Mistletoe Easter

“…at night she spoke to him of things heard only in hell.”
-Waits


bittersweet indeed, but maybe the most i have grown in a single bound in my entire life. i didn't realize how secure karen and i had become, i didn't know that alice could be gotten to, and i hadn’t expected my writing would actually push any buttons. karen is such an amazing woman to have held her ground and not exhibit any fear or jealousy. hell, just to hear me out about something that is completely universal, but still, so taboo… i hope that if she confesses a mad crush one day, i am man enough to encourage her to explore that. her devotion and maturity in this are some of the most remarkable human traits i've ever seen on display.

when alice received my poetry, she reacted very badly. she said i was mistreating my parter, and that as a man i was incapable of seeing how i was hurting her when we mixed socially. karen confirmed for me that this was not her experience, but the accusation of a brute misogyny was cutting. still, i was flooded with satisfaction to realize i had gotten a proper rise out of her. we're talking about a stoic, aloof woman who speaks very little about real, substantial emotional meat. she either won't or can't hug her loved ones… presumably for fear she will break the fuck down? i don't know.

we wrote a couple of times and she was eventually convinced that karen knew where i was coming from and had understood—even encouraged—my sometimes desperate and clumsy expression. as she cooled off, she seemed to appreciate my words, and hinted that she might not have blown up if it weren't such an impossible scene. i was unattainable to a woman who wanted ownership of a man. she had certainly been heartbroken before, and was maybe too traditional for all this.

i definitely felt at fault, but admitted to karen i was angry with alice for offering the token olive branch of maintaining a friendship framed with 'pretending it never happened,' and an admission that we ranked highly among a small number of friends, which, given the circumstances, felt like a selfish aside.

i knew the events, however awkward or painful, must inform our future. but much the same way i didn't ask for this ridiculous lumpy physique, she didn't ask to be built like a statue you can't take your eyes away from. she turns you to fucking stone, and if i had that curse myself maybe i would have a hard time locking eyes with anyone i didn't truly appreciate… when that gaze falls on you it is definitely a thing to honor, but the implication that after spilling my blood and tears on her reluctant altar and actually having chipped away at something of her shell i would still have to play completely by her rules... that was an emasculation of my work.

she had been 'teased' and 'flattered' by my 'very romantic' efforts. she no longer held all the cards no matter how guarded she might remain. it was my turn to set some terms. still, a few days later i wrote another apologetic and ginger message, analyzing things a bit deeper and telling her i felt awful for abusing her trust in me as a pal that she could hang out with a send innocuous texts to, which i did. but i left out everything about not being able to carry on as true friends without eventually discussing what had happened, and of course i held back my most burning allegation; that it was childish cowardice to run so far, so fast from anything resembling a real feeling.

in truth, she would always hold the cards, because she was so practiced in denial and avoidance. i really did miss chumming around with her, and after a healthy period of questioning my motivations i finally gave in to impulse and found a flimsy excuse to initiate some messages. she replied immediately. it was like getting on a bike. she was well-practiced at avoidance.

i assumed she had shared pieces of what happened with our friend, valerie, who cancelled plans with karen and i a few nights after the poetry fiasco with the cryptic message, 'i don't think now is a good time for tonight, v…' which seemed perfectly crafted to me. i had bitten off too much if some of our friends knew already. i had thought that alice was too scared of her own shadow to let on to anyone, but then again, valerie had known her longer. to make matters worse, i had popped into the diner once to find out if i was in trouble with alice. i suspected she had become visibly upset after i split, and that valerie, too, must think i was a stinking, deceitful cheat of a man for writing shameful love poems behind karen's back. i had no choice but to sit it out and see. maybe now that the dust was settling on alice, valerie would get an update that it was all above boards, whatever that meant… valerie and anyone else in the know, god forbid…

i texted bea to get hold of some pills on friday afternoon. she had been in touch two nights before to say she would be in the neighborhood for a tasting on thursday. i forgot about it and when she got in touch that day, i had to tell her i was off to a music lesson.

i got back from the lesson that night, karen was tired, we drank, slept, and when i woke up the next morning there was an old message blinking. it was from bea. 'still drinkin! oops.' this meant i had missed her at her loudest and proudest the night before. fuck. one thing that might’ve eased all this legitimate tension would've been to go out and meet her that night and make a real fucking mess. what rumors might have flown then? christ. then i remembered i hadn't actually gotten paid until that morning and that she had probably been drunk at the diner of my self-imposed hiatus anyway.

so on friday i waited for bea to get back to me, then we did the usual batting back and forth, not knowing how or when to meet up. she was busy hunting for rooms and--i would guess--too hungover to drink that day, but when i said i wanted some pills she shot back pretty quick. it’s odd knowing someone is using you and kind of encouraging it anyway. like women pushing a lap dance or a home cleaning service. or the customers who pay for lap dances and home cleaning services.

i was sat on the porch of the tavern under the spring sun writing some song lyrics about the naive and glorious concept of sex as a birthright when bea rolled up on her bike. she chimed her bell at me and i got her a pint. we sat down and talked about her search for a room. she almost had one secured when they rented the spot to an old friend who just flew in from wherever. this was the problem renting in shared housing, often with five or more 25-40 year-olds. everyone had a lifetime of friends from school and old lovers and old band mates and their sudden presence in a city flooded with more of this sort might change the delicate balance of your bedding arrangements several times a year. that is, unless you were in something committed. i thought of alice’s friend. the one who was scared to leave her unhappy relationship not knowing how to make her way alone in the economic hyper-shuffle of school and work in the city. i thought of me and karen and hoped she didn’t secretly harbor that fear.

bea had brought the pills. 'so you need to take both of these at once. one was a smaller dosage, but they're getting kind of old… so they're just getting weaker, so you just have to take a little more…"

while one part of my mind was tuning out and dismissing this vague alchemic logic, another began to remind me not to reveal anything about what was up with alice. it seemed like a stupid thing to be reminding myself of, considering i only half-trusted bea to keep her mouth shut in mixed company, and i didn't want to talk to anyone besides karen about it in the first place. then, when i became self-aware again, i found myself in the middle of explaining that i was avoiding the diner for my own mental health, and blah, blah, blah…

'so she knows?' bea asked me, knowing the answer.

'she knows.' i tried not to sound grave.

'awww, dave! your bottom lip is quivering!'

'is it?'

i cry early and often, but i actually hadn’t felt it. bea was in a fairly new relationship with this far more experienced polyamorous guy, and she began to grill me about how karen and i planned to make it work--if and when one of us connected with somebody we actually might love. i had to admit our discussion had only gone as far as being honest and direct about what we wanted and felt, and that we were on an improvised route at best. she seemed to genuinely sympathize with my crush and the anxiety i had been hoarding.

'anyway,' i said, 'it’s fucked.'

'…and i gotta go now.' she sang the words mournfully and looked a little guilty.

'no, of course. you've had your helmet on for like ten minutes.'

she gave me a comforting hug. another one crash-landed on the airstrip. pity and friendship and confessions… humbug. i walked alongside her on her bike back to the main avenue where she headed north to check out another house and i went back up the hill to the apartment to check my e-mail again in vain.



i hope you got into that sun today.
i am always still browsing my inbox
which means that i still need to be away.

missing your interest, is it a symptom
that i rightly cherish your friendship, or
am i forever storming that kingdom?

counting syllables and filling a page,
still as void of content as before i
began to type up this flat-ass champagne.