03-06-04

To The Devil And Back

An alarm rips through the quiet darkness of my sleep. As reality grows stronger I realize it is my phone ringing, daylight meets me at the borders of consciousness and i reach for my phone. I am waiting for a few calls back from potential employers, so before I could even process that no potential employers would be calling at nine o’clock on a Saturday, I chirp out a hello in my most pleasant, I’ve-been-awake-for-hours voice. It was Mr. use-to-be-perfect-till-i-acted-like-i-was-five-so-now-i-am-back-to-just-being-devil-boy, AKA devil boy. What the hell are you doing calling me at nine on a Saturday devil boy, Christ!

Standing me up…again. “I am not going to make it tonight,” for fucks sake devil boy! “but…. I was wondering if it would be alright if I came and got you this afternoon.” Here I am, sitting 45 minutes on the other side of Pittsburgh at my mother’s house. Pointing this out he said he knew and he still wanted to come get me. “um, sure?” I answer. So we make arrangements and I hang up. Here’s where my sleepiness is replaced with anxiety… No, no. No, no. This is not right, if devil boy comes here, he’d have to meet my mom. I call devil boy back and see if he wanted to meet me at a landmark near the turnpike, he might get lost otherwise. No, he said he’d find the house alright.

Why, after three weeks of knowing someone, would anyone in their right mind put themselves in a position that they would have to meet the parents? You just don’t do that unless you are a masochist, but then again, even I wouldn’t do that. But then I realized he was making a three hour round trip to come see me and I started to smile. So he met my mom, my brother and the fluffy-poofay one and still talks to me…after of course I helped him over the experience by playing counselor. He said he felt like he was 16 again. At one point I swear I could have actually cut the tension with a knife when my mother proceeded to ask why he traveled an hour and a half to come there…in a panic I laughed “guilt,” he agreed and my mom bitched me out later that night for not giving her the opportunity to psycho-analyze the boy. I told her I was no longer twelve, everyone was psychotic and why question motives with an ass like that.

And despite another episode of pollock induced chaos (“i drive better backwards,” he said as he threw the car into reverse on the on ramp, “i’m polish.”) i think the green eyed one is making the trek back towards Mr. Perfect…and i am making the trek to another drink, b/c i just don’t want to think about it