And one more for the road...

Duality



We’re at IHOP on a Tuesday morning, well, afternoon, and Garrison is sucking ice water through a straw like he’s in the Sahara. A waitress passes, and he waves and points to his near-empty glass. He begins nursing my orange juice in the meantime.

“Long night, Gare?” I ask. Has the answer ever been no?

“You have no idea,” he says. “I took about a half-dozen hits off the Purple People Eater, you know, Meg’s roommate’s new bong. Lives up to its name. All that after a 30-pack of Bud Heavy split with Shep. The room’s still spinning.”

“Dude, did you drive here?” You can be such a dumbass.

The waitress conveniently arrives with a pitcher, and he doesn’t answer me. She takes our order – Southwest omelette for me, sausage links and bacon for him. “Toast or pancakes?” she asks, popping her gum. There’s a piece still stuck to her lip. “Both,” he answers with a wink. She hesitates, then shrugs and collects our menus.

“So how is Meg?” I ask. Horse-faced whore.

“She’s fine. Her mom’s been in and out of rehab for the past few months, so she’s a little out of it, but she’s better than she was.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, I hope she’s okay.” Okay, I take back the ‘whore’ part.

“Yeah, thanks. Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, Alli.”

“Which part?” Oh, shit.

“Well… we’ve been best friends since hell, I don’t know when, and there’s no one else I can really talk to about this sort of stuff.” He pulls a small, velvet box out of the back pocket of his jeans and opens it, revealing a square diamond set in a silver band. “What do you think?”

My heart stops beating for a third of a second before I remember Meg. Horse-faced whore. “It’s absolutely beautiful,” I manage to get out. And it should be mine. “Are you sure you’re ready for that, man? You guys have only been together what, a year?” And I’ve known you for fourteen.

“I’ve thought about it a lot. She’s perfect for me. I can’t really explain it. Sometimes you just know.”

My body seems to have quit all involuntary functions, and I have to focus on breathing in, then out, then in. I force a smile. “Well, she’ll love the ring. How are you going to ask?”

Just then, the waitress arrives with our breakfast. She spies the diamond on the table and raises her eyebrows, looking back and forth between us, and I can hear her thinking, did he really just propose in IHOP? Garrison notices her staring and laughs, his voice musical as it always is, telling her it’s not for me, I’m just a test-proposal. She smiles awkwardly and walks away without giving us silverware. As Garrison rambles away about butterfly houses (or maybe candlelit dinner downtown), I look down at my omelette, thinking of how cruelly ironic it is that something this good is in front of me, and I’m unable to touch it without making a mess.

***

By the time I hit Basin, the main drag through town, I’m on my third cigarette. He wants to marry that unstable hag? How can someone who allocates the majority of their income to weed even be considering marriage? It’s just like Garrison to romanticize an unromantic situation. Shame that’s one of the things I love about him. I flick ashes out the window and breeze through a yellow light, then flip on the radio to avoid listening to my own thoughts. There’s a Sheryl Crow tune on, and I turn up the volume so I can sing along without hearing myself. “If it makes you happy,” I all but scream. A man in the car next to me is staring, and I realize a little too late that my windows are rolled down.

Despite my best efforts, the one thought I’ve been avoiding melts through my mental fault lines. Why her? Which leads to, Why not me? I shake my head to rid it of the thought, trying to focus on the road leading to Marissa’s house.

I pull into the driveway. The miniature statue of Buddha that Mr. Claymore got for his wife for Mother’s Day seems to greet me cheerfully. I walk in the front door without knocking and head down to Marissa’s room in the basement after shouting a hurried hello to her parents.

As always, her door beads catch my long, wavy hair. One of these days I will remember to pull it back when entering. She’s sitting on the floor reading a Twain novel and rises when she sees my face. “Alli, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She reassesses the anger in my expression, and adds, “Gyrating on your grandmother.” I nod. Close enough. I tell her about Garrison’s planned proposal and she nods slowly. “Yeah, I sort of saw that one coming, hon. It’s in the way he looks at her. You can tell he knows.”

