Mostly Madly Ch 1
1
alone, i had taken the ferry to block island. i sat in the sand and hoped to forget her. the sun and wind played on the ocean so oblivion looked like a walk in the garden of eden.
i reached into the canvas bag between my legs and found the scotch. i drank and screwed the cap back on and put the bottle away. nearby a group of young girls was standing on the rocks. they were in bathing suits. the oldest among them looked 15, i guessed. they stood on the rocks in their bathing suits and looked down at the water. maybe they would jump. i supposed they were pretty. she was pretty.
then they jumped into the water and screamed. it was early june. they climbed up the rocks, where they stood with their elbows at their sides and their hands clasped onto their chins, shivering.
she looked at me.
“why don’t you come in?” she asked.
convincing legs and socializing breasts.
“i don’t have a bathing suit,” i said.
“so?” she smiled.
i smiled and stayed where i was. she shrugged and they jumped into the water and swam away from the rocks, splashing one another and vanishing beneath the bright surface. the water is too cold, i thought, as i listened to their shouts. listen to them scream. she is too young. the water is too cold. i don’t have a bathing suit.
they climbed the rocks and the girl looked at me. she hadn’t given up. her long black hair hung wet on her narrow shoulders. the other girls laughed. she smiled.
i watched her jump into the water, wishing i could say more. i looked down the beach and back to the street where the hotels were, reached into my sack for the scotch, unscrewed the cap and brought it to my lips. i needed to kill the pain. i needed to forget jess. i needed to forget jess or i needed to hate her, but i was not willing to destroy a love or memory because my heart was broken. i did not know if it would get better or worse. i just needed to forget. but if i ever did feel better, could i trust it? i would tell myself that i had become numbed and hard. erasing her and our past would be a lie. but i saw how i might need the lie and would allow it in order to go on. we must go on, but i wondered if i could ever love again. i knew for the first time in my life what it was like to be invulnerable to women. and it was empowering. vulnerability and sacrifice belonged to others. but behind my wall i saw a monster withering, for without the capacity for love, life would lose its flavor and purpose. it would be a life reduced to food and air. without electricity, the horizon would rot. my great joy now was alcohol, which was not joy at all, but simply a way to trade in on my future life, to squeeze from its flesh drops of blood. i was borrowing against life in order to procure wind. it could not go on. but i knew i was here and i would be here. i didn’t know if my despair would end, if selflessness would come back. love was flawed and i would avoid it until i had forgotten so thoroughly that i qualified as fool once again, a man who would accept a misunderstanding he needed, but never the idiot who would treat a woman as a goddess and earn himself hell.
two years earlier, i was sitting in a bar in san francisco with a guy i’d known since high school. the bar was on haight street and the 20th century was winding down with a pitcher of beer on the table. our glasses were full, we were content for the moment. naturally, the subject turned to women.
“why don’t you write a book about women?” bob said. “i mean, what men are really thinking when it comes to women.”
bob’s suggestion was truly a dare. i understood the challenge and i knew it was not in me. what were men thinking when it came to women? i was in love. i drank my beer.
the day had come when i knew the book would be as much about what men were not thinking about women and about my fight to resist being shamed into someone i wasn’t.
alone, i had taken the ferry to block island. i sat in the sand and hoped to forget her. the sun and wind played on the ocean so oblivion looked like a walk in the garden of eden.
i reached into the canvas bag between my legs and found the scotch. i drank and screwed the cap back on and put the bottle away. nearby a group of young girls was standing on the rocks. they were in bathing suits. the oldest among them looked 15, i guessed. they stood on the rocks in their bathing suits and looked down at the water. maybe they would jump. i supposed they were pretty. she was pretty.
then they jumped into the water and screamed. it was early june. they climbed up the rocks, where they stood with their elbows at their sides and their hands clasped onto their chins, shivering.
she looked at me.
“why don’t you come in?” she asked.
convincing legs and socializing breasts.
“i don’t have a bathing suit,” i said.
“so?” she smiled.
i smiled and stayed where i was. she shrugged and they jumped into the water and swam away from the rocks, splashing one another and vanishing beneath the bright surface. the water is too cold, i thought, as i listened to their shouts. listen to them scream. she is too young. the water is too cold. i don’t have a bathing suit.
they climbed the rocks and the girl looked at me. she hadn’t given up. her long black hair hung wet on her narrow shoulders. the other girls laughed. she smiled.
i watched her jump into the water, wishing i could say more. i looked down the beach and back to the street where the hotels were, reached into my sack for the scotch, unscrewed the cap and brought it to my lips. i needed to kill the pain. i needed to forget jess. i needed to forget jess or i needed to hate her, but i was not willing to destroy a love or memory because my heart was broken. i did not know if it would get better or worse. i just needed to forget. but if i ever did feel better, could i trust it? i would tell myself that i had become numbed and hard. erasing her and our past would be a lie. but i saw how i might need the lie and would allow it in order to go on. we must go on, but i wondered if i could ever love again. i knew for the first time in my life what it was like to be invulnerable to women. and it was empowering. vulnerability and sacrifice belonged to others. but behind my wall i saw a monster withering, for without the capacity for love, life would lose its flavor and purpose. it would be a life reduced to food and air. without electricity, the horizon would rot. my great joy now was alcohol, which was not joy at all, but simply a way to trade in on my future life, to squeeze from its flesh drops of blood. i was borrowing against life in order to procure wind. it could not go on. but i knew i was here and i would be here. i didn’t know if my despair would end, if selflessness would come back. love was flawed and i would avoid it until i had forgotten so thoroughly that i qualified as fool once again, a man who would accept a misunderstanding he needed, but never the idiot who would treat a woman as a goddess and earn himself hell.
two years earlier, i was sitting in a bar in san francisco with a guy i’d known since high school. the bar was on haight street and the 20th century was winding down with a pitcher of beer on the table. our glasses were full, we were content for the moment. naturally, the subject turned to women.
“why don’t you write a book about women?” bob said. “i mean, what men are really thinking when it comes to women.”
bob’s suggestion was truly a dare. i understood the challenge and i knew it was not in me. what were men thinking when it came to women? i was in love. i drank my beer.
the day had come when i knew the book would be as much about what men were not thinking about women and about my fight to resist being shamed into someone i wasn’t.
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