I couldn’t sleep last night. I fantasized about you. I imagined that I flew out to Seattle. It’s raining. It’s late. The pub you work at is about to close. I walk in. There’s no one there, except you. The only sounds are the rain outside and my footsteps inside. You’re behind the bar. You turn to tell whoever walked in that you’re closed, but then you realize it’s me. Your mouth drops open. I don’t say a word. I manage a smile. It’s good to see you. You walk around the bar and rush up to me, but you stop before you reach me and you take a moment to look at me.
I look great, by the way. My long blonde hair is even longer even though it’s curly. My eyes are green and wide. I smile my toothpaste commercial smile. You look thinner and I can tell you’ve been working out, like you told me when I talked to you over the phone a couple of weeks.
You remember that phone call. You told me how great you were doing. You have loads more friends and replaced your beer gut with a six pack. You’re controlling your drinking now, it’s way down. You’re sorry for what you did, but you never said I had to move back to Chicago. Why would I do that? And it’s not all your fault. I was responsible, too. I hated my job and I never wanted to be a part of your family. Yeah, I went on vacations with them and stuff, but I was never really a part of the family. Why’d I move back to Chicago? You never told me to do that.
We both take a deep breath and sigh. Tears well in our eyes. You reach out to hug me, but right before you reach me, my toothpaste commercial smile morphs into a thin angry line. My green eyes burn red and narrow to slits. Right as you lean in to hug me, I punch you in the fucking face.
My fist crashes into your left eye, cracking your stupid glasses. They fly away. The skin on my knuckles burst open, smearing my blood into your blood. You look shocked, but why are you shocked after what you did to me? You deserve this. We both know this.
You back away, hands up, surrendering. I advance. I swing with my left fist and smash it into your giant dumb Polish nose. I used to like that nose. Now it’s fucking broken. As you try to stymie the blood gushing from your useless nose, I uppercut you in your suburban goatee. Christ, just grow a fucking beard. I hear a snapping sound, and while I hope its your chin or at least your teeth snapping down onto your tongue, it’s my own wrist spraining itself. I’ve never punched anyone before, so I don’t really know what I’m doing. But there’s a lot of adrenaline and hatred that I have to work out, so I keep hitting. Until you’re on the ground, curled in a ball.
Panting, I stand above you as you scream at me. Crazy bitch, what the fuck! I’m spattered in your blood. I try to wipe it off as you stumble to your feet. I turn to leave, but then I change my mind and double back. You don’t see me coming because your glasses are smashed to bits. You feel my foot in your balls before you see me. You go back down to the floor.
“I moved back to Chicago, “ I say. “To make sure I never go back to you.”
I leave. I fly back home. And I sleep.