Let's Waste Time

One thing that I always forgot about life is that it’s messy. I’d jump into a situation thinking, “I can handle this. I’ve dealt with much worse.” A few months later it would turn into the mother of all clusterfucks. I was good at getting myself into a clusterfuck. It started at birth when I was born from my mom not looking even the slightest like she or her husband. Clusterfuck number one: Meet Marley Johnson. The unlovable, bastard spawn of—not the man on her birth certificate. The second clusterfuck came around the time I was roughly eighteen. I was going to college. Fell madly in love with this older guy training for his pilot’s license. Clusterfuck number two: Meet Trent Moring. The man of my dreams. Tall, dark, and handsome. All of the things I'd ever wanted in a man. And while you’re at it why don’t you meet Mrs. Trent Moring. Or as I like to call her, NOT ME. The third one came around a few years later. I still saw Trent. He was still married. Had one kid and another one on the way. His wife’s illness prevented him from leaving her. Did I break it off? No, I most certainly did not. Love is usually the cause of the most epic of clusterfucks. Which brings me to clusterfuck number three: Meet Christopher Mclean. Completely unexpected. Completely unwanted. Completed me. Sad, right? I was twenty years old and living in San Francisco, California. My family had turned their backs on me before they ever got around to abandoning me. I had no family, but I had a fantastic trio of friends I would kill and die for. I lived in a crappy one bedroom apartment in a building made of brick and built in the 40’s. Trent had obtained a pilot’s license and worked all of the time. He lived in Los Angeles but took a lot of flights into the city and always came to see me when he did. I thought his career choice sounded fabulous. I pictured us together traveling the world and having fun. A constant vacation. The truth was that he didn’t make very much money and the regular flights made him tired and irritable. He’d show up, we’d have a brief date, go back to my place and screw for a while. Then out like a light. As soon as the sun came up the next morning, he would be fresh from the shower and ready to leave. He called me a lot, but it wasn’t the same as having someone close to you. To be honest, the fact that he liked me at all surprised me. I was nerdy my whole life. And not smart nerdy like I knew calculus and excelled in the sciences. Like pop culture nerdy. Like I knew the original Star Wars trilogy word for word but couldn’t even remember my own social security number. I never listened to the right music, never played the good games, never wore the right clothes, and could never see without thick glasses that made my eyes look smaller than they actually were. I also had a really crappy job. I was a customer service representative for a locally based internet company. I’d only taken the job because of the four-week training course I could work from home on my computer. My dream job was to play video games for a living. Hey, it could happen. People actually have those kinds of jobs. But that was pretty much the point where I realized life was unfair, and I’d never be happy. To make it short, life was a b***h. And that’s when life threw me clusterfuck number three. His name was number 81 with the black door. That’s all I knew. He lived in the apartment next to mine. He moved in right after my old neighbor died of a heart attack during Jeopardy. We didn’t actually acknowledge each other at first. Occasionally we bumped into each other when we were both coming home at the same time. He was attractive in the traditional sense. But I’d never looked at him and thought, “Damn I want to get my hands on that.” Mostly it was just, “Hm, his butt is cute and shapely.” And I’d go on my way. He seemed to find me just as invisible, and I don’t think he ever paid much attention to my butt. Or lack thereof. He nodded to me once or twice and said, “Hey, how’s it going?” But it was one of those questions where the asker doesn’t actually want you to reply. So I’d just say, “Hey, what’s up?” and carry on. Our first real conversation happened on a chilly night in January. I had a severe case of insomnia. My mom always told me I thought too much. I couldn’t sit still for very long. And when my brain was supposed to shut off and rest it forced me into nightmares and crazy LSD-like dreams. My mom called it imagination. My doctors called it ADHD. I was upset that day. Trent was supposed to be doing a flight into the city, and we’d planned to spend the night together. But the trip had been canceled due to a storm. Frisco’s skies were clear. I hid my brown bob under a dorky animal shaped beanie. Since Trent wasn’t coming, I didn’t have a reason to look sexy. I pulled on a hoodie and my favorite striped scarf. I made a warm cup of lemon flavored Theraflu and took it outside to relax on the front steps of our connected building. My mom used to force me to sit on the front steps when I acted out. And when she didn’t want to see me. So it was a habit that carried on into adulthood. That’s where I had my first real meeting with Christopher Mclean. I sat on the front steps with my gloves tightly gripping my mug. My black-rimmed glasses were fogging up in the cold air, but I didn’t mind. I liked the chilly air. A car pulled to the curb out front, and my neighbor stepped out. He had on that leather jacket, and a gym bag slung over his back. His light brown, almost blond hair, was cut short but messy. Like he’d just run his fingers through it instead of combing it. His face was usually clean-shaven, but a shadow was growing on his jaw. He was tall. Over six feet. And broad. And his cute butt was the first thing I noticed as he bent into the car to pull out his gym bag. I watched him as he shut the car door, slung it over his shoulder, and started up the steps. “Hey,” he said with a casual nod. I nodded back. “Hey,” I replied. “You’re up late.” “Insomnia.” He nodded and leaned against the railing that separated the grass from the steps. The bag looked heavy on his shoulders, but it didn’t seem like he even noticed it at all. