on again, off again, jigity jig

Jim was not a fan of Garp, and the feeling was mutual.  Jim was protective of me, and felt the way Garp initially blew me off was unforgivable.  He, also wasn't all that keen on Garps drinking habits either, but as far as I was concerned it was none of his business. 

 When I arrived at Garps house, he acted as if I had just seen him yesterday.  Our reuniting felt like slipping into a pair of old jeans, worn in all the right places.  Of course he already had a few beers in him, but he seemed genuinely happy to see me. I guessed he was on a break from Maggie.   He and Maggie had split up right before I met him, but started seeing each-other again, shortly after I was out of the picture.  We didn't talk about what had happened.  I was afraid that if I brought it up, he might realize that he didn't really want me around. I don't recall if  I danced for him and his friends that night, or if he had just called me for a sexual release, but I saw an open space for myself, and quickly snuck into his altered state of reality. 

 I took a night off work to go watch his band play at the Jury Room, a dive bar across from the Santa Cruz County Court.  The guys in his band had been hanging out for hours, and by the time they started to play, they were pretty smashed. Garp had to lean against a pool table just to keep from falling over. I  had a lot to drink that night too. My hair was black and down past my shoulders. I wore a red sleeveless shirt, with a fishnet pattern in the shape of a heart on my chest, a pleated black, knee length skirt, and black pointy heels.  I felt like I was starting to appear more like a regular girlfriend, instead of a on-the-spot call in the night.  We left the Jury Room, and went to the Poet, another bar to close out the night. I was late and we barely had time to finish our Guiness before they kicked us out.  Luckily we made it back to his house, together and in one piece.    

We made our way into his room and instead of nestling under the covers, he sat up on the bed leaning against wall.   He began confessing to me how messed up he was.  He explained that I didn’t really know him, and if I did, I wouldn’t like him anyway.  His words were slurred and his sentences were incomplete. He was barely making any sense at all.  Fragmented pieces  of things he was ashamed of, his insecurities, and malignant spirits poured out of his lips and spilled down the front of his shirt.  I tried to mop them up as best I could but there was no stopping him.  I just listened until he drifted out of consciousness.  I lay there awake beside him, wondering what he meant. I stared to believe these were the thoughts that those “crazy pills” were supposed to suppress.   They served as a restraint, barring them from ever leaving the perverse cage of his own mind.  But there was something he said, that I was hoping wasn't so crazy.  He said, that he would love me, if only he wasn't so messed up.  Circling round and round, over and over in my head like a compass, was the hope that he would  realize that it was too late, and that he had, in fact, already fallen in love with me. 

The next morning we woke up to a beautiful, January, sunny day. He had described himself as not liking the outdoors, but somehow I managed to convince him to come with me to the beach.  After the usual routine, beer, shower-sex, we decided to  go to the beach, Natural Bridges.  As we were driving down Bay Street he finished his beer, and thew the bottle out the window. We got down to the sand, and we walked out towards the waters edge. Then unexpectedly, he just took off running.  He jumped into the ocean with wild abandon.  I couldn't believe it. Out of all the things I had witnessed him do, that was the most surprising of all.  That was the thing about Garp, his sweet and playful nature was  so attractive to me.  We walked up to the butterfly haven, half dressed, like a couple of curious kids.  I was so happy, but I knew I was living on borrowed time.  

On and off for the next few weeks he would call, and I’d come over.   I met his friends, went to see his band play, and hung out at his house.  Then he my borrowed time ran out.  Sober.  He wanted to be sober. He was aware of his alter ego and even had a name for it,  and once again, he pushed me away.  He told me that it was to risky to his sobriety to have contact with me.  Again I was crushed. 

I loved him too much. I went back on what I had promised to myself.  I had even changed my number, because I knew as soon as he got drunk again, he would call me, and I was powerless over saying no to him.  I still think to this day if he called me, it would be exactly the same way.  And that is the kind of permanent etching I mean when I say “the one”.  It kills me to say that, because it sounds like a fucking death sentence, to have this kinda unresolved longing forever.     

Our relationship was starting to resemble that of a cat with 9 lives. Soon, we  were once again reveling in our push and pull romance. Eventually we came to some sort of understanding.  I realized that he was never going to be interested in real relationship with me, and I would take what I could get.  He would occasionally get back together with Maggie and depending on how honest he felt like being, he would tell me that he hadn't talked to her in days.  So there we were, ensconced in a sanctified love affair, until it was her turn again.  I told him I loved him.  He said, I had better not because the people that he loved, and that loved him were always put through the ringer.