what did she do last weekend. he talked about himself a little bit, too, trying not to sound self-involved, but also trying not to sound too doubtful of himself. it was a fine line he was walking.

he worried about all the things most people worry about. he thought maybe he had a booger, or that he had garlic breath. he thought maybe his face was too flush from the wine, or that maybe his stomach would start acting up, and he'd be forced to take a dump, which his date would obviously hear through the paper-thin walls. there was no fan, no way of drowning out the inevitable plop, plop, plop. the thought of this, combined with other anxieties, must've triggered something because suddenly, he felt it. something was unhappily churning in his stomach. he had to think fast. he asked if she'd like to hear some music. luckily, she said that she did, and he told her that he would be right back.

he tried not to take too long, but he also wanted some insurance, a guarantee that he wouldn't be due for a repeat visit for the rest of the night. finally, he felt comfortable with where he was, and he washed his hands. he asked if she would like to watch the movie now, since that was the reason she had come over in the first place. she said okay, and he turned off the lights. they watched the movie and it was okay. slightly forgettable. he didn't know what to do. reach for her hand? arm around her back? he thought about it, and instead, did nothing. he might've even crossed his arms at one point. when it was over, he didn't know what to say. sensing the awkwardness, she said that she should get going.

he wanted to tell her to stay, but he didn't. he was unsure of himself, unable to do what seemed like the simplest of things.

1 comment:

Aby said...

'First Time' is always tough...