I Think My Heart Broke Just a Little Bit...

by Curtis written last 2009-04-29
Curtis felt Bad when this was written

This was fairly recent, depends on how you look at it. In fact, I never would have thought that things would take a turn for the worst—just a week ago, we were out and about on our trip to New York, exploring the Upper West side and commuting to Brooklyn. Taking a stroll at the Boardwalk, watching the sun set alongside several other sickeningly sweet couples. Yes, it’s a far cry from my usual self three months ago, before I met her—I’ve never thought of myself as a romantic, I hated Disney as a child, I still do, and I would rather spend Saturday nights watching Simpson reruns on my Tivo—I was more of the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy, really. But I guess, fate’s a bitch and she made sure to emasculate me by letting me chance upon her in some obscure comic bookstore in downtown Seattle. By emasculating, I mean, making me like, like her because, I’ve always had this image of me being a guy’s guy and not falling in love and shit—I mean, we sleep for sex, not for love. But I guess fate has a stupid way of telling people you’re up the dumps, she probably wanted to prove a point that it’s you know, genetics, to fall in love—and by God, I did, I fell in love with this twenty-two year old, Watchmen fanatic, who had a knack for art and had recently graduated from some Fine Arts school in Rhode Island. She wasn’t anything special, she was just her, “Joanie”—with her long blonde hair, and her Grateful Dead t-shirt. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy—except maybe for the time when I first lost my virginity to a college redhead with huge tits and a four-pack. We bonded over comic books, we bonded over jock movies, we bonded over beer, we bonded over X-box, we bonded over the positive usage of marijuana, and we bonded over sex; she was perfect. My life was near perfect (it would have been if it weren’t for the fact that I recently crashed my beat-up Prius). Until I fucked it up. I know right? Half the world thinks I’m an idiot while the other half is laughing behind my back.

Apparently, a month before I met Joanie, my friends and I were attending a friend’s bachelor party and I sort of met a girl there—Amber, Alana, Arianna, something, God, I can’t even remember her name—and well, you know, like a normal guy would, we slept together and that was that. To cut the story short, it wasn’t until this week that I got a phone call from that girl saying that I got her up in the duff.

What was I going to do? Run away from her? I would have, had she not been the sister of my friend (I know right, I’m a class act). So I thought about it for a couple of days and figured that I don’t think I could burden Joanie with something like this. So just this Saturday, I sat her in some Italian restaurant, Il Fornaio was the name I think, she bantered on and on about how the recent X-Men movie sucked and realized, I wasn’t participating like usual. So she asked me what was wrong, and I smiled at her, didn’t say anything, and stuffed my mouth with Pizza. After a piece or three, I ended up blurting: “I KNOCKED SOME BITCH UP, I THINK WE SHOULD BREAK UP.” Because I’m not one for flowery words and apologies and I wanted to get straight to the point. And I guess she knew that there was no other way to fix things, I think offering to “work things out” was at the tip of her tongue but she decided to leave it at that, chewing on her own pizza silently. So when I dropped her by her rundown apartment, she said “goodbye”—and though she did that every time I dropped her back, I knew this time, it was final. There was no kiss, there was no screaming match, it was very anti-climatic, but I felt that I was letting something big go—and I knew I was.

I guess, in the middle of the night in downtown Seattle (as much as I hate to admit it), my heart broke just a little bit...