Smile Like a Bank Teller

3% of this story is based on reality. I did have a crush on my bank teller, her name was Michelle. I did, in fact, have a flash-floward of the future featuring us getting married. I absolutely wore my "Honey Dew Me" t-shirt into a bank. Almost everything else is fabricated from my noggin. The title comes from a Ben Folds Five song called Selfless, Cold and Composed...check that out. Oh and no, Slam Bradley's is not a real bar...yet.

I had pictured Michelle Prince in a wedding dress within the first five minutes of seeing her. I had stopped in the bank, where I worked, on my day off to grab a jacket I had left there, my favorite jacket…my lucky jacket. It was Michelle’s first day as a teller, no longer the awkward trainee. Through unkind scheduling up until that point I had not met Michelle. She was only a name I’d hear, nothing more, and so became sort of ethereal to me. That morning I passed through those familiar, finger-smudged double glass doors with only the rescue of my lucky blue jacket on my mind. I did not know how my life would change.
It was Saturday morning and it was slow. Michelle was helping a customer and only one more stood behind him at the mouth of a felt-roped maze. For a moment I just stared carefully, my eyes trained on CNN which was showing on the TV above and behind Michelle’s left shoulder. Every few seconds I could replace Wolf Blitzer with her adorable visage. She was beautiful but I suspected she didn’t know it. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a messy bun, strands hung out wildly like a sea creature’s tentacles on an ancient map. Her skin bore no sign of make-up save for some cover up on a pimple above her left eye brow that I’d imagine she cursed at, experimented with, and ultimately decided to try and disguise that morning. She wore a white sweater that revealed all of her shoulders, her long thin neck and oddly sexy clavicle. She had small dark freckles dotted intermittently about her shoulders, chest and, I assumed, back. They reminded me of chocolate shavings on the whipped cream topping of an over-priced coffee and I wanted to taste each one.
The customer in front of me in line (unbeknownst to me I had gotten in line) did the Impatient Two Step before getting a call on her cell phone. After excavating it out of the most enormous “purse” I had ever seen, she answered with an exasperated “What now?” I only let myself become distracted by her for a second before shifting my attention back to Michelle.
It was at this point that I realized that there was an issue with the customer Michelle was helping. When I got close enough to hear what was going on, Michelle was explaining to the man that she could not cash his check because the address on his driver’s license did not match the address on his pay-stub. Obviously, the man was not pleased but still kept an air of annoyed congeniality. Even so, if he had projected even one modicum of unpleasantness in Michelle’s general direction I would have gladly snapped his neck with ninja-like efficiency and without a moment’s hesitation. He didn’t. He did, however, ask if there was anything she could do. I noticed the “happy” training they give us as she told him she’d talk to the manager (my good friend Ben) and then it happened. As she began to walk away, smiling politely like we bank tellers do, her eyes briefly met mine, for a nano-second perhaps. It was like a flashbulb, burning her image right into my skull. Within a few more seconds we were talking, then dating, then she was meeting my mom, then we had a suite in Cape May for the weekend, then we were sharing a private joke in the back of a limousine taking us to our wedding reception, then she returned, still smiling, to tell the man that if he had another form of I.D. with the new address she could cash his check. Having worked at this bank for two years, I already knew that simple answer.
“DAMN IT! You idiot!” I screamed inside my noggin. “That was a perfectly good opening line I wasted.”
Infuriated with myself, I wracked my brain for something good to say, still unaware that I was in line for no reason. Possibilities darted like humming birds around in my consciousness and I plucked whatever I could.
“Fresh meat huh? Argh, terrible. New girl eh? I was banking on meeting you someday…Lord, I should kill myself.”
It appeared my databank of lines was on the fritz and now that New Address Guy was finished, I was running out of time. Giant Purse Lady, who I’d noticed ended her phone conversation with a breathy ‘Asshole.’, filled the new vacancy in front of the increasingly beautiful Michelle. At that point, I had become cognizant, and thereby embarrassed, of my current attire. For some reason, I had gotten into the habit of appearing more casual than I actually am when in the presence of coworkers outside of work. I may have felt that if I had always appeared hung-over it would lend itself to the idea that I had a crazy, party-filled life outside my corporate existence. The only real reaction this garnered was that two or three times a month my fifty-eight year old coworker Doreen would ask: “Crazy weekend planned Martin?” To this I’d almost always answer with some variation of “You don’t wanna know Dor.” I’m sure her laugh was always genuine. But in line that morning I truly regretted my fictional swinging bachelor life as well as my bright yellow mesh shorts and faded pink Baerenjaeger t-shirt which featured two cartoon bees staring lovingly at each other under the words “Honey Dew Me” in Olde English-esqe font.
“No time to worry about that now.” I thought, “I’m next in line…wait…oh my God. WHY AM I IN LINE?!”
The realization made my stomach churn and my face flushed. The Giant Purse Lady was gathering her slips while saying her goodbyes and thank you’s.
“If I leave now it’d be too obvious, she already saw me. I’d look like a freak, she’ll think I’m weird, I blew it, I’ve 100% blown my chance before I even-“
“Hi. Can I help you?” Michelle cut through my internal harangue.
An Ice Age forms and falls in the time it takes me to articulate a response. Fortunately I had managed to dig a gem from the barren tundra that my vocal capabilities had become.
