4 Conversations.

#0.

This isn't college.
I am not in a lecture hall, pretending to be taking notes about something I don't give a shit about, periodically nodding at the professor--even raising my hand here and there.
I am at school. At work. I should be working.
The classroom is empty. It's just me in here. No kids.
And I should be working on my lesson plans for the rest of the week.
But I'm not.
I am listening to Camera Obscura and getting that heartbroken wanderlust I get sometimes.
I want to run. Or drive. Or run.



#1.

"I dunno," I said. "I liked institute."
"That's cause you were never working. You always hanging out with guys," she said.
One in particular, I thought. For a second I could see his gorgeous smile, but it turned back into her stern unwelcoming face.
"Speaking of which, tell me about this guy."
"Who, Sean?"
"No. Fuck Sean. That guy I saw you hanging out with the other night."
"Oh, him."
"Yeah. Why don't you date him? Or are you already?"
"No."
She gave me a look. One of those looks that infuriates me. One of those looks that insists that I'm lying.
"I'm not. I'm not interested."
"Why not?". Her 'O' in 'not' was that wide-mouthed, annoying, Chicago 'O.' It sounded like an 'A.'
Women have trouble seeming both vulnerable AND stupid in the presence of one another. I bit my bottom lip.
What could I say?
("He's just not the man I want to see.")



#2.

The old woman smelled sweetly and the powder on her face was just a little too white. They call her Barbee. Her name is Patty and she is a Texan Rose. She really is. Pushing sixty and still just as charming as she ever was, I'm sure.
I called her a monster for turning her porch light off and turning her sprinklers on for Halloween.
"And how about you?" she asked. "Did you go out in your little French Maid outfit for a night of debauchery?"
I gasped and smiled. I could feel it like bending a dry sponge: it was the first time I had smiled all day. "No, I stayed in and watched a film." I assured her if I had a porch, I would have given candy to children, unlike some people.
"Scary movie?" she asked.
"No. I was hanging out with my friend and he didn't want to watch a scary film so we watched The Jerk."
She smiled. "Did you say 'he?'"
I nodded hesitantly.
"So that fella from Arkansas came to see you?"
I stared at her wide-eyed. I was a deer in her headlights. I shook my head, slightly. "No, we broke up."
She gasped. "What happened? Another woman?"
So I picked at the scab as I am wont to do. But only a little.
"Well, what does he do out in Arkansas?"
"He's in TFA..." Sometimes, I feel like I could be his PR agent.
"And he's unhappy?" she asked.
I nodded. I could hear his voice in my head. "It's not you, Vida."
"You're lucky," Patty said. "My first husband was that type. Always looking over the fence at the greener grass. They never appreciate what they got."
I looked down at the table. I didn't know what to say.
"Well, what about this new beau of yours?" I loved that she used words like "beau" and "fella."
I shook my head, playfully. No, not a beau.
"Uh-huh," she said with a stern playfulness.
I blushed.
What could I say?
("He's just not the man I want to see.")



#3.

He called me. Asked me to come over tonight.
Even though he is not in the room, I am shuffling my feet and trying to keep a poker face. I don't want to. I've never been there. But I don't have a good reason not to.
So he asks me all the time: "Why don't you want to come over? Why do I always come to your place? You'll drive ten hours to see someone who doesn't want to see you but you wont drive half an hour to see me?"
I was quiet.
"So, do you want to come over tonight?" he asked again. "My sister won't be there."
"So? What does that have to do with anything?"
"I don't know," he said.
"Look, I have shit to do. Maybe some other time."
He sighed, frustrated. "Really?"
What could I say?
("You're just not the man I want to see.")



#4.

"Colin left?"
I smiled and said cheerfully, "Yes, he left a while ago!"
"Alright, well, Goodnight." He always says it so suddenly.
"Wait. Did you think of when you might come here?"
"We're not talking about that."
Things like that make you feel like your lungs are deflating too fast and are writhing into your stomach.
"Why not?"
"We're just not."
Don't fight. Don't fight. Don't fight. He always wanted you to shut your mouth. Just shut it for once.
"Okay." It was resolute but not cathartic--like throwing up, but swallowing it after.
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
What could I say?
("You're just the man I want to see.")