You Sit There in Your Heartache
“I got you an Uber. Go, get out of my sight,” he says with a cheerful grin and not-so-cheerful eyes.
I get in the car, slamming the door behind me and my miserable thoughts. Clearly there’s not going to be anything else: we never exchanged phone numbers or Facebook profiles or whatever it is people exchange when they meet the old-fashioned way, on a boardwalk. Because he never asked. As the car pulls away, I contemplate the prospect of having my nose gnawed off by my future 40 cats when I die alone on the floor.
Damn, I really liked the guy, and that happens… never. Why is it that someone I like a lot only likes me a little, not even enough to try and ask me out? I guess that’s why I was so bent on going home, even though nothing was keeping me from staying. It would have felt shitty, wouldn’t it, knowing he’s not that into me?
Through the buzz of these thoughts, I register the upbeat guitar intro I’ve known since forever and the familiar voice of The Killers’ lead singer, going:
“You sit there in your heartache, waiting on some beautiful boy to save you from your old ways…”
How the hell did you know, you creeps? I do sit here in my heartache. As per my old ways.
“He doesn’t look a thing like Jeeesuuus,” continues Brandon Flowers, and I snort. More like the devil, with those disturbing eyes. I definitely should have stayed, why did I not stay? Idiot.
The sound of a cell phone makes me snap out of self-loathing and regret. It can’t be mine, because I didn’t activate roaming—it’s the driver’s.
“Yes?” He turns back to me and asks, “Are you ok over there?”
I mumble something that’s supposed to indicate that yes, I’m ok. The driver repeats that into the phone and then hands it to me.
“Write down my number. And call me, okay? Because if you don’t I’m gonna have to come to your building and wait on the sidewalk. Will you call me?” He sounds borderline worried.
I’m feeling dizzy as I type the number into my dying phone and promise to get WhatsApp so I can call or text him.
The driver is being sweet about it and waits patiently for me to hang up and hand him back the phone. He clearly gets what is going on, and I wonder if he finds it endearing or annoying. Except, I don’t really wonder, because I have other things on my mind right now.
When I walk into the building, I notice something odd about my reflection in the mirror. My mouth is all shades of blue from the lollipop I ate in the darkness of the back seat. I show my reflection the azure tongue and giggle like a happy, happy moron that I am.