“I…uh…” was what I eloquently stammered.
Michelle maintained her professionalism and tried to further communicate with a mentally-deficient Cro-Magnon again.
“How can I help you today sir?”
My response this time wasn’t as good, or maybe it was better, I simply couldn’t speak at all. I just stood there, half-smiling with a look on my face that better suited a person who had no training in bomb-disposal…who suddenly found themselves needing to dispose of a very big bomb. I saw Michelle’s eyes dart to Ben, our manager. I had actually made the situation so uncomfortable that she could consider that I was a crazy person ready to rob the bank.
“Mart! Marty!” I heard those sounds but failed to place them as properly as I should have.
“Dude, Mart.” A stiff push to my shoulder finally shook me out of my fatuous paralysis. I saw Michelle’s face fill with relief and with that I felt of rush of some too.
“Ben, no physical contact at work, sexual harassment is something we take very seriously at Second National.” Too little, too late, my normally loquacious tongue returns. Ben laughs his hearty, fat-guy laugh (odd in that he only weighs roughly 115lbs) and explained:
“I’ll do whatever I want when you’re not on the clock broseph.”
Not to be outdone in front of my brand new love, who was still smiling, I countered with:
“Let’s hope all our customers are as lucky as I am.”
Ben then introduced me to Michelle and I apologized for my creepy weirdness and justified it with a story about a shot contest with my roommates the prior evening which led to a zombie-like hangover. It’s always easier to be funny when an old friend is around and thanks to Ben I was able to bring that side of myself out in front of Michelle. She laughed at all my jokes and they were real laughs, I can always tell. I was completely unaware that I had spent three hours talking to Michelle and Ben, the entire day went by without another customer coming in, not uncommon for a Saturday. I offered my help to Michelle with the normal end-of-shift routines and to my delight she agreed.
As Ben was locking up, Michelle laughed at me shivering in the chilly autumn air.
“I guess you didn’t plan on spending too much time outside today huh?” For a second I was too wrapped up in the joy of her talking to me that I didn’t understand the question, but it quickly dawned on me.
“Oh, right! I’m not really cold; I was actually going to do some yard work like this after I left here, in my sleeveless tee of course.”
She smiled with her lips closed and looked me in the eyes.
“Oh, of course.”
Ben turned around and put his dungeon master’s keys in the large front pocket of his jacket. Our bank was safely locked up and my lucky blue jacket, that I forgot again, was locked up safely with it. By this point I’d hoped that he’d picked up on my scent and knew that his good friend was very, very interested in his new employee. Also, since Ben had been in a long-term relationship with my cousin Beth, he was in my debt. I was responsible for getting B-squared together, he owed me.
“Well, Martin, Michelle…kiddies, what say we get some drinkies?” Ben had a certain way of talking that had it come out of anyone else I would have instantly hated them.
“Ooo! I’m game!” Michelle quickly answered with a speed that forced me to consider the possibility that she was unaware of Ben’s involvement with Beth and the awesome couple-name that I had given them. As well as the possibility that she was not interested in me, but Ben, that son of a bitch. Luckily, I had a trick up my sleeve.
“Ah…jeez, I dunno. I’m still kinda shaking off the after effects of last night…” I let the sentence linger. It had a two-fold purpose. One: to put off suspicion of my false hangover. Two: to draw Michelle into asking me out. Ben bit first.
“Oh, shut the hell up. Grab a shower and meet us out.”
I continued my machination by scrunching my face, looking at the ground, then at the large, red neon numbers giving the motorists on Eagle Road inaccurate time.
“Come on Martin, it’ll be fun.” She said my name and that was it. I showered, using twice as much body wash as I normally do. After ten minutes of debating whether my five-o’clock shadow looked ruggedly handsome or skeevy, I decided to shave since Michelle already saw it and now I could offer her Option #2. I leapt into my most strategically pre-ripped jeans and slipped on a canary yellow, long-sleeve button down. I rolled up the sleeves, once, then again, no more. I met Michelle and Ben at Kevin’s Tavern within the hour.
After that night in the tavern Michelle and I became fast friends. I found I could make her laugh with relative ease and she seemed to genuinely enjoy me as a person. This was proven when she began to call me to talk or hang out rather than me pushing it on her. It didn’t seem to be that long before we were hanging out alone, having dinners for two, or planning weekend activities. With every movie watched or meal shared that flash of our future I had the first time we met seemed to coalesce. I’d never gotten along with a girl so easily and was never as satisfied by a relationship as I was by the one I had with Michelle. As weeks and months progressed, my feelings multiplied and deepened. Before long my crush on Michelle was no secret among my friends, family, and coworkers. Every person I knew was sure of the love Michelle and I seemed destined to share. We were perfect for each other, a clichéd match made in heaven and soon I would confess it all to her and make the transition from friend to lover. When she told me about her new boyfriend Paul, I decided to put that on hold though. Imagine my surprise.
