Torn

Damn this fascination of mine. Damn my curiosity. I'm whipped already and I don't truly know the girl. How does a woman attain such an ability? How does she know how to keep my interest, even when it feels like my wrist is being twisted.

I'm pacing for Christ's sake! I never pace! Against my better judgment I call again. The phone rings and rings and rings. The phone picks up......and it's her!

"I'm sorry to call Lisa, it's just..."

It's not her. It was her voicemail. THE SMOKE AND MIRRORS OF IT ALL!! I flop down on the couch huddled into the corner of my apartment. The old brown carcass groans under my weight, or any weight for that matter.

I toss my head violently back and forth to try and shake off the anxiousness. It doesn't work. I try to take some deep breaths and relax. They seem to stammer on the way in and rasp on the way out. I can feel it getting hotter, and I pray I don't break into a sweat due to nervousness. I grab a bottle of water and start chugging it.

I wonder where this anxiety comes from. It's just a girl right? How many times have I been in this situation? More then I can remember really, and I handled most of them better then this. The buzzer by my door clears any introspective thought. In my panicked effort to stand I slide off the leather couch and onto the hardwood floor. The water in my mouth comes out in a jet accompanied by a strange throaty gurgling noise. I do a demented crab walk with the bottle of water in my hand. As I try to get up my hand loses traction in a puddle of water and I fall on my ass.

I take a deep breath as I lay there on the floor. I get up very slowly. I can feel that my bottom, lower back, and chest are damp. I walk cautiously up a couple of steps to the landing. I look to the panel by the front door and press the intercom button.

"Hello?" I say, the vocal epitome of cool, because I'm sure as hell not cool physically right now.

"George, it's Lisa! I'm sorry I'm so late. I had a slip up at work. Is it alright if I come up?" I take a look at the state of things. I'm soaked, my living room looks like a fight club had just met, and my hard wood floor is a death trap.

"Sure, just a second."

I can't tell you exactly how I did it, but I cleaned up quite nicely. I combed my thick dark hair, changed my shirt and pants, and put my living room back into a normal state of affairs. I look into my bedroom before I go to the door. What a disaster that's been since I've moved in. My clothing is all over the room. There's even a pair of boxers draped over one of the blades on the ceiling fan. Empty cans sit in a pile in one corner dripping onto a knotty white shag carpet that I have half pulled up exposing the unwashed hardwood beneath. I shut the door, reassured that it won't be in use tonight.

I tug the bottom of my shirt and start shaking my entire body for a sustained period of time. If anyone was to see this they would have thought of it as some strange species of bird shaking off water. I walk to the intercom and buzz her in. I stand waiting for the footsteps coming from the bottom of the stairwell. I stand waiting........and waiting. I put my ear close to the door to get any vibration of movement.

I don't get a noise, but I do get one hell of a knock on the head. It turns out that my door was open slightly, and Lisa took that as an invitation. The door knocks into my skull and I fall on my ass for the second time tonight.

"Oh my god George are you okay!" I don't get up right away. I probably resemble a kid trying to play that game where you roll the ball back and forth and let it stop between your legs.

"You shouldn't stand so close to the door." She says and continues to proceed inside. My legs shake a little as I get up. Lisa sets her bag down and gives her hair a flip. That's what makes me curious. Dark hair like charcoal and that warm smile painted red. A billion different scenarios pop into my head from Casablanca, to fight club, to wedding crashers.

"George? she says in that light airy tone that says you look like a lunatic and I don't want to set you off. I come back to reality and away from any Hollywood ideas of romance. She tosses her head and her eyes avert. I jump in immediately.

"I have reservations at this little restaurant. It was for about fifteen minutes ago but it should be fine." I say with confidence. This little restaurant I had reservations for is one of my favorite places in the world to eat. My first trip to New York was with my parents for my sixteenth birthday. I knew I was going to live here as soon as I heard a typical argument over a parking spot between two true New Yorkers. The day ended with my parents taking me to a little place called Gotham bar and grill. I told my parents to order for me, and they did with a vengeance. Everything on that plate was foreign to me, but I ate it anyway.

