I’m exhausted. Off to bed I go.
It’s six thirty-seven in the morning, and I’m exhausted, and I can’t sleep. I’m also a little drunk, trying to see if that will help me sleep, but all I keep seeing is images in my head. I might as well do something about that. Wouldn’t you, in my shoes? Oh, and if I catch anyone in my shoes, the trouble you’ll meet.
(I really need to mix that Everclear with something. One little shot and I’m gone.)
(But not gone enough, as you can see.)
This idea… or conversation, stems from the fact that Craigslist flagged and deleted my post only minutes after I added it, but not before I received a response from a dude.
I’m never going to answer Luis’s question, but since he was nice enough to send me his picture and will never hear from me, I might as well do something… is it nice? Is it nice to mention someone in a smutty blog about a fetish almost no one else (comparatively anyway) on Earth has? Yeah, it’s nice. I’ve decided it’s nice. So, my dear reader, imagine Luis measures a few inches in height, and decided to answer my CL ad. I accepted his offer (or he, mine), and he now lives in the abandoned dollhouse.
* * *
They sat on her couch as she played another failed round of Farm Heroes Saga.
“You need to stop drinking.”
“Mind your own business. I only had one shot.”
“Yes, but look at you. You are totally wasted. This is not safe.”
“What do you mean? ‘Not safe’? Not safe for you? You think I’m going to try something in my condition? That’s what you mean, don’ you?”
“You’re starting to slur your words.”
“I’m not going to ‘get fresh’ with you, alright? No way.”
“Good. Now, you arranged for my services, and those include telling you things you need to hear.”
“Luis, not tonight.”
“Shut up and listen to me. I may be tiny now, but once I ran my own business, and fifty people depended on me for their livelihood.”
“Ooh, big guy… I know the story-“
“Shut. Up. Don’t make me tell you again.”
“I’m not tiny inside. I never will be. I’m not like your guy, and I can tell you what I observe from a very clear perspective. You need to move on.”
“I have moved on.”
“Let me use language a little woman like you can understand.”
“Remember that movie, ‘Arrival’? I know you do, because you practically know it by heart now, and make me watch it with you all the time. What I mean is, I want you to think of that line Louise tells Ian. If you knew every future event in your life, would you change anything?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think. Now. Put down the phone. You’re never going to beat that level in your condition. Besides, I need to look at your schedule.”
Patricia tossed the phone Luis’s way, and it landed with a loud-to-him thud next to him, on the rough fabric of the couch that was a tall mesa to his now tiny body. He started punching buttons and clicking and sliding his tiny hand on the screen all at once, and calling up her organizing app. His, really. He was now the only one that used it. He looked at it briefly, and thought for a moment before he spoke again.
“OK. You may sleep four hours now. That’s all you get before you have to start your day again. But you’re not going to bed before you answer my question.”
“Love is worth everything.”
“Even one sided? Look at what your future would have been, wasting your time with someone who was only using you.”
“I knew what I was doing.”
“Then you are more of an idiot than I thought.”
“Fuck you. You don’t know anything. You don’t know what you’re talking about. What the fuck do you know about sacrifice? About giving someone everything without any thought for yourself? Nothing!”
“Stop that. You are the one that doesn’t know anything. You don’t know what I’ve lost.”
“What have you lost?”
“Mind your own business. I’m not going to tell you. At least not now.”
“Man. That’s what he always said. Men. You are all ali-“
“Don’t compare me to him. I’m here. I’m… I don’t know what I am. You don’t pay me, and you couldn’t pay me enough to do some of the high maintenance I do for you; but I’m here, and I help you out. I’m the closest you have to a friend right now, and I’m telling you right now: Get your shit together. Stop drinking. Look at your life, and decide where you want to be in the future. Do you want a real man to own, or do you want someone who wants to pretend to be owned, who really belongs to a different life?”
“I can’t talk to you about that. You don’t understand…”
“All I know is that you have a fucked-up fetish, and I’m so glad-“
“Don’t you fucking cross the line. Don’t you TALK to me that way, unless you want to find yourself out on the street.”
He shut up. She was right. He had crossed the line, but he was not the apologizing kind. Instead, he offered up a sigh, and a few words of comfort.
“Look, you are a nice lady. You deserve to be happy. Did he make you happy?”
“Giving him that dollhouse made me happy.”
“Did he go out of his way to make you happy?”
“I wrote songs about him.”
“Did he write songs about you?”
“I wrote about him all the time.”
“Did he do anything to show you he cared to the same degree? Did he always ask you how you were? Did he want to know about you? Did he know your birthday? Did he ever ask anything about your life?”
She said nothing. What could she say? That he’d always been silent and non responsive when she started talking about herself? That when she did, sometimes he’d start watching TV, or checking out the Internet?
“You gave him a home, and he left it every day. You gave him your heart, and he was too busy to give you his. He may have thought he gave you enough, but here you are, crying, and alone.”
“I’m not- crying-!”
“Sure. Look, I’m going to bed. You can stay up, drinking and whining, or you can go to bed and start a new day tomorrow. Either way, I’m waking your ass up in four hours.”
The little man walked over to the edge of the couch, and disappeared down the front, his body dropping quickly, and landing softly on the cushion that was always there. She watched him walk away, across the living room, and enter the magnificent dollhouse he now occupied. She then turned her gaze to the bottle of Everclear. Another single shot and she’d be obfuscated enough to drunk dial his number.
She went to bed instead.
* * *