Unbeknownst to me, all of the spare time that Michelle didn’t spend with me, she spent with Paul. She had met Paul in much of the same way I met her, in line at the bank. I’d learn that Paul was a high school Spanish teacher at a school I had been preconditioned to hate since the age of five. I’d also learn that Paul and I weren’t all that different, a fact that I’d come to hate (along with myself) after spending time with him. Knowing that in any other circumstance I’d like the guy, accompanied with the fact Michelle loved all the personality traits that Paul and I directly shared, drove me batty. There was an initial period of time during which I felt betrayed. I allowed myself to believe that Michelle had used me to feed her ego or fill a void until Paul (or whoever she deemed better than me) came along. But eventually I managed to keep reminding myself that I had never presented myself as anything but a friend to Michelle and I couldn’t hold it against her or Paul because he had the balls to make a move and I didn’t. I decided to try my best to respect them and be happy for them but I couldn’t have been as happy as when she showed up at my apartment a slobbering, crying mess because Paul dumped her.
Yes, I know that’s terrible and I’m a horrible person for finding joy in a friend’s pain, but sue me, I was falling in love with the girl. Michelle shuffled into my place wearing an over-sized Eagles sweatshirt, plaid pajama pants, and sweat socks, no shoes.
“No shoes? You drove here with no shoes?” I smiled as carefully as I could while asking, hoping she could find the humor in it and we could begin the process of cheering her up.
“I’m in mourning jerk. Back off.” The corner of her mouth curled up into a slight smile and my heart ached a bit.
“Besides…I needed to get out of there as quick as I could.”
She didn’t cry for that long, only while she relived the gory details and revived the sorrow, rage, and exhaustion she had went through mere hours before. Long story, short: Paul’s ex came back into the picture and won the proverbial girlfriend face-off. After wearing herself down, Michelle curled up in my bed and after wrapping herself up in my covers she resembled a cross between Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer and the Michelin Man. I got her some Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food (which she greedily wolfed down like a six-year-old) and we watched Old School while Michelle complained, at length, about Paul. Her amaranthine listing of Paul’s flaws gave me good cause to question her reasons for going out with him in the first place, but I remained silent as she recanted the prior two months of her life. Complaining about Paul led down a dark path however, as it naturally would. We’d only gotten to the part where Frank is working on the Red Dragon when she began to complain about herself.
“I’m just such a loser Marty; I do this all the time. I come out too strong, too quickly and I scare guys off. I’m a lunatic loser who’ll be cruising bars at 45 looking for someone half-way decent looking to get me off that night.” She makes a pouty-face and looks up at the ceiling.
“Well, I’m a three quarters-way decent looking guy and I’m willing to get you off right now.” It was a joke, but it wasn’t. She laughs though.
“Seriously Marty, what’s so wrong with me that I’m destined to become a cougar?” I look at her for a second, then look away shaking my head and rolling my eyes.
“Ok Michelle, first of all, I know this is part of the whole process of breaking up but shut up. Please? You’re talking like a fucking idiot. You’re twenty-two, not fifty-eight, so let’s not write off finding a mate just yet. Paul wasn’t the right one. You know that and I’m guessing you’ll get that pretty soon. If I hear you call yourself a loser again, I’ll kick your ass myself. You’re perfect.” I can feel myself getting a little out of control.
“Martin, I’m not perfect so don’t try and…” I stop her before she can finish.
“Ok, I don’t mean there’s nothing wrong with you. No one is perfect, blah, blah, blah. But you, you’re a perfect girlfriend, a perfect woman to be with. Yes, you have your flaws like your refusal to wear a seat belt and eating food while you’re on the phone but those don’t matter overall. You’re a triple threat. You’re gorgeous, you’re funny, and you’re intelligent; the three essential factors for a perfect woman. Congratulations, you’re one.” I’m a little out of breath and shaking slightly because I’d never spoken to Michelle that openly before. I turn my attention back to the movie but I don’t really watch it, I just sat on the end of the bed waiting on her move.
“You think I’m gorgeous?” Her question terrifies me, I answer it anyway.
“Yeah, who wouldn’t? You are.” I sound more annoyed than I am but I don’t elaborate. I had no idea what Michelle was thinking or how she would react. She said nothing but I could hear her moving on the bed behind me. Michelle came up on my right side and hugged me around my waste, her head rested in my lap. She didn’t talk, just sort of sighed and watched the TV. It was when I began stroking her hair that it struck me; we were loosely recreating When Harry Met Sally. Sally comes to Harry after she gets dumped, he consoles her, they kiss, and they bang and so on and so forth. This was it; this was my chance, my moment. Sure, she was hurting, she was vulnerable, but I was the right guy for her. I was sure of it. If I made my move now, it might be shocking enough to get Michelle out of her own way so she and I could begin a long and happy life together. I kept stroking her hair, occasionally brushing her cheek as softly as I could. Every so often she’d let out a small moan that only emboldened my resolve. The movie had gotten to the scene where Mitch catches Mark in the bathroom at Beanie’s son’s birthday party. Mark explains Guy Code and how Mitch can’t tell Nicole about his transgressions…even though Mitch wants Nicole. I didn’t want to be a jerk; I didn’t want to risk Michelle thinking of me like that. At least that’s what I told myself, I really just didn’t have the courage. I kept stroking her hair and used every iota of will-power in my being to not get an erection.
