movies and glass everywhere

we go to this bar and I order four long island iced teas because the cuter server tells me they’re on special.  I listen to this girl behind me, who is out with two rather unattractive dudes, tell them about the kind of guys she likes.

"I like older guys, nerdy guys and guys with big ears."

The guys think that she’s cute and interesting.  They say,

"big ears, eh?"  She giggles and fake blushes and says,

"Yeah, I know.  I’m such a weirdo!"  She talks about reading James Patterson novels and how quickly she was able to finish the Twilight series.  I hate her.

I shouldn’t be spending money, but I feel like drinking.  I order some food but barely eat it.  The boyfriend looks away, at the wall, at his lap.  I tell him about how there is this new drug that can delay puberty.  I tell him about these clinics that use it on transgendered kids so they don’t have to develop into an unwanted sex.  He asks me why I know this. 

I say,

"NPR. Duh."

He tells me not to say "duh."

I drink way too much.  I keep ordering Long Islands because, uh, they’re on special for three dollars.  We argue about the film, Transformers.  He tells me I am pretentious.  I ask him what his favorite thing to take shots of is.  A year and half and I don’t know.  He says he doesn’t know, then, dryly he says,

"whiskey, I guess."

I get up and go the bathroom then stop at the bar on my way back to our table and order two shots of whiskey.  I want him to be happy, have fun, smile, take that look off his face.  I give it to him and he sort of scowls.  He says,

"I told you not to order me a shot."  I smirk and take mine.  He tells me this morning that he dumped his on the floor when I looked away.  This morning, he rolls his back towards me, he moves my arm away, he stares at the ceiling.  He tells me,

"you’re just no present when you’re drunk."

I say,

"yeah, well, no one is I guess. I guess that’s what being drunk is."

I force him to go to the bank with me, and then to the store.  He trails behind me, messes with his cell phone, plays solitaire.  I go down the beer aisle.  He get’s annoyed, angry.  He hates that I drink so much.  I buy a six pack of beer and a bottle of wine- minimal for me, and I’m proud of that.  I choose not to engage with him and his annoyance.  I make jokes instead.  He’s not amused.  I buy Totino’s frozen pizza, grapes, Easy Mac, dog food and tooth paste.  I look through my wallet and discover I’ve left my ID in the jeans I was wearing last night.

I say,

"shit."

I ask him if he’ll just take my wallet and purchase my items for me and I’ll get his items which include a gallon of fat free milk, Strawberry milkshake Oreo’s and Crest whitening toothpaste.  

I stand behind him in line.  The lady is old, with thick wrinkles around her eyes.  She’s slow and has to look up the PLU for my lemon and potatoes.  I stare at the gum, 5 Hour Energy, Payday candy bars and lint brushes.  Finally, she announces the total and the boyfriend fishes through my yellow and purple Louis Vuitton wallet that he got for me for our one year anniversary.  He said,

"You need a wallet.  You’re always losing your ID."

He was right.  Now, he is fishing through my wallet realizing that perhaps there’s not enough.  I don’t understand how this can be.  He glares at me, with an angry, hateful look, and then pulls money out of his own wallet, perhaps a dollar or two.  I’m superb at budgeting my cash, I feel confused, if I were an internet acronym I would be

wtf?

Ah, I’ll figure it out later, I think.  He moves ahead with my stuff in the cart.  I purchase his items.  I meet him by the Subway near the exit.  Before I can say anything he slams his bag in the cart.  He says,

"I can’t believe I had to help you pay for your fucking beer."

We fight.  He yells.  I yell.  We wait at a red light to get on the freeway.  He says,

"you just expect things!"

He’s wrong.  I feel very strongly about this.  I’m uneasy, I don’t understand why he’s so angry.  I make my hands into fists.  Perhaps, he’s right, maybe I expect things sometimes.  I expect him to cover an extra dollar at the grocery store without him becoming enraged, true.  He was out of work for a long period of time, in which I paid for everything we ever did, let him stay with me for a time without paying rent, doing anything.  For my Birthday, MY birthday, I funded an incredibly expensive fishing trip to Greer, in which he never paid a dime.  I never said a word.  And now, when I have an editing position in which I make shit for money and have an overflow of bills, and he possesses a job in which he makes more, has no bills, and is a position to help me he says…

"you just expect things!"

I say,

"FUCK YOU!"

And then,

"I don’t want to see you anymore!"

We get home, I slam the door, I shove frozen food in the freezer, produce in the crisper.  He’s in my bedroom, shoving his clothes in his backpack, gathering his things.  He comes in the kitchen and grabs his glasses from the cupboard; beer mugs and commemerative Lord of the Rings glasses.  He pulls the road sign he gave me when he was working at the metal recycling plant off my wall.  When he takes all the Danny Boyle DVD’s off my shelf I get so pissed I start to shake.  He grabs the framed, black and white photo of us kissing at a bar in Laughlin that I have on my bookshelf.  I follow him through the yard and to his car.  I tell him he’s an asshole for taking back gifts he gave me.  I tell him it’s mean, unnecessary and that I don’t want back anything I gave him.  He says,

"good, I’ll throw it away then."

I throw my hands up, turn my back, walk back to the house.  I stand in the yard, next to the grill and wait to hear his car start.  I watch the overgrown weeds blow in the breeze.  Suddenly, the framed photo whizzes over my hear and shatters against the back of my house.  I cringe as the glass explodes over the yard.  The  photo of us, him starring at me, me at him, his hand is on my neck, my hand is on his beard, we’re both smiling inches from each other’s lips.  The photo is lying before me, in between the overgrown weeds.  I stare at it.  The gate opens behind me and he throws the six Danny Boyle DVD’s at my feet.

He says,

"Here you go.  Useless shit is all you ever wanted out of me anyway."

Glass and movies everywhere, I listen to his car start up and peel away.  I come inside.  Stare at the bare wall near the kitchen where he took my road sign.  I go to the fridge and pull out one of the beers and take three long swigs. I go to my room and lay on my clean sheets.  I stare at the text message he sends.  It says,

"delete my number from your phone"

I sigh, hard. I think,

wtf