We never intended to meet him. This was not the plan.
“It is out of our scope,” says Shannon.
“Yeah,” we say. “Way out.”
Yet for an hour we meet, every Monday through Thursday.

We did not forget to make eye contact for precisely three seconds, then look down. We did not forget to take the elevator instead of the stairs. We did not forget to walk s-l-o-w-l-y. We did not forget to erase the blackboard entirely. We did not forget to sit on the right side, not the left. We did not forget to sharpen the pencils beforehand. We did not forget m-o-n-o-t-o-n-e.

Despite our precautions it’s how many times does seven go into eighty-four what is a prime number valium what is three-fifths plus door door who’s at the door one-over-three valium maybe we should try some reading instead valium valium there’s a mark on the board there’s a mark shake shake shake blink the country of Nicaragua is known for shake shake do you need me to step outside valium shake yes shake shake breathe breathe breathe s-l-o-w-l-y s-l-o-w-l-y s-l-o-w-l-y s-l-o-w-l-y.

“Do you think that if I try hard enough I can become an astronomer?”
“You bet,” we say. “If you try hard enough, you can do anything.”
“You know, I’ve always wanted to be a sailor," you say the next day. "Maybe after I graduate I’ll join the Maritime Society.”
“That sounds fun. The ocean is wonderful.”

We did not forget to ask simple questions. We did not for get to look down when speaking. We did not forget to write large numbers on the page. We did not forget c-a-l-m. We did not forget to sit away from the window. We did not forget w-a-i-t-i-n-g t-i-m-e.

“Do you think I could be a psychologist? The ones I know aren’t very nice, and I think I’d be good because I know what it’s like.”
“That’s great,” we say. “You’d make a fine psychologist.”
“And maybe if I try hard enough, I can become a pilot.”
“Anything you want. If you try hard enough, you can do anything.”

Six times forty is breathe breathe breathe how do you feel about working on spelling today shake shake see that’s the placeholder valium blink valium blink did you remember to bring a book from home breathe breathe shake I’m sure there’s a mark on the board breathe valium shake breathe okay maybe that’s it for today shake shake w-a-i-t-i-n-g t-i-m-e.

“When I don’t need you anymore, I want to go to law school,” you say on Monday.
“If you try hard enough, you can do anything,” we say.
“I want to be a teacher,” you say Tuesday.
“You’d make a great teacher.”
“I want to study wild animals.”
“That’d be fascinating.”
“Or maybe I could be a doctor someday. I want to help people.”
“If you try hard enough, you can do anything.”

We did not forget to arrive early. We did not forget to sharpen pencils. We did not forget to pace the building to find you. We did not forget s-l-o-w-l-y.

There’s coldness in knowing. There’s beauty in the inevitable.

If you just try hard enough. We accept the coldness in walking up those stairs and the beauty in waiting. But we want out we want out we want out we want out we want out.

I will stab you in the eye with this knife. I will run the blade from ear to ear under your chin until I can pull your tongue through the bottom. I will reach over there and pull your fingers back one at a time. Crack. Crrrack. Crack. Crackkkk. The memories of forced conversations and word games will be vaporized when I punch your teeth out and craft a new dashboard ornament. I will want to stab you in the heart, but I’ll resist. First I’ll give you a warning. A few tease stabs. Poke poke. Poke. Jab. Then I will start with your tendons. I will sever your feet and throw them out the sunroof in exactly the same way you discarded your apple core at noon. I will unbuckle my seatbelt in order to better position myself, and pour what’s left of this bottle into your open wounds just as easily as I’ve been kicking it back. Already everything you’ve done for me is ruined. I hate you and I will hurt you. I will shove your head into the gaps on the steering wheel of your fucking Buick and turn until it pops off. Crack. Crack. Snap. Your eyes will roll back and as I’m holding your head in front of mine you’ll say, “But hey, sugar, I bought you lunch.” And I will nod and then leave you in the wildflowers.

I swear I will if you play that goddamn song one more time.

The first time I ever masturbated was when I was thirteen. Grant and Rex were talking about shooting wads in the back of algebra class, back in the day when everyone was a virgin but an expert on sex. They sneered at me like I was some weirdo for never having touched myself. So that day I went home, went to my sister’s bathroom, and went at it. I guess you can say that I was peer pressured into jerking off.
I remember thinking ohgodohgodohgodohgod and warily looking around to make sure only the four walls were watching. I washed my hands with my sister’s vanilla soap. For the next few days, I avoided that bathroom like a plague. But then once I walked in to wash my hands and smelt the vanilla soap and ohgodohgodohgodohgod I was getting hard right in my goddamn sister’s bathroom.
I could hear my sister next door talking on the phone to her best friend.
“I think I’m in love,” she said.

Kaitlin was the kind of girl who’d draw on street signs in the daylight to make you nervous. Once we took the ferry just to watch the city all day from across the Puget Sound. Sometimes she’d talk about her brother, the one who died at two. Sometimes she’d talk about Maryland. Sometimes we’d count the waves making the seagulls in the water bob up and down. As I was kissing her behind the ear her eyes rolled down and she was thinking about her brother and how he was supposed to outlive her. I was kissing her neck and she was thinking about how he never did learn how to pronounce her name.
Years later, she was at a party drinking red wine from the bottle.
“Doesn’t that give you a headache?” someone asked.
“Yeah, eventually,” she said.
Pause for effect.
“But the beginning and the middle parts are worth it.”