That was five years ago and since then my friendship with Michelle has remained just that, a friendship. What also remained the same were Michelle’s tribulations with the opposite sex. Of the seven (yes, seven) relationships she’s had in the past five years, each one was just a diluted or enriched version of the night Paul dumped her. Sometimes it took her weeks to be normal again, other times she was back in the game the following weekend. In either case, it always began with her coming to me and me telling her it would be alright. But don’t worry; these past five didn’t see me celibate. I managed to get myself into two serious relationships as well as a few random hook-ups every now-and-again. A pittance, I know, compared to seven but I’m not as pretty as Michelle. The first girl, Liz (short for Elizabeth) Maston, I met in line while grocery shopping. Thanks to a cashier with the motor skills of a mound of protoplasm, we bonded through complaining. Then it just so happened that we parked next to each other and since I was pissed at Michelle for blowing off our dinner plans for her then-boyfriend Andy, I had cajones enough to ask Liz. We dated for about ten months after that and became pretty serious within that time. Parents, holidays, trips, I did all the long-term boyfriend stuff with Liz almost right away. Our relationship shot out like a cannonball: loud, fast, and hard. It ended like a cannonball too, with a BOOM. For roughly sixteen days straight Liz and I fought, about what I really can’t recall, but it led to our mutual (albeit awful) break-up after those aforementioned ten months. I do specifically remember two things though. Liz gathering up the clothes and trinkets she left at my place. She had a big armful of crap and made her way through the living room as I stood, arms crossed, in the kitchen watching the linoleum floor. She bumped into the arm of my green couch and dropped everything. I went over and bent down to help her gather it all up. We looked at each other and I thought there might be something there worth saving, but I said nothing and she left. The final memory I have of Liz was two weeks after that night. We planned one of those stupid, unnecessary “catch up” dates that couples who don’t fully break off have. I made her dinner, we watched a Best of Reality TV clip show on VH1, got into a huge argument and just before she slammed the door (closing her out of my life from that night on) she said:
“Sorry I’m not as perfect as your fucking Michelle!”
True? Yes. Surprising? Yes. Irrelevant? Maybe. I hadn’t fully considered the fact that my relationship with Liz may have been doomed from the get-go because of how I felt about Michelle. It didn’t take that long to get over Liz but she left an indelible mark. I couldn’t shake the notion that any girl I may try and create a life with would be tainted by the fact that I never got over Michelle…because I never got with Michelle. I’d always wonder, I’d always compare, and I’d never stop thinking “Maybe.” Still, that fear didn’t stop me from dating Cassie Sandsmark. Cassie was a whirlwind that sucked me in, tossed me out and sucked me back in again and again. We’d met one night as I was leaving a bar (I couldn’t stand watching Michelle publicly/drunkenly make out with her then-boyfriend Ethan); Cassie was walking by, stopped me and asked for the time. She was very sexy (red tank top, plenty of cleavage with ripped low-riding hip huggers) but obviously flustered. I took out my cell phone to check and relayed the information, trying my best to seem cool. I didn’t, and still do not, know how to act cool. She was quickly putting up her hair while she thanked me and walked away. I started to head in the opposite direction when I heard her calling to me, she tapped my shoulder.
“Hey, sorry, do you mind if I use your cell phone?” It’s sad to admit that if the girl had been ugly I would have hesitated. I did not hesitate in answering, but still tried to appear cool.
“Hmm…um, just for a second?” Her face lit up.
“Oh, absolutely, I’ll be super quick!” I handed her my phone, realizing too late that the background on the screen was a picture of Aquaman. She had to notice and was kind enough to not make mention of it. She dialed and held it up to her ear, blocking the bar noise by putting the palm of her hand over her other ear. For a second, I stared at the crevice this made with her bicep. Cassie then took the phone away from her ear and looked back at the screen; my heart sank as I assumed she must be having a second look at the King of the Seas.
“Umm…it says call ended on here? It didn’t go through.” She looks at the phone, then at me.
“Oh…uh…let me see.” I briefly made contact with her hand as she passed the phone back.
“Ok, you didn’t dial an area code; you have to put that in first.” I couldn’t help sounding condescending, but she knew how dumb that seemed.
“Christ, I’m retarded. Sorry, thanks.” Again she dials and again I see her nicely sculpted arm. She began to talk to someone (I couldn’t tell if it was a guy or girl) rapidly. I put my hands in my pockets and just looked around, up the street, down the street, into the bar, up at the sky. Again, I have no idea how to be cool. It was one of the few times in my life that I wished I smoked, just to have something other to do than look like moron. Cassie talked for a while, getting more frustrated and angry with each passing sentence.
“Well, I was waiting there for forty-five minutes…No, because you said not to…How the hell was I supposed to know that…I TOLD you I didn’t have it, that’s why we…No…Yes I did tell you…Forget it, are you there now…Are you serious…I DON’T FUCKING BELIEVE YOU, you’re such…No, fuck you…Yeah, go fuck yourself. Argh! GOD! Sorry, thank you.” By the end of her conversation I was looking in every possible direction other than hers. So when she apologized and handed the phone back again, I pretended like didn’t hear a word.
“Ah, no, no problem.” Cassie glanced around, looking for someone or something.
“Well thanks again, goodnight.” She turned and then I decided to drop my veil of ignorance.
“Is everything alright? I don’t mean to pry but…” My eyebrows, independent of my control, contorted to try and relay a semblance of concern. Cassie turned and looked me in the eye, then back to the street.
