Drunk Dial

  “It sounds like the topic is making you a little uncomfortable. Does it remind you of a bad experience?” He sounded genuinely concerned.

  Every sexual experience I’ve ever had.

  Perspiring, I said, “I’d really like to change topics. Can we?”

  “Yes. I’m dying to know what you look like now. Let’s talk about that. Will you send me a picture?”

  Okay, he’d chosen an even worse topic.

  “No.”

  No way.

  Never.

  “Please?”

  “I’m not ready.”

  “Then describe for me what you look like.”

  “What do you think I look like?”

  “I’ve been picturing you like how you used to look but wearing a belly dancer outfit. It’s confusing. I honestly don’t know what to imagine.”

  “So, you see me with short, black hair and a unibrow?”

  “You said it, not me. But sort of, yeah.”

  Closing my eyes, I said, “I picture you with dark, blond hair, long, kind of like a surfer dude.”

  “I do live near the water in Venice Beach, but I’m not a surfer, nor do I look anything like one.”

  “Didn’t you used to have sandy brown hair?”

  “It’s darker now, like a lot of things about me.”

  What does that mean?

  I wanted to explore that further but instead just asked, “What’s Venice Beach like?”

  “Well, you know I used to love to skateboard.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That hasn’t changed. I’ve gotten a bit better at it. We have a really cool skate park here, which I love. It’s pretty much where I can be found on my days off. Overall, Venice is nice. It’s sort of a mishmash of artists and working-class people mixed in with rich techies and homeless folks. Let’s see…what else. There’s a boardwalk, and people come for the beach and to see the performers. There’s a famous freak show at the theater here, too, and before you ask, no, I’m not a part of that.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought that, although I could probably fit in there pretty well myself.”

  We stayed up talking for a while until I could no longer keep my eyes open.

  After that evening, I hadn’t heard back from him for a few days.

  Then, one night, a text came in from the same phone number I recognized as Landon’s. It was the first time he’d texted me.

  I looked down to find he’d sent a photo.

  I gasped.

  It was a heavily tatted man set against the backdrop of the ocean at sunset. Oh, my. It was him—a selfie.

  Fuck. Me. He was beautiful.

  I wouldn’t have even known it was Landon were it not for the blue eyes I recognized instantly. The shaggy, caramel hair I remembered from the past was now a darker shade of brown and shorter, cropped closer to his head. His arms and his chest were inked, his body so perfect that if I squinted, it almost resembled carved stone.

  I couldn’t stop looking at him. My eyes wanted nothing more than to explore the ridges and valleys of his stunning body.

  Was this a cruel joke?

  This was not Landon!

  But, it was.

  With my thumb and middle finger, I kept zooming in and out, examining the details of the ink across his chest and on his arms. There was really nothing sexier than a guy with perfect arms and a full sleeve tattoo.

  Even though his lips seemed fuller than I recalled, they still curved into a familiar grin that oozed confidence. The eyes and that smile were the only traces of the boy I remembered. I wished I could’ve leapt through the screen to smell him, touch him.

  “Hi, Landon,” I whispered, for a brief moment talking to the boy inside, not the man in front of me.

  This Landon was the polar opposite of the Ivy League yuppie image previously in my head. The only thing the man pictured might have majored in was badassery. He looked like a rockstar, a rule breaker, displaying a sense of arousing danger—someone who must have had women from all walks of life drooling over him for the sheer fact that either they couldn’t have him or shouldn’t have him. It suddenly became clear why, as he’d alluded to, a woman might have been begging him for sex. That made me wonder if he had any secret tattoos in spots I wasn’t allowed to see.

  God.

  A fire was burning inside of me, and I knew it was my crush exploding into a full-blown obsession.

  A self-conscious feeling came over me. If I was scared to show him a picture of myself before, now I was really hesitant.

  The message that went along with the photo simply read:

  Now show me you.

  THE VOICE INSIDE MY ASS

  I had completely chickened out.

  Two days passed, and I never responded to Landon’s photo text. He hadn’t called or messaged me again, either.

  This whole thing had ventured into territory I wasn’t prepared for. His wanting to see me felt intrusive, and I had to put a stop to it.

  I never expected Landon to want to continue communicating with me after my initial call, and I certainly never expected that seeing what he actually looked like now would have had this kind of an effect on me.

  I was afraid to even look at the photo, because I didn’t like the physical feelings that went along with that.

  I didn’t want to have to face my attraction to him, this boy—man—who had hurt me once.

  Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

  As much as I avoided looking at the picture, the image was still etched into my brain.

  As I twirled around during my nightly dance routines, shaking my hips to the beat of the drum, I would close my eyes and see him standing there on the beach. I was dancing for him. Every night. And that really sucked.

  On the third night post-selfie, he finally reached out to acknowledge my lack of response.

  Landon: You’re giving me a complex.