You made spaghetti, and we were mirroring each other from separate sides of the table. The radio was predicting more snow. You looked up at me and smiled.
“I guess you’ll be staying here tonight.”
And I looked up at that picture of the barn at night, and tried to decide if the moon above it was waxing or waning.
Love has a lifeline. Eventually you won’t be paying attention, and it will slip away forever. Pause for effect. But the beginning and the middle parts are worth it.

Liza always knows the best parties. I guess it’s one of the things that come along with being rich and beautiful. Unless you’re me. The only problem with being the friend of the girl who knows everyone is that at a party she’ll run off to go know everyone and you’ll be left to make half-assed acquaintances that don’t matter because you’ll only be remembered as the friend of the girl who knows everyone anyway.

I need a drink.
It takes some time to snake my way to the kitchen and even longer to get to the arsenal. Some Rainer in a cooler. That’ll do. I turn around to a trio of girls in annoyingly-bright colored dresses giggling to each other about some most likely stupid joke. Trendy chicks in groups weird me out. They revel in circling together and pretending to look at each other while in reality they’re looking to see how many people are watching them.
I start wandering around like I’m doing something important. There are actually a few people here that I recognize. Some people who go to the same shows, people who’ve been to the same parties, friends of friends, the usual.

“Nicole!” screams Amy with that all-too-familiar drunk enthusiasm from the doorway. “I didn’t know you knew Cale!”
“I don’t really. I came with Liza,” I say.
“Oh! Cool! I’m glad you came! You never party with us anymore, bitch.”
One guess why not.
“Yeah it’s been a while. What have you been up to? Are you still doing that beauty school stuff?”
She’s already looking around for someone else to squeal over. I take a drink. Finding no one interesting, she settles for me again.
“Hey you should meet someone!” she says as she pulls me into another room. I brace my can like a cross.

Two cups of a motley mixed drink, three shots of cheap vodka, and one fast BPM dance song later and we’re bullshiting on the front porch about the Block Party and our favorite beers. Whether it’s James or Jake or John, I can’t remember. I’m too busy thinking about how his arm is around me. There’s something about his arms that’s killing me. I want him to wrap his arms around me like a vine. To lock me up in tangle of limbs. They’re perfect, these arms.

“I like ambers. It’s hearty, you know? There’s something about a good dark beer that you just can’t fight with.”
“Who wants to fight?” I say.
He chuckles a bit. Good sign. Fuck, I hope I don’t screw this up.
“What kind of Asian are you?” he asks.
“Well my dad is Filipino and Chinese, but my mom is wh…”
He’s already shoving his tongue down my throat like a maniac. If I had known that’d be such a successful line I’d have dropped it the moment Amy introduced us. His kiss is underwhelming, but his arms… I want them to close in tighter and tighter until I’m in a straightjacket.
“I live just up the street a bit,” he says like a yes/no question.
“Okay.”

Jason or Julian is going at it, but it’s nothing special. His eyes are closed and I feel like he’s trying to not pass out rather than unload. Who is this guy anyway? My eyes wander around the dark room in search of some hints of identity. Computer. TV. Sticks of deodorant on a bookshelf. Acoustic. A fan humming gently. Two posters of hot chicks. I stop there. The first is a cute Asian girl in a swimsuit with one of those impossible bodies, a thin smile, and bangs. Fuck I hope this doesn’t mean what I think it does. The next poster confirms my suspicions. Another Asian girl in some sort of sexy kimono stares at me with dark, emotionless eyes. Awesome. Just fucking awesome. I groan.
You feel great,” he whispers.
A few more thrusts. Sploosh.

When you’re fucking someone, like a strictly symbiotic fuck, they never hold you as close at night as they do after that first fuck. They close their eyes, melt into you, and imagine that they’re holding the girl who broke their heart. For a while, it’s nice to be a surrogate lover, to feel soft breath on the back of your neck and a body to run your fingers over. Then comes the sobering morning, and the realization that that girl will never be coming back. After that, you’re just a fuck.

I wake up in the morning as just a fuck. Luckily I’m awake before he is and I pick up my dress and underwear and stumble to the bathroom.

When I walk out I’m still on Capitol Hill. Where the fuck is my car? I wander up a few streets and eventually spot the back of my Volvo along a curb near Bauhaus. As I get in I get that feeling like I’m being watched. A hobo is staring from across the street with a look like he feels sorry for me. The stores are still closed and I remember that today is Sunday, the day I visit my dad in the hospital. Fuck, I should probably bring flowers this time. I think he gets bored of my sketches. A few exits south I find a small floral shop a few blocks from the hospital. The lady at the counter is middle-aged and way too happy for this early in the morning.

“Hello! Is there anything in particular that you’re looking for?” she asks.
“Uh, yeah. Something that says ‘You’re doing just fine. Everything’s going to be alright.’”
She looks confused.
“‘Get well soon’ works, too,” I say.
“Oh we have a whole section for that over here. Or you can just pick and choose which flowers you like and we can make a bouquet from there. This arrangement is my favorite,” she suggests.
“Okay.”

At the register I’m trying to decide whether I should call Liza back or not when the lady interrupts my thoughts with my change.
“Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty. There you go, miss. You probably get this all the time, but I was just wondering. What kind of Asian are you?”