“Yeah. Well, no, obviously. But I’m fine, thanks for your concern…”
“Martin, Martin Allen. You’re…” I extend my hand, she takes it.
“Martin, I’m Cassie Sandsmark, nice to meet you. I’m sorry; did I keep you from going in here?” She motions to the bar I just exited.
“Ha, no actually, I had just left before you came up to me.”
“Nice, good call. This bar sucks.” I glance back in through the window, under the neon “TE” of a Miller Lite sign I see Michelle and Ethan still going at it like they’re at a porn audition.
“Yes, it certainly does. Well…” Before I can continue, Cassie asked me the question that started it all for us.
“Wanna check out a really cool bar, not too far from here?” I didn’t waste time to check on Michelle again and agreed.
I fell in love with Cassie almost immediately. She was a force of nature too powerful to hold back. She was voraciously smart, by that I mean a glutton for information and learning. Cassie managed to never come off conceited either, she took classes and read teetering stacks of books for her own betterment, not so she could gloat. She had a strong sense of morality, pined for personal responsibility to return in society and had a Tony Starkesque, iron clad suit of armor surrounding her heart. This came from several relationships of hers in which she was wronged. In fact, before me, every single one of her relationships had ended with her being cheated on so getting close to Cassie Sandsmark was an arduous test of a man’s time, effort, and will. I felt like Bruce Lee in The Game of Death. Every new challenge I defeated just led me to a new level of the pagoda and a new set of life-threatening confrontations. Somehow, I persevered.
Michelle loved Cassie too, in the beginning at least. During those first few tenuous weeks Cassie and I started to get to know each other, we surrounded ourselves with friends to relieve some pressure. During that time, Michelle evaluated Cassie during our social rendezvous and to my relief the two got along swimmingly. That was until Cassie and I got to know each other enough to not need circles of friends to alleviate any awkwardness and because of this, the dynamic Michelle and I shared flipped. No longer was I the one stewing over drinks alone after getting an “Actually, now we’re gonna…” call. I started leaving her high and dry on Friday nights while I stayed in with Cassie or went out with Cassie or walked with Cassie or just talked to Cassie or made love to Cassie. Michelle was now the one leaving unanswered voicemails and complaining about never seeing me. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the reversal if only because it was at least some form of Michelle wanting me. This isn’t to say that I stopped seeing Michelle altogether but if I did it was most certainly in the company of Cassie. My relationship with her spanned three years and it was the only span of time since that day I forgot my lucky jacket for the second time that I thought I might finally be able to see Michelle as just my friend…ultimately I still could not.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t the only problem in my relationship with Cassie. While our courtship did span three years, we suffered from Break-Up-Make-Up-itis. In three years we broke up four times. For us it was difficult keeping things exciting enough for us to validate being together. We were a volatile pair with a certain crackling, intense energy that surrounded us at all times. But the rub was that this ferocity caused us to either be deliriously in love or vehemently combative. We were either kissing each other’s throats or throttling them, we were black or white. I never went to Michelle like she came to me after a break up. We discussed it when it happened but I just wanted to try and ignore it and move on, stupid I know but that’s me. The last time I broke up with Cassie was five months ago and we hadn’t spoken at all, until this morning when she came into the bank and asked me if I wanted to get lunch. I told her the truth, that I was extremely busy, and that I wouldn’t be able to but to call me later in the week to set something up. I was glad Michelle wasn’t there to see it happen because I probably would have acted a lot differently towards Cassie. I like being with Cassie, I spend too much time trying to think of things to make my relationship with her work but that curse Liz put on me always returns with every break-up I go through. I want to be with Michelle, I want to have my definitive answer on whether or not she and I should be together. I have to be sure I haven’t wasted five years of my life day(and night)dreaming about the same girl. It’s because of this need to know that tonight I am going to see Michelle and Martin Allen is finally going to make his move.
I get to Michelle’s apartment at around quarter to eight, just as the flickering outdoor light above the entrance tries desperately to spark to life. I open the door to the puke-green foyer and punch Michelle’s code into a number pad that looks like it was stolen from one of my Pre Skool toys. The door unlocks with an unpleasant buzz and I walk through it towards the faux wood-lined elevators. With every door I pass through, my heartbeat gets faster and more erratic and I sweat a little bit more. I only have one door left before Michelle and my grand confession to her. A ding signals my arrival at Michelle’s floor. The hallway smells like cheap potpourri and Lysol. It seems like I take a breath with every measured step down this corridor and when I see Michelle’s taupe door I slow down even more. I stand on her pink doormat for two whole minutes staring at the big white letters that spell ‘Welcome’ before I finally force my hand to close into a fist and knock.
When Michelle answers, she swings the door open, smiles and turns around, just like she always does. She’s wearing a pair of small, light blue mesh shorts with “LAX” written across her ass and a sleeveless shirt she got at Live 8.
“Hey.” she walks into her small kitchen, decorated with a bunch of fake Italian memorabilia, the kind you’d find in the bargain section of a Marshall’s.
“Hey, what’s up?” I walk in, crossing my final physical threshold, and close the door behind me.
“Huh? Oh, nothing. I actually just got out of bed, post-nap, a couple of minutes ago. Good timing Mr. Allen. You want anything? Beer? Hold on, all I have is my girly hard cider.” She makes an exaggerated frown, waiting for my answer.
