Shit Balls and Sharpie

I left work early today after a phone call from my doctor. I made some calls myself to a few people. As per usual, Zach came in clutch.

Me: I mean… Yikes.

Zach: That’s a nice way of putting it. This might warrant a “holy fucking shit balls,” Jess.

Me: Thanks, asshole.

Zach: Eh, some things change. You and me? We’re constants. I’ll Sharpie your face in every bathroom stall to keep you around. I can look at you while I shit, and it don’t get much realer than that, sweetness. Now dry your eyeballs. You might look cute when you’re pissed, but you look damned pathetic when you’re belly achin’… stop that shit.

He turned away to look out the bar’s window.

I’m pretty sure I saw tears welling in his eyes. Fuck, this shit is getting to real.

I ordered two more shots. They took the edge off and put a fire back in my belly. And then I went home from the bar to cry some more and write this post.

Screams

I heard a blood curdling shriek from within my building and called my buddy Zach.

Me: Dude, I think someone is being assaulted in my apartment building.

Zach: Whoa, why? Are you okay?

Me: I’m fine. I just heard a bunch of screaming and I’m not sure if I should call the cops.

Zach: BFD. I had a date last night and she screamed. Would’ve sucked if someone had called the cops on us. Just stay in your apartment and we can check the obits tomorrow.

Frequent Caller Craigery

The first time I ever received a phone call from Craig was in the eighth grade. It was about 0900 on a Saturday when my phone rang. NOBODY called me back in middle school, a point my mother made when I reached for my cell.

I answered and there was a loud, “Good morning, sunshine,” that everyone at the breakfast table heard.

I hang up the phone and all of the broskis started in.

“Ooooh~ Jecca’s got a boyfriend!”

“I’m gonna beat that fucker’s ass!”

“Does he call you like that every morning?”

“GOOD MORNING, SUNSHINE?! MORE LIKE GOOD MORNING, DEATH!”

Craig will never know how much chaos and embarrassment he caused that morning. It’s been over a decade and I still remember that shit.

We Skype every week now.

Square One

I’ve been wearing pretty panties for the last week hoping that some guy will have x-ray vision and think, “Damn, I’m gonna ask her on a date.” I know, weird logic. Just don’t question it.

As it turns out I was wearing spandex and a sports bra under my work[out] clothes (I work at my university’s gym) when these two people asked for a schedule of all of the spring sports. I asked them for their student IDs so I could send them up to see the coaches. “We don’t go here; we’re from Loyola University.” Fucking cocaine-using, privileged, snooty sons o’ bitches trying to waltz into MY gym?! Access denied, mother fuckers.

“Oh, I can’t let you enter the facilities, but I can try to get you the answers you need.” I rustled through some papers and found a few game schedules. Begone, Satan spawn.

“Actually, can we interview you for our project? We’re doing an advertising assignment as to why students should apply to [my university] and not University of Maryland, College Park.”

Me: Remember in high school all of those weird, nerdy kids who played Yu-Gi-Oh and shit like that? Yeah, this is where they all went.

Him: Whoa, that’s brutal. Ummm, how are the extracurriculars?

Me: Some are better than others. I’m in a sorority and I’m on the crew team. Crew is great, but I think Greek life sucks ass. I went alum with my sorority because it was the pits. It sucked worse than a nun giving a blow job. Plus I’m not too fond of the salmon-colored shorts every frat guy seems to wear; I needed to distance myself from that shit show. Different strokes for different folks, I guess.

Him: *mutters under breath* My god… What about the academic side of things?

Me: Some days I’d rather fuck a hot curling iron than do my work, but at least I’ll get a job offer before a Towson grad.

Him: Wow, okay then… Do you think I could have your name and phone number?

Me: Dude, I just said some rather inflammatory shit about my school; I’d rather not be quoted.

Him: Oh no, this is so I can call you for a date.

Weirder shit has happened to me, but I always wig the fuck out when I say what’s on my mind and people are okay with that… let alone want to take me out on a date.

I scribbled my name and digits on a sticky note. And then I felt a twang of guilt. I wanted to crumple the paper.

Jess, he was seeing other girls. You need to get over that shit. If he wanted you, he would’ve said so… He needs something you don’t have… Let him go. 

I passed him the paper; he smiled and stuck it to the inside of his folder. “Thanks, Jess. I’ll call you soon.”


That was two nights ago.

I received a phone call today. Not a text. A call.

Back to square one.

Call from Colin

I just received a very disturbing phone call from Colin, a kid I used to nanny for. I didn’t even know he had my number so I was very surprised to hear his little voice on the other end of the line. I knew something was wrong as soon as he said “hello.” It hurt my heart to hear what he said.

Colin: …Jecca. Do you love me?

Me: Of course I do, kiddo. Always, always. …is everything okay?

Colin:

Me: You still there, kiddo?

Colin: I don’t think my mom loves me. She said… I was a mistake.

He started sobbing on the phone. It was painful to listen to. I wanted to cry too. I wanted to hold him and make sure nothing ever harmed him. I also wanted to punch his shitty fucking mother in the mouth. That bitch has no business being a parent.

Me: Sweetheart, my little Colin, you have no idea how special and important you are. Sometimes parents get angry and say things they don’t mean-

Colin: *hiccoughing* May-may-maybe I can fix it. (Christ, I almost lost it when he said that.)

Me: Shhhh… There’s nothing you need to fix, kiddo. You are the coolest, funniest, sweetest, and most interesting kid I know. You’re sooooo special and I love the shit outta you.

Colin: I miss you, Jecca. I love you too. (I wanted to steal a car and drive down to Florida to see him.)

I tried to calm him down a bit, but I’m not sure it worked very well. I told him to lie down and close his eyes, and then I sang a few songs (he likes Heaven Can Wait by Meatloaf; what a kid). I listened to him cry and try to catch his breath during the whole thing; it was awful. He said he was tired. I told him to sleep and that he’d feel better when the sun was up.

I hope I didn’t tell him a lie.