“What the hell does that mean, ‘he knows’? He said that too. I think it’s such a copout way of explaining your feelings.”

“Well Alli, can you explain how you feel about him?” she asks. I hesitate. “That’s what I thought. Defining your emotions isn’t an easy thing to do. Granted, I think it’s a little quick myself, but there isn’t much we can do about it.”

“He asked me to tape the proposal.”

Her mouth drops open. “What do you mean, tape the proposal? Like with a video camera?”

“Yeah. He said she’s the type of person who would want to cherish the memory.” He’s always saying bullshit like that. “He wants me to record it and then edit it into some movie collage with video and pictures of them. So cheese.”

She shakes her head. “Well, I’m calling Switzerland on that one, it’s really up to you. I mean, it is pretty cheesy, but it’s not his fault he has no idea you’re madly in love with him.” She stares pointedly at me, raising her eyebrows.

“Don’t even start.” I might accidentally kill you. “Anyway, I have to go, I promised him I’d come over and help plan the big night.” She smiles sympathetically, tells me to call her if I need anything, then holds the door beads open so I can leave without being snared.

***

I walk into Garrison’s apartment and am surprised to see Shep, Andy, Mills, and Parker crowded around his kitchen table. They are drinking beers (probably left over from last night) and thumping Gare on the back. He looks up at me and grins. “You know I can’t keep a secret. They came over to celebrate and give me some advice.” Advice on what? None of them has ever proposed. “That’s great.” I sit down in a comfortable armchair and listen to the testosterone driven conversation, allowing my mind to wander. In spite of Marissa’s claims, I start making a mental list: Reasons Why I’m in Love with Garrison, in No Particular Order. Number one: he lives life like he’s going to die tomorrow. Number two: he never does anything small-scale. Number three: he is honest, whether it hurts or not. I start to realize that this list should read Reasons Why I Love/Hate Garrison.

I look from Andy, to Mills, to Shep, to Parker, all attractive and fun to be around. Reason that trumps all of the other reasons why I’m in love with Garrison: I’m sitting in a room with four other men, and that’s how I know it’s him, and no one else. There are four other pairs of arms that could pick me up and spin me, four other minds that could make me laugh, four other pairs of hands that could hold mine, four other dicks, all of which would get the job done. But I don’t want any of it except him.

“Al? Alli?” I start from my reverie. “Earth to Allison. We’re leaving.”

“What? Where are we going?”

“To the restaurant. Weren’t you listening?” He grabs the velvet box and shoves it into his pocket.

My mind latches on to where he’s going and I nearly lose my balance standing up. “You’re proposing tonight? Whatever happened to thinking it over?”

“I just did think it over. Didn’t you hear us thinking?” He grabs his duffel, presumably full of video equipment, from the closet and tosses it to me. “Come on, the reservation’s for seven thirty.” He runs out the door without waiting for me to pull my shoes on, and I’m left running after him, like usual.

***

The Olive Garden? Really, Garrison? Classy. We’ve talked it over with the hostess (who stared at us like we’re idiots), and I’m crouched on the floor behind the bar with a video camera (like the biggest idiot of all), waiting for Meg to arrive. Never before in my life have I prayed so hard that I won’t see anyone I know.

Seven thirty, then seven forty-five roll around, and finally she walks in, much to the relief of my aching knees. I flip on the camera and press the square red button on top.

Garrison stands up, gives her a kiss, and they sit together. There’s something slow and sad in her movements, and I’m wondering if her mom’s back in rehab, but I’m too far away to hear what’s going on. Time ticks by slowly. I’m glad I brought a tripod for the camera.

