Don't Think Twice

I saw the fun flirt at a Halloween party last weekend. It was his birthday. He’s only three weeks shy of being a full year younger than me.

When I first saw him at the top of the stairs, I jokingly asked if it was him. He called me the shortest version of my name even though I’ve always asked him not to. I’ve accepted my fate. I tried to ask him about his new job. He mentioned he has a comedy show next month. A friend of a friend showed interest, and later in the night, I shot him with Cupid’s Nerf dart while they were talking. It didn’t work. I don’t think he knew what it was.

We met again walking in opposite directions up and down the stairs. He put his arm around my shoulder and told me to come with him. Two shots, one glass of wine, one of soju, and two mixed drinks, one of which the hosting friend added additional liquor to later on, a group of us found ourselves in the hosting friend’s bedroom. (There was also a bag of wine passed around after that.)

I sat against the bookcase; my back felt it the next day. Fun flirt and a mutual friend sat on the bed. Questions filtered, and the conversation veered toward porn. I stuck up for women.

“I’ve never seen you like this.” / “You don’t know me that well.”

When I asked about the friend of a friend he explained he had a date tomorrow, and it wasn’t right when he knew he was seeing another girl. Plus, something along the lines of, “I’ve decided to not pursue things that are not worthwhile.”

At 5 am, the three of us walked home together. They both live in the neighborhood, and I would call a car from one of theirs. I can’t believe we walked that many blocks in Hollywood with the moon above, and when it was just the fun flirt and I, I said so. Not directly related, but he essentially told me he always thought I was uptight when we worked together, and I needed to “be laid for 45 minutes.” When I called the car a block from his apartment he asked, “If you needed to sleep with ten people to save the world could you?” I said yes and then amended to 7/10. He said the same. I stared at him, “You must know you’re a stereotypically attractive guy who is tall and funny and most women go for that. You must know that.” / “Are you saying I’m hot?” I stared at him and I know he knew. He started to say I was underselling myself as the car arrived, and trying not to care among several other deflections and principles, I stepped away to check the license plate. I heard him say “You’re beautiful.” before I said goodbye. What did he want from me anyway?

I texted him, once home, to thank him for waiting, but he never responded. And I felt beautiful afterward, but he didn’t say I was hot or sexy or attractive. He said I was beautiful, which feels like a way to say things I already think too much about myself. He could have told me to wait a moment or to stay, but I knew he had a date after the sun rose. I could say I think it mattered, but I don’t think he thinks about me.

And yet, there were butterflies in my gut all weekend. The fantasy world began. All too familiar.

I reject people and hope they come back. Daydreams and suffocation and underestimating.

He is just what I call him.