  He couldn’t have been serious. Surely, he realized how physically attractive he was. But what if he really did think I stopped communicating with him because of how he looked? After all, he wasn’t classically handsome; he was covered in ink and rugged. Maybe he thought I wasn’t into that? He couldn’t have been more wrong. In fact, I was terrified of what looking at him did to me. By the same token, I didn’t want to admit to him that my apprehension had everything to do with me, not him. It was too complicated to explain why I was afraid to show him what I looked like.

  As much as I didn’t want this thing with him going any further, I couldn’t live with the thought that he somehow believed I’d stopped communicating with him because of his appearance.

  So, I decided to send him one last text—just to clarify.

  Rana: Honestly, you have no reason to feel self-conscious. You have grown into a beautiful man, Landon. I just cannot reciprocate with a photo as you requested.

  About thirty seconds after I hit send, my phone rang.

  Shit.

  I answered, “Hello…”

  “Did I freak you out or something? You don’t have to show me anything you don’t want to.”

  “It’s nothing you did. I just have a lot of issues about my physical appearance. It’s my problem.”

  “I don’t get it. You shake your ass around in public for a living.”

  Yeah…but they didn’t know me before like you did.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Alright, you know what? Please, forget I sent the picture. It created way more trouble than I anticipated.”

  I can’t forget it. I can’t forget what you look like now that I’ve seen you.

  We were both silent until he said, “Don’t stop talking to me, Rana.” His sincere tone squeezed at my heart.

  “Why is it so important to you?”

  “I can’t figure it out. You make me feel grounded or something. I don’t know. Talking to you has been like a little slice of home, or at least what I once thought of as home. But I apparently crossed the line in pushing you for a photo, a
nd I’m sorry.”

  I could feel myself starting to tear up. “God, don’t be. It’s my fault, Landon. I overreacted. I’m so flawed.”

  “Yeah, well, so are some of the most beautiful diamonds. There’s nothing wrong with having flaws. They’re what make us human.”

  Bending my head back, I took a deep breath and let his words sink in. Somehow, I knew I would never forget them as long as I lived. As I wiped my eyes, I sniffled. “It looks really beautiful where you live.”

  “It is. I’d ask you to come visit, but I’m afraid you’d never speak to me again.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re probably right.”

  “So, fucking stay away from me, then. Just don’t stop answering my calls.” He laughed. “Seriously, though, yeah, it’s alright living by the ocean.”

  “Just alright?” I chuckled. “Well, anyway, I’m envious.”

  “What’s the weather like right now in Michigan?”

  “Cold and miserable.”

  “Speaking of miserable…any Lenny shenanigans to report?”

  “Aside from his randomly snapping a picture of me when he thought I wasn’t looking? No.”

  “That dude is a freak.”

  “He’s actually away for a couple of days. At least, I think so. I saw him leave with a suitcase. He’s gone away before. He always comes back, unfortunately.”

  “You should search his room, see if there’s any merit to your fears.”

  “It smells like feet in there. I think I’ll take my chances.”

  “If you won’t send me a photo of yourself, at least promise the next time you catch him sleeping with the crotch of your leggings on his face, you’ll snap a picture of that shit for me.”

  “You got it.”

  After our laughter dissipated, he let out a deep sigh into the phone, and it was as if I felt it on my skin. It got me thinking about his sexy photograph again and prompted me to ask, “How many tattoos do you have?”

  “I haven’t counted. A lot.”

  “They’re really gorgeous.”

  You’re really gorgeous, Landon.

  “Thank you.”

  “So…you said you’re a chef, but you never told me what kind of food you specialize in.”

  “Actually, I own a food truck. I make mostly unique sandwiches, stuff you can’t find at typical restaurants.”

  “That’s really cool. Where do you have it set up?”

  “Different places. I park it on the beach a lot. But I have an app where people can track where I am at any given time. I’ll send you the link so you can check it out.”

  “An app? That’s so innovative.”

  “Yeah. It’s called Landon’s Lunch Box—the truck and the app.”

  “Cute name. Are you a one-man band?”

  “Actually, no. I have one employee…Melanie.”

  Melanie.

  I knew nothing about her but envied her, nevertheless. My unwanted jealousy toward Valeria and Melanie was very disturbing to me.

  His next question caught me off guard. “What’s your vice, Rana?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like smoking is a vice. So is drinking. Do you drink a lot?”

  “Not as much as you might think based on how we first reconnected. But I do use alcohol to calm myself after a long day sometimes. I don’t consider it to be a problem because I can take it or leave it. Is smoking your only vice?”

  “Smoking, yeah…and sometimes sex. But you already knew that from our heated discussion the other day.”

  Well, okay, then.

  I suddenly felt like prying. “I obviously know you have casual sex, but do you sleep around a lot? Is it like a different girl every night?”

  He didn’t answer right away.

  “I don’t typically have sex with more than one woman at once. But I also don’t do long-term relationships, or at least I haven’t found anyone I want that with. So, generally the turnaround is high. But it’s not a new girl every night, no. Fuck that. That would be exhausting.” He laughed. “Okay, Miss Nosey, what about you? When was the last time you let anyone near you?”