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and looked down at me with eyes the same shade of blue that was designated for baby boys. “Doesn’t tea have caffeine in it? Probably not going to help you sleep.” I looked down at my steaming mug. “Not all tea has caffeine in it. But it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s Theraflu,” I told him. “I don’t actually have a cold, but it helps me sleep.” “Isn’t that considered drug abuse?” I laughed. “I suppose.” “I have something that can help you sleep. My girlfriend makes it for me.” My eyebrows rose. “Oh yeah?” “Yeah, come on. I’ll show you.” He headed up the remaining steps, and I stood up behind him. “It’s not dirty, is it?” I asked. He laughed and shook his head. “I promise I’m not trying to seduce you.” “Good, because I haven’t shaved my legs.” He laughed again. Of course, I was lying. I shaved my legs the minute I heard Trent was coming to see me. “That wouldn’t be an issue,” he said. “But don’t worry about it. I’ll go put my stuff away, and I’ll be right over.” He turned back to unlock his black painted door. “Okay, sure,” I replied. He disappeared into his apartment, so I went to my own side. I pulled off my scarf and jacket and kept on my sexy pajamas. Okay, I was actually wearing gray sweatpants and an oversized Star Wars shirt. I only wore my sexy pajamas on special occasions. Which meant they rarely saw use. He knocked on my door a moment later. I opened the door to let him in. He didn’t say anything. He went right to my kitchen. I didn’t get offended because a few weeks before I’d done the same thing when my toilet wasn’t working. I just kind of barged in and demanded to use his. Luckily he didn’t throw me out. He just said, “Sure go ahead,” and that was it. Of course, I could have counted that as our first meeting, but I didn’t think it did. I went to the edge of the kitchen and watched him go through my cupboards. He opened one, closed it, opened the next one and pulled out two of my collectible Garfield glass cups. He sat them down on the counter and went to my fridge. He opened it and looked inside. Then he moved a few things around. “Do you have any apple juice?” he finally asked. “What do I look like? A four-year-old?” I replied. He stood up and faced me, still holding onto the open fridge door. “I need apple juice for this to work.” “Sorry. No apple juice.” “It’s cool. I’ll be right back.” He closed the fridge and marched out of my apartment. I stood there a bit confused for a moment. I wasn’t sure exactly what I was supposed to do. But he showed up again a minute later and let himself back in. I just watched him. He was kind of interesting. And he had that cute butt and baby blue eyes. He brought a large bottle of apple juice with him and poured some into the Garfield glasses. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and took out two shot-sized bottles of Jack Daniels. I smiled. “This is my kind of remedy,” I said. He smiled and poured a shot into each glass. Then he handed one over and took the other. “Cheers,” he said. I lifted the glass to cling it against his and then downed it as quickly as I could. I stuck the glass back on the counter and coughed. “How’d it taste?” he asked. “Warming.” “Good. One more should knock you on your ass.” “And if it doesn’t?” “Then your insomnia is tougher than mine.” He made another drink and handed it over. “Hope I don’t develop a habit,” I said. He laughed, and we drank again. “How long does it usually take for you?” I asked as he took my glass and rinsed them off in the sink. He shrugged. “Anywhere from a few minutes to a half hour depending on how tired I am.” “Sweet. I think Pirates of the Caribbean is still on if you want to watch it.” “Yeah sure,” he said. He followed me out to the living room and over to my hand-me-down couch. We both sat down, and I turned on the TV. Pirates was still playing. “So are you an athlete or what?” I asked. “Kinda,” is all he said. He was leaning against the back of my couch with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs sticking out. I was curled up at the other end leaning against my elbow on the arm of the couch. He seemed like a nice guy and unlikely to take advantage of me. Not that the alcohol made me incoherent. Two shots weren’t really enough to make a difference. It just took the edge off. “So do you have a boyfriend?” he asked after a while. “Yep,” is all I said. “He’s not going to come home and flip out if he finds me here, is he?” “He’s in SoCal.” “Good deal. So what do you do for a living?” “Customer service. I work on my computer.” “That’s cool.” “What do you do?” “Just some odd jobs around town. Construction mostly. Play baseball on the weekends.” “That’s cool.” I rested my head on the arm of the couch. And that was the last thing I remembered.