I loved it, but my parents didn't seem impressed. I was steadfast in it's defense, because it was my first New York experience. I made sure to come back for my eighteenth birthday when I had just been accepted to NYU and my parents were more impressed with me. The food seemed to impress them just as much, and even more when we returned again on my 21st birthday. It's seen me through many chapters of my life.

"George I can't go out like this! I didn't have time to change or anything." Lisa says. The confident smile drops from my face. She seems to take the smile I've dismissed and put it on herself.

"I have a back up plan though." She reaches into her bag and pulls out two movies and a packet of microwave popcorn. I'm not just disappointed now, but horrified. Normally the occasion of watching a movie might mean some physical contact, but that's not what I'm thinking about. I'm thinking about the smelly mountains of clothing, the two week old box of Chinese food, the festering pile of Busch light. I'm thinking of the room where my television resides.

It's time to over do it. "You can go out like that! What are you talking about, you're gorgeous!" I run down the steps and grab her in a dancing embrace and dip her. I look into her eyes and put on the most charming smile I can muster. I pull her back up and say

"You know darling, you look marvelous!" in my best Billy Crystal impression. Thank god she looks surprised but in a good way. Thank god she's trying to hold back a roar of laughter. Thank god she's smiling and looking bashful.

"That was...sweet George. But I can't, I'm sorry. We'll go some other time okay? Here, you take the movies and I'll microwave the popcorn." She puts the movies into my hand and I have to remember to apply pressure so they don't fall out. I have the strange inkling to look up and see if God is point ing and laughing. "The kitchenette is right over there Lisa. I'll just go and set these up." I beam as she passes me and then I scowl when she's gone. I head towards the bedroom. I look from each eyesore to the next while the theme from Jaws plays in my head.

The next five minutes are frantic. The clothes go into the closet by a method that I'm sure rabbits use to burrow. The cans go in as well, as long as any other aberration to cleanliness in my bedroom. I start pulling up the carpet with a box cutter. I wheel my bed towards the corner by my TV stand. I pull the once white now stained the rainbow carpet with all my might into the walk in closet. I push my bed out without even looking at where it has settled. I grab a febreeze bottle and spray the walk in closet until there is a strange blue haze of chemical freshness ready to choke my lungs. I close the doors and settle my back against it. I'm panting and I feel like I've blacked out. The sound of my name at the door awakens me. I tug at the bottom of my shirt and shake. I place the movies on the nightstand then head for the door.

I open it and move to the left to let her in. She cocks her head and eyes me with her right eye dominant.

"Is everything alright George?" I nod with a feeling of complete assurance and put on a simple grin. She looks from me then to a spot on the ceiling and back again. I keep the simple grin and look where she did. I see the leopard print boxers draped over the ceiling fan. I turn my head back slowly and keep the simple grin.

"Hmmm" is all I get as she walks in. My head drops so my chin hits my chest. I close the door and sigh.

She sits herself on the edge of the bed and puts her hands on her knees. Her head swivels around then looks to the underwear again.

"Had a wild night huh?" She says with this removed grin that says I'm dying of laughter inside but being a courteous tease up front. Then she stands up and grabs them off the ceiling fan. I wince when I take it all in. The girl that I've been getting all bent out of shape for is holding a flashy yellow concoction of guilty pleasure underwear that I own. This could be disastrous or surprisingly fun.

"Oh come on George lighten up!" She walks over and puts them over my head. My nose and mouth are in the gap of the crotch. All I see are a few brown spots and a yellow tinted Lisa. Not even unwashed sexy underpants can dilute how beautiful she is. Did I say unwashed.

"Oh god!" I take them off my head and look at her, then the boxers, then her again.