“Uh….hmmm, yeah, gimme one. I think I’m gonna get fucked up tonight.” I take off my coat and scarf and throw them on her Hershey bar brown couch and sit down. In her tiny dining area across from her tiny living room area I see a lush, full bouquet of roses standing proudly in a white vase decorated with pink tulips. I feel heat rush to my face, forced there by jealousy, anger and embarrassment.
“Who the fuck gave her fucking roses? I obviously didn’t take that new guy she met seriously enough. Goddamnit, this is so stupid. I’m stupid, she doesn’t want me, this is over. Abort. Abort. Abort…wait, what if they’re from her dad or brother or something?” I stare at the flowers so intensely that if I keep it up lasers of heat vision may actually burst from my eyes, incinerating Michelle’s Ikea dinette. The only thing I can do is check the card, which I can’t see from where I am. I stand up to investigate but Michelle emerges from the kitchen.
“Whoa, fucked up eh? I thought you weren’t getting nuts this weekend.” She opens two bottles of Magner’s and tosses the caps over her shoulder and straight into the trash can behind her. I should forget about the flowers, I need to focus. I sit down.
“Yeah, I dunno, I just got in the mood to let go. Do you still want to go out?” I take a long pull from my bottle, tasting only fizzy apple juice and nothing that will get me as drunk as I’d prefer to be.
“Yeah, I’ll go out. Maybe I’ll get f-ed up too for the hell of it.”
Michelle folds up her legs under her body. She’s leaning on the arm of the love seat perpendicular to the couch I’m on. She drinks from her bottle and puts in down on the table next to her before she swallows.
She asks me where I want to go but before I can answer she tells me why she doesn’t want to go to a place we frequent called Fillmore’s because of a bartender there who never called her friend Kara back after sleeping with her. She says she’s not tipping someone that she is absolutely sure is an asshole. Michelle’s knee is gorgeous. There is a shiny scar across the bottom of it that she received at age ten after an ill-conceived leap from a swing set in her backyard. It seems impossible that the skin of anyone’s knees could be as smooth and soft and—
“Mart?” Shit. I was staring.
“Yeah, Michelle, give me a sec ok? I’m thinking.” She seems to buy my excellent last minute save. Last minute saves are my specialty.
“Whoa, excuse me. It looked like you were having an aneurysm.” She turns to her bottle and drinks from it again, extending her slender neck, revealing some of the dark freckles that enticed me the first time I saw her.
“How about Slam Bradley’s? “ I ask, “We haven’t been there in awhile.” I like Slam’s because if I get some songs on their juke box I can usually hear them before the bouncer’s scream “LAST CALL!”
“Oh! Ok, yeah, absolutely. Jeez, when was the last time we were there?” Michelle stands up, taking her drink with her, and turns on her iPod inside a futuristic-looking stereo. That Teenage Feeling by Neko Case plays. Michelle continues walking while humming the tune, back into the kitchen.
“I think the last time we were there was when Roy Bivolo tried to break up that fight between Ted Grant and Jim Craddock.” She turns the corner back towards me, practically in slow motion.
“Oh my God, I remember that. He got a bottle to the face…idiot.”
“I know, oh, before you sit down.” I wave my bottle back and forth in the air, empty and needing a replacement.
“Jesus, you weren’t kidding. I have that rum you left here awhile ago too if you’re this serious.” Michelle clinks my bottle against hers.
“Coke or ginger ale?” I ask, knowing she’ll say: “Diet Coke?”
“Diet Coke?” Her eyebrows raise and her lips are pursed for a moment.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I can get it.” I get up off the couch and follow Michelle into her kitchen, far enough behind her so that I can inspect the flowers.
“Damn.” I mutter, “No card.”
“What?” Michelle turns around.
“Uh, my shoulder. It’s killing me. It’s been like a week now.” The more details you put into a lie make it that much more believable. Michelle, again, buys it. She opens the cabinet above her refrigerator. Next to a box of Life cereal is her bar, consisting of my expatriated bottle of rum, a half a bottle of Vladmir vodka and about one shot of 99 Apples resting in its dusty glass coffin. Before handing me the bottle, she opens the fridge with her other hand, grabbing a Diet Coke from the box. I can’t help but be a sleeze and look at the sliver of underwear showing as she bends. By the time she turns around, I’m in another cabinet getting a low-ball glass. Michelle hands me the rum and soda.
“Thanks.”
“So, did you talk to anyone or is it just you and me tonight?” She hops up on the countertop next to her sink.
“I talked to Ben but he gave me the usual ‘Beth Wants Me To Stay In’ speech so…” In reality, I had spent about an hour after work with Ben and Beth. I had explained my plans for this night and the three of us weighed the pros and cons of such a revelation. I pour a generous amount of rum into the glass.
“Whoa! Slow down rummy. I’m not carrying you back here tonight.”
“Even though I’ve carried you back…six times that I can remember off the top of my head, I’ll ignore that. Ice please.” I hold my glass out. Michelle opens the freezer without getting down and takes a handful of cubes from a bucket. She carefully drops them into the glass. I open the can of diet soda and slowly pour it into the alcohol, careful not to let it foam up too much. For a second all I can hear is the fizzing of my drink.
“Hey mister, I weigh like a hundred pounds less than you.”
