My head kind of hurts. I mean, my head always hurts now, but that is more like a dull aching reminder of my ignorant stupidity. Now, it hurts. Two types of pain haunt my life. The first is the consequence of my personal stupidity. The first is my broken heart. I do not mean that I miss the sex that the woman I used to lay with provided. I do not mean she was a horrible person for leaving me. I do not want anyone to think Izabella is a horrid woman. I loved, no, love her. I have to remind myself. I still have to love her, I was the dumb one.
The second pain is a very dramatic one, I can tell. I know the cliché sayings and refuse to point them out. The second, well will not ever really be true. I know in the back of my mind I will move on but the reason I know it’s in the back of my mind, is because I forgot so easily. I forget because the first reason I hurt, my first pain, is always omnipresent. My second pain is that I will never love again. Izabella isn’t foreign. She was from Vermont. No offense but I can’t believe that I am crying over this silly little girl from Vermont. No offense.
Now, I sound like such an ass. That is one thing I can like. She didn’t like that I cursed. I can curse now. I can remember every time I cursed, she would press her lips together in disdain and roll her eyes. Her eyes were brown. The brown that you stared at for an eternity. I was kind of creepy I guess. But, I decided the reason I liked her eyes was the color, the softness I imagined they would feel like, and her eyelashes. Well I imagined, if it touched her eyes, they would feel like her skin. It was like touching the clouds.
I will start from the beginning. It will explain my pain. I had moved to New York and found a pitifully small apartment near town square. I found a job as a journalist for some popular teenager’s magazine. I followed celebrities around and asked them questions. It was fine but I wanted a lot more. I wanted to write for a dignified newspaper, even though I didn’t know which one I wanted. Fresh out of college I was ambitious but not very driven. I’ve never been very driven.
I was following this teen pop sensation. I got backstage passes and tickets and went in as a crazed fan. I was sick of the screaming and yelling and crying. Being the observant man I am, it piqued my interest to watch little girls slob over someone without any talent. It’s not like any of them were Mandarin Orange. Well, I was sick of watching and observing and being interested. That time, I just stood in the crowd going through the rubric of a good performer the focus group gave me. I compared what he was supposed to do and what he did. He was horrible like I imagined.
After he sang every song on his one album, I was escorted to his dressing room. There, I saw Izabella. She was short and her face and body was young. I knew immediately that she wasn’t a fan because she wore a black shirt with the Mandarin Orange logo on it in white. She had blue jeans and when she walked I saw everything under her jeans. For such a young girl, she held herself high. She was perky and cute and I liked the way she said my name. Sorry, off track.
So, I stood quietly neglecting my work and watching her surrounded by girls. Then her eyes met mine and my cheeks turned red. She bat her eyelashes and stared back at me. I couldn’t look away now. I knew if I did, I would be outmanned. So, I just stared and she did the same. Soon, the crowd dispersed. She glanced down at my clothes I think. I was wearing jeans, a checkered red and white shirt, black suspenders and a black suit jacket. I was wearing these beat up black dress shoes because wanted to look like I was some dad or whatever but it was obvious that the big green glasses and long black hair that covered my face were not owned by a forty three year old man with three kids. That was my story.
After the annoying sound of giggling girls fled my ears, she walked up to me. Her hips swayed provocatively that obviously didn’t fit her personality but I liked that she tried. She had this cute little iPhone that had a gold case on it.
“Hello,” she spoke with a clear tone and flashed perfect white teeth.
“Hey.” Her cheeks went pink. I didn’t do anything.
“Why have you been staring at me?”
“You’re pretty.”
“Thanks. You are not so bad yourself. Why do you wear glasses?”
“I have horrible vision. I wouldn’t have been able to see you from over here.”
“Well, I’m right in front of you now.”
That is how I thought I met the love of my life. But this is how I met my soul mate.
Chapter One:
Izabella broke up with me two months ago. I don’t know if that is an unhealthy amount of time to be sad or not. I’ve never been in a healthy relationship before, I’ve been told.
I wake up in my small apartment. I jump into the shower and eat breakfast and all. I’m a healthy living human being. Today, I will interact naturally with people. I will eat better than yesterday. I will meet a person that doesn’t already think I am a freak. I came to this job and this city a healthy human being but now the people I built relationships with don’t like talking to me. My coworkers think I am crazy. That, is because the day she broke up with me, I came into work and punched a whole into the wall.
When I walk into the office, a woman with red hair is sitting on my desk. Her hair is long and hangs to her back. Her skirt is long and she looks like she should be my boss.
“Hello ma’am how my I help you?” I ask blandly.
