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Two: Carmen Moreno
“Nina, I can’t believe he needs time from me again!” I scream into the phone.
“You really can’t believe it? I can believe it…it happens all the time.” She patronized into my ear.
“You’re right. It does happen all the time, so why does it still bother me? Shouldn’t I be immune to this agony by now?”
“You should, but you’re not. I think you’re kinda masochistic. Why don’t you let Jose take you out on a real date?” She said starting to push my buttons. I was wondering how long it would take for her to mention Jose.
“Really, Nina? That’s all you have to say? Don’t you know by now I’m just gonna say no?” I hissed.
“After all this time all I want is for you to open your eyes and realize that this toxic man will never be the man that you deserve. Are you sure he’s not secretly married?”
“Yes, Nina. I’m sure.”
“Did you figure out what he does for a living yet?”
“No, I haven’t. And even if I did, what would it matter in this situation?”
“I guess it wouldn’t matter, but I’m still curious. Ten years and you still don’t know what he does. That baffles me. How can something like that never come up? And if it does…how does he always manage to weasel himself out from answering the damn question!”
“Nina…”
“I’m sorry…continue bitching and moaning please.”
“Thank you. Well, this time it’s almost like everything was going too good. Like, we haven’t fought in a really long time about anything. I was spending the night almost every night and we were finally getting into a routine as if we were an old married couple. It makes no sense why he pulled away this time!
“Last week, he even told me to bring over some clothes to leave over! He’s never said anything like that before! I mean, I always brought stuff over anyways, but he never gave me permission like that. And I was so used to being at his loft…remember how at first I felt strange being there because it was so fancy?”
“Yeah, I remember…” She almost sounded bored…
“I’m sorry I’m talking so much. It’s just that this time, I thought he was finally going to ask me to move in!”
“Hey, quick question…is that why you always buy him furniture for his birthdays and Christmases? Are you decorating his house because you secretly want to live there?” She read me like a book. Her discovery stung a little.
“No, I just want him to have a nice home to come home to. Did you know that when I first met him he only had a laptop by a beanbag, an inflatable couch, and a mattress on the ground?” I lied about the first part. Secretly, I am only decorating it because someday I truly believe I will live there. Someday, I really do think he will open his eyes and see that we belong together. The loft is just beautiful. It has hardwood floors, a huge kitchen with granite kitchen tops and Brazilian cherry cupboards, an enormous living and dining room, a bathroom downstairs right next to the spare bedroom which he now uses as an office (but it could easily be turned into a baby nursery), and finally, the stairs that lead you to the master bedroom/bathroom which you can see into from the kitchen.
“Then you sure did turn it around, chica. But just because you change the loft that doesn’t mean that you will change the man that lives in it.” She killed my buzz.
“You are such a downer.” I accused.
“Hey, I just call it like I see it. You performing today?”
“Yeah, I have a show at four fifteen, one at six, and one at eight fifteen.”
“Cool, do you need a ride after work?”
“That would be great.”
“O.K. then, I’ll come watch your eight fifteen show. I gotta go. See ya tonight.” She didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye, but that was Nina. I looked into the refrigerator for some comfort food, but found nothing. I had already opened it three times before with no luck, but I keep opening it because I truly believe a bucket of fried chicken will magically appear if I will it so.
My apartment is so small that I don’t even have a wall between my bedroom and my kitchen. Well, actually my bedroom is my living room. I have a pull out couch that becomes my bed at night. I share a bathroom with three other tenants in my building. Every floor has a bathroom, and everyone that lives on that floor shares that bathroom…get it? It’s awful. I’m a belly dancer. I just recently landed a job performing at a local pub, which is nice. I’m saving up to buy a studio, so I can teach dance someday. That’s why I’m living in this crappy apartment…so I can save money. But, I’ve been saving money my whole life. Seems like as soon as I have a good lump sum, something big happens and I have to spend it. Seven years ago, my brother needed bail money. Do you think he paid me back? Six thousand dollars don’t come easy either. Then last year, my mom got really sick. The hospital did everything they could, but she still passed on. I, of course, had to pay for the hospital bills and funeral arrangements. My brother didn’t even bother to show up at the funeral. Anyways, now I’m just saving.
I started getting ready for my show when the Marvin box called out to me. The Marvin box is just a box where I put pictures and little things that remind me of some good times we had together; the best times, actually, and the best memories. Maybe I should have a bad Marvin box and a good Marvin box. That way, when I feel like this, I can only look at the bad box to convince me that I am better off without him. I couldn’t manage looking at just the bad box, though. The good box would win, so scratch that. I got the box down from my closet and placed it on my couch/bed. I sat down and started going through it. Marvin is such an attractive man. He is about six foot four, blonde, blue eyes, and tan skin. He dyes his hair blonde. I only know that because I’ve seen the dye boxes in his bathroom’s trash can. He never lets his true colors show. I mean that literally and metaphorically. He has a washboard for a stomach and the infamous “v.” His arms are very muscular too, but not to the point where he can’t put his arms down. They’re the perfect size. And he doesn’t have chicken legs either. He is very proportional unlike those guys that go to the gym just to work out their arms.
I have an egg shell from the first time he made me breakfast in bed inside the Marvin box. I wrote the date on it with a sharpie; April eighth, nineteen eighty four. That was a good morning. I also have Broadway tickets from all the shows he’s taken me to over the years. He always gets the best seats. He met my mom once and took us out to dinner. She told him a good wine tells a story inside your taste buds. I kept the carry-out paper menu from the restaurant that I swiped when he wasn’t looking. My mom knew just what I would do with it, so she distracted him while I hid it in my purse. Then when she died, he brought over a bottle of wine to drink with me. He quoted my mother and said it was time to tell stories with our taste buds. I told him nearly all the fond memories I had with my dear mommy. I kept the cork from that wine. With the exception of that night, we always drink tequila. I have a label from the bottle of his favorite kind. I looked over at the clock and it was almost four. The smile that was on my face faded away abruptly when the reminiscing stopped and the “Oh, shit I’m gonna be late,” started.
I ran out the door as soon as I gently put all the memories and good times back in the Marvin box. I ran until it felt like my throat was burning with the oxygen/carbon-dioxide exchange. But it didn’t matter; I like working there enough not to have them replace me just yet.
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