"Oh no. No George. No!" Oh yes, yes I am chasing Lisa around with a dirty pair of skanky boxers. Yes, Lisa thinks I'm going to get her back. I won't, because there is something else I want from Lisa.

I wrap my arms around her waist as she tries rounding the bed. We fall backwards out of breath and laughing as we clutch each others hands (and the nasty undergarment). Our breathing settles down and we make those affectionate gazes that are beyond just lustful. The mutual return of unspoken thoughts seem to put my feelings on solid ground. My face moves towards hers and I feel no hesitation. I feel confident as my head gets closer and hers moves in. I've been waiting for this patiently and abiding the strange laws of dating. This relief only stays for a moment before she utters something I can't hear. Her head moves and I get her cheek. I move back slowly and try to find a clear line of sight to her face. She is resting her right cheek on her shoulder and her eyes are shifting.

"George, what restaurant did you want to take me too tonight?" My mouth drops a little and then shuts again. There is a sequence of four letters that express what I'm feeling; whuh?

"I had reservations at Gotham bar and grill, why?" I ask a little bit frustrated but still concerned. What did this matter? Why had she brought this up now?

"That's what I thought. George, I'm sorry but I can't see you anymore." She gets up, and a burning sensation of disappointment and sadness creep into my chest. I don't understand, and I inquire even the most idiotic of inquiries. I stand up and look to her.

"I don't get this Lisa, what's wrong? Do you have a strange hatred of steak? Are you becoming a fundamentalist vegan? Do you hate the name of the city in Batman?" I'm surprised she didn't bolt after all that. I'm not surprised she didn't either, because I know somewhere in her she thought that was funny and amusing. She leans against the doorway in my bedroom and looks at me and then the floor.

"George I have good friend named Heather Griffin. You might know her. My perplexed features turn to a mushy sad set. I remember my ex-girlfriend well. That's not something I could forget. I feel my muscles, once tense with apprehension and curiosity, turn soft and devoid of will. "She told me a lot of things about you, and one thing she said was to see if he takes you to the Gotham bar and grill. My head snaps to and I start shaking it in disbelief. Anger wills my body into action and I feel the heat fill me. I retain my composure but it's very evident in Lisa's eyes that I'm not doing well.

"Why did she say to watch out?" I say as cool as possible, but my voice is all too wrong for that. Lisa takes a deep breath in and then out.

"She says that's a sign that you're the female companion for the year and nothing more, like a free magazine subscription. She said you'd take me for granted." I'd heard this before from Heather. After I broke up with her she kept calling me up and saying I was a boy friend by subscription. I was from rent-a-boy, because she certainly didn't want to call me a man. She noted the fact that every girl I dated lasted about a year and that each relationship didn't have a real huge problem. Sometimes she almost convinced me, almost being the key word. I had heard this all from Heather before, but Heather wasn't talking now.

"So what do you think?" I ask looking at Lisa. I try to remain a blank slate but I know a pained expression is plaguing my face. Lisa's eyes don't meet mine. She leaves the bedroom, grabs her bag slowly, and heads for the door . I have enough sense to follow and open the door for her. When she gets out in the hall she finally turns and makes eye contact. Torn is the best word to describe her pretty pale face.

"I don't know much about you. We have fun together, but other then that what is there? Heather is just trying to help me out. She's a good friend to me." I suppress the pained expression and take a cold hard look at her.

"Alright, go have good long talk with your friend. Ask her why I left her. Why she is so bitter. Why she doesn't want you to make your own decisions. In the meantime I'm going to start looking for my next subscriber." Her eyebrows go up and her face turns into guilt as the door shuts.

I head for the brown carcass in the corner and lay down. In truth I probably never really had a chance with Lisa, but I didn't know that till now. Fate had it built it into this entire scenario. The minute she let someone else tell her what the world was instead of seeing it for herself, the hope for us died. So much worry just to find out the inevitable. I know months from now I'll wonder if we could work it out, because with time comes regret and blurry looks at past events. I'll look exactly as she did out in that hallway; torn.