I take a sip of the strong, spiced rum mildly laced with cola.
“Yes, but you’re hot enough to convince one or many men to hoist me back.” I don’t make eye contact with her until I’m done the sentence and smile at her. I wonder what comes through more clearly, the compliment or the joke.
“Well,” she lowers herself from the counter, her slender arms tense for a second as they hold up the weight of her body, “I can’t argue with that. I am pretty…pretty.”
Big Shot by Billy Joel is the next song on the random playlist and I can’t help but think of my friend Jim and how he lost his virginity to this song. Apparently a smile crept across my face.
“What?” Michelle is back on the love seat.
“What, what?” I walk back to my spot on the couch, still indented.
“You’re smiling. What are you smilin’ about smiley?” She stretches out on the small couch this time, her head on the arm covered by a mess of hair.
“Oh, Mr. Joel’s song that’s on…Jimmy lost his virginity to it. He made a make-out mix CD for him and his girlfriend in college. Well, he never burned a CD before so he ends up putting like six non-make-out-friendly songs on it by accident. He meant to put on She’s Got a Way…”
“Of course, but The Night is Still Young is the hottest Billy Joel song.” Michelle smiles after she interjects and for a fraction of a second I let myself think that was a come-on.
“Thank you improbable VH1 countdown…anyway. Jim meant to put on She’s Got a Way but put this on instead. Luckily they were so into doing the deed neither one cared.”
Michelle laughs. “What else was on there accidentally?”
“Uh…the only one I’m positive besides this is Under the Sea from the Little Mermaid. Yeah. I know.”
Michelle’s laugh is louder now and I want so badly to kiss her. I take a gulp of the cocktail in my hand.
“Oh my God, that’s too funny. What did you lose yours to? I know mine; I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
I never anticipated the conversation would turn remotely sexual and feel unprepared and nervous. I start to blush and take another drink.
“Hmmm…” I pretend to need to try and remember, furrowing my brow. I know full-well that I lost it to This Year’s Love by David Gray. Michelle, finally, doesn’t buy into my ruse.
“Oh come on, you have to remember it!” She sits up and leans forward.
“Ok, This Year’s Love. David Gray. Unlike Jimmy, I had an amazing make-out mix.” I try to look sly as I take another gulp.
“Ooo that is a good one. Hold on.” Michelle jumps up and walks to the stereo.
“Oh, please don’t put it on. Please?” I implore her, but she waves me off without turning around. Seconds later I hear the slow, tired piano opening of one of my favorite songs. Michelle twirls around and jumps onto the couch this time, opposite from me. My heart starts to race.
“So Ms. Prince, your turn.” I finish my drink and place the empty glass on a copy of Time from a month ago still sitting on her coffee table.
“Ok, well, I’m pissed because mine’s not as good but I lost it to Eugene Thompson, ugh, and he was obsessed with Phish but luckily that Waiting in the Velvet Sea song came on.” Michelle looks down at the floor for a minute, back in that moment.
“Actually it’s ‘Wading’ in the Velvet Sea like ‘wading in water’.” I try and pull her back to the present.
“Really!? Jeez, I’m an idiot. That makes a lot more sense. Do you remember him? We almost got back together like two years ago.” Michelle looks right into my eyes. I did remember Eugene. When I found out the significance he had in Michelle’s life was much more than that of an old friend I soon considered him the most likely candidate to take Michelle away from me forever. To my benefit, it did not. I know…I know; I’m a terrible person.
“Yeah, a rekindling years after your break-up. You guys were good together.” I’m truly amazed I just said that.
“You think so? Yeah…I guess we were but something got in the way. I’ll tell you what though; he was no fan of you.”
“What?” I am genuinely surprised by this because Eugene had always been very cool with me. I found him a bit boring but I couldn’t fault him for it because he seemed like a truly nice guy.
“Oh yeah, he hated how much time we spent together. He was always insisting that something was up and that you were trying to get with me all the time.” I’m truly shocked, especially because while he was right about me wanting his girl, there was no way I’d have enough guts to do something about it. Until tonight that is. “We almost broke up after you took me to your sister’s wedding. He went nuts and swore that I cheated on him because I didn’t tell him we stayed overnight in the hotel together.”
“We shared a room with my parents!”
“I know! I told him that but he refused to believe me! I almost dumped him for it.” She turns from me and finishes her drink. “Another?”
“Yeah, please.” Michelle grabs my glass and heads back to the kitchen. Sick of Myself by Matthew Sweet comes on it sort of energizes me. “So wait, why did he think something was up? Did I act that way?”
“No, no, he was just crazy jealous.” Michelle returns to the refrigerator and her thong returns to my field of vision.
“Well, did he act that way about any of your other guy buddies? You still hang out with Tim and you used to kinda date.” I hated Tim. Hated him.
“Umm…no not really. I mean, I had other guys I was friends with but I don’t spend nearly as much time with them. Let alone time one on one.” Michelle makes me another drink (just as strong as the one I made) and opens another Magner’s for herself. She hands me the booze while taking some of hers.
“Huh, I guess.” I take a sip, still obviously perplexed.
“Dude, don’t worry about it. He was just insecure. He probably thought you had something he didn’t.” Michelle walks past me back to the couch, I breathe in the scent of her shampoo then follow.