  I haven’t had sex since I was a teenager. But I won’t admit that to you.

  “You could say I’m going through a dry spell.”

  “Well, I suppose online dating would be difficult without a photo.”

  “Yes, wiseass, it is.”

  “So, where do you meet men?”

  I don’t.

  My silence caused him to theorize.

  “Are you gay, Rana?”

  “What? No. Why do you think that?”

  “It just hit me that I’ve been assuming you like men, but come to think of it, in all of my memories of you, you were…” he hesitated.

  “Like a boy.”

  “Yes.”

  “I looked like a boy because my mother took me to a bad hairdresser, but I’m definitely hetero.”

  “Ah…well, I figured I’d ask.”

  It sounded like he was blowing out smoke.

  “Are you smoking now?”

  “Yes.”

  “That stuff will kill you.”

  “So will psychopath roommates named Lenny. Doesn’t mean you’ve quit him.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  He changed the subject. “Your mother…you said she’s living in Ohio?”

  “Why did you bring her up? I don’t like to talk about her.”

  “I can tell. I have mommy issues, too, so you’re not alone.”

  “Yeah, like I said, I haven’t seen her in a decade. She’s probably still stealing clothes. I don’t care.”

  “You say that, but you do. You do care, Rana. I know that lie because I try to tell myself the same thing all the time.”

  Despite the distance between us, Landon definitely had the ability to read me. He was quiet, and that somehow served as my cue to open up a bit more.

  “She just never wanted to be a mother, you know? She took it out on my father, took it out on me. She was like a rebellious, older sister instead of a parent. She used to tell me I looked just like my dad, which was her way of saying I was ugly, because I knew she wasn’t attracted to him. The fucked-up thing is…I still idolized her. Any small bit of attention she gave me never went unnoticed. And I see a lot of her in me now. Those are typically the things I hate about myself.”

  When he didn’t immediately respond, I worried I had freaked him out with my openness.

  “Your mother’s a bitch. She didn’t deserve you. I hope you realize that.”

  His words were harsh, but they comforted me.

  “Okay…I opened up about my mother. Now tell me about yours—your birth mother. You said you moved to Cali to find her.”

  His lighter clicked before he blew into the phone again. “I never met her. It was too late. By the time I located her whereabouts, my research led me straight to a graveyard. So, I never did actually get to know her. A lot of my questions have unfortunately been left unresolved.”

  I felt absolutely devastated for him.

  “I’m sorry.” I swallowed, afraid to ask, “What happened to her?”

  “My birth mother was a drug addict. She didn’t think she could take care of me. It was how I ended up with my other parents.”

  “Do you feel like moving out there was all in vain?”

  “No, I still feel like it was meant to be. I was very lost when I first came to California. Life had a lot of lessons for me to learn, and I guess they were meant to happen here.” I could hear him inhale the smoke and exhale. “Okay, this is getting too deep. Quick. Tell me something funny.”

  Think.

  Think.

  Oh!

  “You know the song I Miss You by Blink 182?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Well, for the longest time I used to think it was actually called The Voice Inside My Ass because of that part of the chorus where he talks about the voice inside his head. He was saying ‘head’ not ‘ass.’ But it so
unded like ‘ass’ to me. Always thought that was a weird title until I figured out the truth.”

  Landon began to laugh hysterically. “What in the ever-living fuck? The stuff that comes out of your mouth sometimes…” When he finally calmed down, he sighed. “You say the weirdest shit and you’re a mystery…but you’re good for my soul, Rana.”

  That night, I went to bed with a huge smile on my face, even though I couldn’t sleep. With each conversation we’d had, I felt more and more connected to him.

  Since insomnia was winning out, I got up from bed and ventured into my closet to read another one of Landon’s old notes. This one was kind of ironic.

  Rana Banana,

  Sometimes when I think of you, I laugh for no reason and I can’t help it.

  Landon

  P.S. But today it happened at my grandfather’s funeral, and my dad got really mad.

  CRAZY EYES

  Lilith passed the basketball to me. “How’s your boyfriend?”

  I threw it back with more force. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  She caught it then dribbled the ball before shooting it into the hoop. “You seem happy.”

  “I guess, I am happier lately.”

  Lilith stood there with the ball tucked under her arm as she just observed me and smiled. Her glasses slid down her nose, and she used her index finger to prop them back up. I swore that kid could see right through me.

  Taking out my phone, I said, “Come here. Check this out.” I pulled up Landon’s lunch truck app. “This is his lunch truck. This lets you see where he is at any given time. Isn’t that so cool?”

  She didn’t seem as interested in the app as I was. “So, it’s like an app for stalkers?”

  “No…well, I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Is he handsome?”

  “Yes…really handsome.” I sort of felt like a preteen gushing to her.

  “So, why don’t you want him to be your boyfriend?”

  Unsure of how to explain my messed-up head to a ten-year-old, I chose to keep my response simple.

  “I don’t want a boyfriend.”

  “Why not?”