Sunny has come back. I had a feeling she would.
She seems changed – a bit more aware. Her face looks different, a little paler, like she just woke up from a frightful dream. And she acts all noble, like she’s made a really difficult choice and exhibited so much self-control. Of course, she hasn’t said much to appreciate my efforts to bring her back from the edge.
And all she wants to do is party.
Every night around five-thirty or six o’clock, she phones me up and shouts: “So what’s going on tonight?”
“I’m working tomorrow, so as far as I’m concerned – not much,” is my usual response.
“Aw, come on, let’s go out,” she pleads.
“I’ve gotten used to spending many an evening alone over the past month as you went on with your bender,” I tell her, while scribbling away at a math problem. “I’m just about to succeed in completing my high school diploma, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Everyone needs a break from studying. Even you!”
Sometimes I say okay, and go out for a walk or a drive with her. That usually means smoking a joint and drinking a beer somewhere — a field, parking lot or river bank. That usually means Sunny wants more beers and more joints. After a few occurrences like this, I learn not to say yes every time.
It’s getting boring.
Girl #2 is wholesomely alive in me, working away at math, feeling committed to graduation, saving money. She enjoys the steady pacing and predictability of having responsibilities. She relaxes in the peaceful drama of not being high. She feels cornered and corralled by Sunny’s restless intensity, her endless opportunism, and her near-constant attempts at escaping reality. Sometimes the most peaceful way to escape reality is to completely accept it and work hard, thinks Girl #2 placidly.
But I still love Sunny. Even though I’m bored with her antics, I love her smell, her smile, her way with me. I let her fuck me whenever she wants to, anytime.
After a few weeks, however, she begins to tire of me too. She doesn’t want to make love; she lies on the bed with a sullen mouth and eyes on the bleach-spattered ceiling. I nuzzle her, touch her, kiss her.
“I’m just not feeling it.”
“Is it me? Are you still attracted to me?”
“I’m not attracted to anything or anyone right now.”
Having nothing sexual to give her, I’m lost and afraid. How will I keep her?
It’s a Friday night, several weeks into Sunny’s dry spell. I haven’t been laid in weeks, but I’ve been trying to remain faithful to her. Tonight she’s out at a party with some friends I don’t know very well. I said no, understanding it would be uncomfortable and also feeling resentful that she wouldn’t decline to spend time with me. It feels like our connection is breaking up like a dandelion puff in the wind.
I head over to Persephone’s for the first time in forever.