“What makes dick trash?”
I get a lot of random texts like this from my best friend. That’s honestly what best friends do. At least it’s what she and I do. She texts me a lot of random shit and occasionally sends me money with the only caveat being that I buy at least one decadent thing for myself. Once, I bought a $10 slice of lemon cake. It wasn’t worth it, but I think that was more because I was thinking about the price than I was about the taste.
I’m in line at Starbucks. I just cashed my paycheck and half of my rent is now in my pocket. I keep patting it to make sure it’s still there. The coffee is a splurge, because I still don’t have the other half. It’ll work out. It always does.
I type back: “When it’s too small. Or no rhythm. No sensuality.”
She makes me think of Dude. The guy that I had been seeing for a couple months here in Harlem. Sensuality. That we definitely had. We didn’t have much more, but sensuality we had in spades. We’ve been breaking up for a month via text message. We have these long, drawn out, emotional text conversations every week, plan to see each other on the weekend…then we don’t. Which is just more fodder for the break up the next Monday. But, today I couldn’t take it anymore, so I stopped responding. Suddenly I’m sad and horny.
“Tall Mocha for Eva.”
“I think I’m off guys.” I text back. I’ve been single forever because I have real issues with men. I probably need a shit ton of therapy, but instead, I have a great best friend, melatonin and St. John’s Wort. Plus, I’ve been sober for a week which is fucking miraculous. I haven’t smoked a cigarette either. I’m all deep and brooding and shit. Like a real writer, pecking out shit at Starbucks. It’s another New Me phase, I tell myself, but in the back of my mind, I know that it’s really only PMS.
She ignores that text. I go on to tell her about my hair. She knows me better. I’m not off guys. I’m probably not even off this guy. It’s gonna be cold soon, wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to hang out with? To watch The Walking Dead? Try some new shit? I’m interested in ‘shrooms lately. How can I have a boyfriend without having a boyfriend? I mean, who doesn’t like that new dick smell?
I want to text him. I open the thread and read the last thing he said. He says that he’s glad that I realize that he won’t be able to give me what I need.
Realize? Well…shit, how long have you known? And why didn’t you tell me? Got me out here trying to solve Scooby-Doo Mysteries (and you would have gotten away with it too, if weren’t for my meddling sense of self-worth.)
Give me what I need? A full-time job and medical benefits?
He says he “very much” hopes that we can still be friends. And I wanna fucking throw up. When were we friends? When were we not? I wish men understood that friendships are relationships too.
I think about a long, drawn-out, emotional response, type it, and erase it. My coffee’s getting cold.
I pick my phone back up and text my best friend again.
“Sometimes the dick is great, and it’s the Dude that’s trash.”