After what seems like several hours, I see him reaching into his pocket, his face full of anticipation – then his expression freezes, and his features seem to turn upside down, his eyes widening. Meg’s back is to me and I’m wishing I could see her face too. Garrison pulls his fist out of his pocket, but he’s empty-handed. Meg stands up and walks out abruptly. I shut off the video camera. Oh, fuck. Garrison stands up, too, then runs out after her.

I pack up the video equipment quickly, tip the bartender a few bucks for his trouble, then leave, sure Garrison’s forgotten all about me.

***

I walk into Garrison’s apartment – the door’s unlocked, which is unusual for my paranoid friend. All is quiet save for the sound of running water. “Gare?” I call, wading through the litter on the carpet towards the bathroom. I knock. “Garrison? You okay?”

“No,” he answers.

“Can I come in?” I ask. He doesn’t respond. I walk in anyway, breathing in the heavy, clean scent of his body wash. The bath tub is full to the rim, and Garrison is sitting in it, knees to his chest like a child, with the shower head running hot water onto his upturned face. His nakedness startles me and I try not to stare.

“That’s how chickens drown, you know,” I try to joke, but he’s in no mood.
With some difficulty, he stands up from the cloudy water. His exposure mocks me now, taunting me to look down where my eyes don’t belong.

“She didn’t even get to see the ring.”

I can’t tell if his face is wet from tears or the running water. His eyes focus suddenly and turn towards me. Seeking comfort, he reaches out and pulls me into the water stream. His lips find mine, and there is a sadness in them that I can’t refute. My body, clothed as it is, finds its way against his, molding perfectly into the curve of his hips. Closing my eyes and hating myself, I give in, unable to see, hear, or feel anything but him.

***

I awaken to persistent mid-morning sunlight that’s found its way through cracks in the blinds. Sheets are bunched around my ankles, and I’m just slightly too warm to be comfortable. My insides feel twisted up, like I’ve drank too much, and with an ironic shock I wonder if it’s possible to have an emotional hangover. I look over at Garrison, who’s lying splayed across the bed, his mouth agape. He’s drooling slightly. It’s certainly not how I’d pictured waking up next to him.
My hair a tangled mess, I hop into the shower, replaying every moment from the night before.

When I come out, dressed in his robe, he’s awake and sitting at his kitchen table. “Hey,” he says, “I made eggs.” I sit next to him and pick up a fork. “Listen, thank you for last night. Really, you’re such a great friend. You’re always here when I need you. But can we meet up for coffee later to talk?”

I put down my fork. “Why can’t we talk now?”

He clears his throat, looking at his plate. “Meg’s coming over in an hour.”

I stop breathing for a moment and am reminded of the old saying about the calm before the storm. “She’s coming over for what, her stuff?”

“No, it’s more of a… reconciliatory visit.” I walk into the bathroom and start gathering up my clothes. He follows behind me. “Wait, where are you going? You don’t have to leave so fast, I just didn’t want her to find you here…” he trails off. I can feel the complacent words rising up in my throat, the it’s fine, don’t worry, we can talk later, work it out with her comments that the friend in me used to make.

But for once, speaking to him, I find the monologue of my mind syncing up with my vocal cords, reverberating and gracefully entwining into one solid entity. “Fuck you, Garrison. Fuck you and your horse-faced whore.” I slip on my shoes. “And fuck your eggs, they’re dry as hell.”

“Alli, come on, it’s me. We’re still friends. We’re best friends. I don’t want that to change.”

I open the front door and stand in the frame. I turn around to say one last thing, but he interjects with, “You’re still wearing my robe.”

I throw my things down, rip off the terrycloth, and throw it at him. Grabbing my clothes, I walk out the door naked just as Meg is walking up. The look on her face is priceless. “I hope your babies look like him,” I call over my shoulder, walking towards my car.

***

In the car on the way home, Janis Joplin comes on the radio. I reach forward to twist the dial up, but something stops me. Instead of twisting to the right, I turn it to the left until the guitar is barely audible. Louder than Janis, I sing out the melody, slightly off-key, not bothering to roll up the windows.