"Tonight." (Written Nov 2010) - First 3 Segments

            Tonight.  I’m twenty-three years old.  I’m inexperienced in the grand scheme of things, but I’m sitting on the balcony in one of the patio chairs of my five-piece set on the fourth floor apartment in an upscale apartment complex.  The light from my bedroom is lighting the area just enough that I can write.  I think better with booze and tobacco.  The sounds of five fountains in one pond are floating into my ears as I type.  I have my foot elevated because it’s still broken from my injury eight months ago.  I know I’m not going to sleep anytime soon.  I’m too excited.

            My phone keeps jingling to the same text over and over again.  All it says is, “Psh.”  Each one is from my ex-boyfriend,       David.  Many of my friends would say that it was a rude to receive several times in response to flirtatious questions.  I just returned the text with, “I dare you to admit it.”  I know he wants to.  He wants to admit that I’m cute and scrappy.  He just can’t bring himself to do it.  I know as well as he does that he will not admit it because he knows it will lead to what he doesn’t want – a relationship.

            Our evening ended when I left his house following one of our typical wrestling matches.  He has been boxing for the last month and has learned some things since we were a couple.  He can stand on one foot and kick now.  Not something I was ready to combat.  The shirt I had torn during our last match was sitting on his bed.  He was “tired,” though, so I left earlier than I normally would have.  Well, I left the same night rather than the next morning – so, much earlier. 

            Nothing was different tonight than when we were dating.  Except the kiss good-bye.  Since there wasn’t one.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            I was sitting around my house waiting for my piano student to get there.  I only had three students at the time and was still getting my feet wet with the whole idea, so I was a little nervous.  I was pacing on the brown, dog-pee-scented carpet and then finally sat down at the gorgeous, black, baby grand piano my parents had.  I decided to practice my own pieces and make up some of my own music.  As always, I was getting into the music and getting really excited about the fact that I was finally a good enough artist to teach people one of my passions and help them learn to make music.   

            Suddenly, my older brother, Caleb, walked in.  He was followed by our next-door neighbor, Sean, who was about a year older than me and a year younger than Caleb.  Sean wasn’t supposed to come over when my parents weren’t home as he had a tendency to say things to me that were inappropriate or attempt to take off my bra.  I was 14 years old and very virginal – I had never even held a boy’s hand.  Immediately, I was uncomfortable.  I pulled Caleb aside, “Um… He’s not allowed to be here.  I don’t want him here.  He’s kinda… well, you know…”
            “Don’t worry about it,” he responded.  Caleb and I had never really gotten along, so I just rolled my eyes, expected to be mildly harassed and incredibly annoyed and started to play the piano again.  Nothing happened for about three minutes – long enough to play through “Elfin Dance” for the recital I had coming up with my teacher.

            Then I heard Caleb say, “Hey, just tell me when you’re done, Sean.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            “Fuck you!  I fucking hate you!”  My college boyfriend, Chris, had a tendency to be overly rude to me and say things he “didn’t mean” when we were fighting.  The thing with our “fighting” is that I was seldom mad and rarely fought back.  He was always mad at me.  This time, it was because I ran into a teacher and walked to class with him – a class I had with him.

            “Chris, I really don’t think you hate me,” I said calmly.

            “Yes, I fucking hate you.  You’re cheating on me with a teacher,” his voice was steady and dripping unrighteous anger.

            “Um… I walked to class with a teacher I ran into in the hallway on the way to his class that I’m in.  What was I supposed to do?  Walk a few paces ahead of him rudely so he thought something was weird or like I was avoiding him for some reason?  ‘Cause I’m not gonna do that,” I was able to maintain composure and a cool tone.

            Still infuriated, he said, “Ok, well, you might not be cheating on me, but people may have seen you walking with another guy and when you talk to other guys, I have to assume you’re cheating on me – that’s what I do.”

            For whatever reason, that type of asinine commentary with rude accusations, hurtful distrust and straight up abusive language was something I had tolerated for quite some time at that point.  “Well,” I said, “I don’t know what to tell you.  I hardly feel like apologizing would be appropriate since I did nothing wrong.”
            “Fuck you!  You’re a bitch.  I don’t even know why I’m dating you.  You don’t care if you cheat on me!  You’re a horrible person!”