Every Heard

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Chapter 7: The Frog

After our big door-kicking fight, Mr. Mister took a few months regrouping.  I saw him around.  I could not help but be at the same open mics and shows with our friends.  This was a family that had adopted me, and I was grateful to have them.  I was growing, becoming a performer, meeting myself.

It had started earlier… during the good times.  I had told him, “I think I’m hallucinating music.”  He told me he also heard music, but that is where the conversation ended.  Occasionally I would record myself singing, but it was not until I was desperate to tell him how badly I wanted him to come back to me that I found the courage to ask other musicians for assistance.

Mr. Mister’s lead guitarist, Andy was the one to offer his time.  ”I’ll come over and help you.”

Perhaps once in a while, there would be a text message around last call… I told myself it meant more if it arrived before 2 AM, before he knew there would be no better last minute offer from some barfly.  He would ask me if I wanted to watch cartoons and smoke weed… and I would never turn him down.  I would catch myself laying by my phone, waiting.  Sometimes he wanted to fool around.  Other times, he didn’t bother.  I continued my silent quest to remain unpenetrated until he confessed his love for me.

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Independence day, friends threw a festival in their back yard.  I volunteered to help out… I am not sure how it happened that day- I did not expect it, but when it was time to leave, he was offering me a ride home.  Home we went, maybe we made out a little… fell asleep in my bed.

Then something happened that I had wanted but was not ready for… Deep in sleep, I felt him begin to touch me.  I felt him begin to try to- and I was saying no, “because you don’t want me.”  He leaped from bed and went to the dining room, where he began putting on his shoes.  I could feel his frustration, both with the situation, as well as sexually.

Nearly naked, I found myself coiled like a cat, telling him, “You’re right.  I’ve waited too long.”  Six months.  ”Just do it… please.”

“I can’t.”  His voice was sincere, not cruel.  He was running away.

I felt myself falling apart inside.  One moment everything had been exactly as I had hoped.  The next, I had pushed him away.

“Echo.  I love you.”

I heard the words.  Without thinking, I read into these beautiful words, “But not the way you want.”  I retorted, “I love you, too… Please, come back to bed.”

“I can’t.”

I locked the door behind him- then found his cell phone still in my bed… Within minutes, he was knocking on my door, and I was terrified about the scene getting uglier if I tried to open it and say goodbye to him a second time.

He was angry and tired and pounding on my door, no doubt waking my neighbors.  I gave in and opened the door… Gave him his phone.  Then without thinking, I locked the door behind me and ran down the street to Rolex’s house.  He was surprised to find me on his doorstep, but he willing to fulfill my need to be owned and consumed, just once.

The next morning, he could see I was suicidal again.  He had put away his razors and pharmaceuticals before allowing me into the bathroom.  He poured champagne over my problems… Mimosas in the bathtub… and a joint.  He sat on the toilet-seat and talked to me through the curtain.  He could not understand why I was still languishing over Mr. Mister.  He used the phrase “fat Irishman” more than I liked, but I understood it was his hurt pride talking.  If he was going to be left for someone else, he would have hoped for someone of higher standards… With more money than him, better looking than him… all of the features that Rolex most valued.

There was no question that the sex had not meant anything to either of us, except to remind us of how little chemistry we shared in bed.  Rolex was simply trying to be helpful.

I straightened myself out enough to load my car and drive out to another camping Festival just before dusk.  There I was nearly in tears as my friends greeted me.  Jube was the first one to grab me.  She put a beer in my hand and placed me in a lawn chair, informing me that I would be camping in her tent.

Mr. Mister found me too.  He took me aside and simply told me to not kill myself.  At that moment, it never struck me that he was afraid for me… I simply felt rejected.

That night, our one other interaction happened when Mister came up to our campsite to smoke a bowl… In the pitch black darkness, I saw him light a lighter… my lighter- strategically purchased for its unique design, “Hey, Mister, is that a frog-prince on my lighter?”

“No… It’s a frog…. duke.”  He made an attempt to joke and returned it.

…I danced and drank… and at one point a random guy tried to dance with me- When the music stopped, he asked me to take a “walk in the woods” with him.  I brushed him off.  What a weirdo… If he only knew what trouble I was!

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A few weeks later, Jube and I carpooled and shared a tent at another camp out festival.  Mr. Mister was ignoring me all day.  Then when night came, he was asking Jube to let him into our tent.  She was saying no when I wanted to say yes, but he was not asking me.  By the time I tried to call him, he said, “I’m already driving home- goodnight.”

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