“Do I?” I know now that this question is going to lead me down the path I’ve wanted to tread for too long. I’m jumping out of a plane with no parachute. Michelle giggles and drinks some more.
“Uh, yeah, sure you do.” She pulls her knees, her gorgeous knees, up towards her chest as I sit back down. Her answer lets me press further, almost playfully.
“Well, like what? I mean, what do I have that he’d be jealous about? He’s an investor-guy and has abs. I have an extensive t-shirt collection.” This was true and meant in jest but something I am quite proud of.
“No, I mean, he probably thought you had something with me that he didn’t. He must have felt there was a closeness we shared that he could never compete with. But it’s different, he was an idiot.” Michelle hums along to Wonderwall, a cover by Ryan Adams; her head is laid back, her hair is spilled paint on a throw pillow. “Do you think we would have worked? As a couple I mean?”
“Michelle, I love you.” And there it is, there’s everything, I feel like laughing and throwing up.
“What did you just say?” Her head shoots up off the pillow, “What did you say?” I can’t possibly go back now. I’ve lit the fuse and this is one of those days that you just can’t get rid of a bomb.
“I love you. I’m pretty sure I first realized it that night we saw that orchestra in Rose Tree park.” I wasn’t pretty sure, I was positive. I whispered it during their performance of Stardust.
“What…Marty…that was five years ago…” The look on her face is all concern and that’s not good.
“I know. Listen, Michelle…I came here tonight to tell you that I love you. I had no expectations or preconceived notions about the outcome of that. I only need you to believe it. I see something in you that I don’t see in anyone else. It’s something…old-fashioned maybe, something that might be fading away from humanity. It’s a…a decency, a strength. I’ve seen a level of…of kindness and of…understanding that I have only seen in you. Your independence and constant drive to keep bettering yourself forces me to reexamine myself everyday…in a…a good way. Add to that how much fun you are, how absolutely cool you can be…wow…uh, alright, that sounded stupid. But umm, really, who do I have more fun with? Who do I want to spend all my time with? I’ve looked at everyday, every second we spend together as a chance to learn how to make you happier.” At some point I decided to stand up but I didn’t notice until just now. Michelle is staring at me, her concerned face mixed with disbelief.
“Marty…I…” I don’t let her finish.
“Michelle Prince, I am in love with you. You will not find a man more dedicated and devoted to your happiness in this life.” That was the only part I practiced and unfortunately I felt that was obvious. Please don’t let that have been cheesy. Please don’t let that have been cheesy. Please don’t let that have been cheesy. Please don’t let that have been cheesy…
“Marty…listen, I can’t…Marty…” Her eyes fill with sadness. No, it’s not sadness, it’s compassion. “I love you too Mart but… it’s not…you’re my best friend…just because…” Sweet Jesus, I’ve become a cliché. My stomach gets cold, I bite my lower lip. I hear the opening strings of the Thong Song and I walk, hurriedly, over to the stereo and remove Michelle’s iPod.
“Marty, please don’t get upset. Please don’t. I want us to stay friends, to keep the relationship we have. If something went wrong…I couldn’t live without it. But I think it’s best if we remain just friends…if we just keep things as they are…ok?” I see my reflection in the black plastic of the mp3 player. This, obviously, is not how I wanted this to play out. I see my eyes narrowing. I see every man to ever fail Michelle. I see every opportunity missed while I waited five years in that bank for her.
“No, I don’t accept that.” She gets up and moves over towards me, smoothing her t-shirt out nervously.
“What? Mart, come on…you can’t just…”
“Listen to me for a second ok? I don’t accept that Michelle. I refuse to let you…categorize me. You can’t put a label on me and put me on the ‘friend shelf’ because it’s easier. Friends don’t do that. Friends don’t block themselves from growing ‘just because’. I love you. I could be a great man for you. We could be very happy together. If you want to ignore that and not take a chance, risk it, that’s on you. But it doesn’t speak very much of our friendship. If we love each other, if you care about me as much as you do…then we could get through it as friends if we didn’t work out as lovers. I’ll always be your friend but I’ll want to be more.”
I don’t take my eyes off hers the entire time. My voice didn’t crack; I didn’t stutter…I actually believed what I said. Michelle steps closer to me then she stops a foot away and bends her left knee slightly.
“I…Martin, how can I…how can I argue with that?” My left arm shoots out like a cobra, wrapping Michelle around her waist. I pull her brusquely to me, her breasts pressed against my chest. My right hand grazes her cheek and I lock my fingers in her hair as I lean in and kiss Michelle Prince hard. Her lips, her entire body responds in exactly the manner in which I always dreamed it would. Her hands grab at the back of my head, pulling me in closer. We twist and she sits on the top back of the couch, her legs pull me in…
“YO! MART!” I’m jarred out of my own head by Michelle hollering at me. “Are you ok man?” I was not ok.
“Sorry, yeah, I’m fine. What did you say?”
“You were smiling for no reason. What’s so funny?” Michelle hates it when she’s not in on the joke.
“Oh, umm, the song that just came on, Big Shot, Billy Joel…Jimmy lost his virginity to it.” Michelle cocks her head in confusion.
“Really? That sucks, not exactly romantic.”
“Yeah I know.” I stare into the deep brown pool in my hands, smiling like a bank teller.