Chewing the Cuds. (A Series)

Nina.
Made it home early today. Its just dusk now-kids are still out and about. I turn the car off and roll up the windows, reach for my purse. I make it to the door and-shit, almost forgot the wine. Got to have my wine. Yes, its been that kind of day. I make it to the door and suddenly I'm not as tired as I was before I left work. You know that feeling, that little burst of energy you get when its time to clock out. Funny how at two o'clock you could barely lift your eyes to look at that computer screen, but suddenly its 4:52 and you're bouncing off the walls. I've only just started sorting through my mail when I get tired again. Comcast... Verizon... Direct Loans... Another wedding invitation? I start into the other room with a wine glass and the brown paper bag my Pinot is hiding inside of, leaving the mail on the table. I take my first sip while I finger through my records. If I flip through them long enough the tips of my fingers will start to smell like the sleeves. I rescued most of these from the flood in my grandparents basement. I heaved all three crates up two flights of stairs and across five states. Duke suits me, so I set the record playing.

The bathtub is already full by the time I finish my second glass of wine. I turn the water off and run my hands along the surface. Its too damn hot, but if turn the faucet any less to the left it'll be too cold. I let the water cool down while I stare at myself in the mirror, tea lights nestled all around me in little glass jars. My whole apartment is filled with that bathwater smell, the song changes and a run my hands along the underside of my breasts. Two nice handfuls, I've been assured and I'm really hoping that's the case. Another glass of wine and I'm in the tub. I stretch my legs under the water and the heat prickles my skin. Drinking in this heat is never wise, but its a calm like no other so I indulge. Over every splash I can still hear the Duke. A date of my gave me twelve cool points when he found out I liked jazz. However, he lost all his cool points when I found out he couldn't fuck. That's harsh-it really is- but for the state of mind I was in at the time, that was standard.

Another ... boyfriend, I guess you might call him, was incredible in bed and as a bonus he was incredibly stupid.I kept him on top of me so he wouldn't feel obligated to talk to me. Is that bad? Is it bad to keep someone like that on standby or is it necessary? Also, he made the mistake of believing we had a good thing. He was sweet, really, and determined to "pull me out of my shell". That's what it was, he thought I was just reserved or shy somehow. It took me leaving his house three times at 3 am for him to understand I was just indifferent. He used to whistle on the phone while I was listening to Miles Davis. Didn't even have the courtesy to whistle along with the song I was listening to, just made up his own shit. So when he stopped calling, I did too.

Third glass down and the water is perfect. My eyebrows are heavy and I'm warm behind the ears- good 'ole Pinot. I've reached that point that I've been thinking about all day. The song changes and I plunge my washcloth into the water between my knees. I wring it out over my shoulders, down my arms and scrub my elbows till their soft. I lean back and rub my chest, rub my shoulder, exhale... I remember he used to touch me like this. He being the one man I crave- the one I always crave. I squeeze my thighs together. Nights like this he would be coming over. Work, dinner, studying would be out of the way. I'd answer the door and it'd be over.

The water's too hot.

Once he came over and we didn't even talk. Not once. He watched me put on some music and draw the curtains. With all that happened that night what I remember most is his smile, that beautiful smile and those beautiful lips. This was long before the stupid one, but I remember. I remember his hand in my hair, at the back of my head and him breathing me in like he'd die if he didn't. And he stayed. Then he left, but not a minute before or after I wanted him to. My skin felt different when I was with him. My head felt different with him- wasn't so crowded, wasn't so noisy. Days went by like hours, hours like minutes...while he kept coming back, while I kept calling him back. He got to me, got into me, got under my skin, got in my head then left it there. I get butterflies like no one's had butterflies and sink down in the tub. Fuck him. I could never shake the high of him.

One more glass of wine and I'll get out. I'll change the music and check my email. I'll RSVP to that wedding before I forget entirely. Salmon for dinner. Cheesecake for dessert. I'll change the sheets and read before bed. It'll be dark. It'll be dark when I close my eyes and I'll try not to remember. I'll try not to imagine him or want him. I'll sleep. I'll sleep.

The water's cold.