He and I weren’t alike and I think he hated that. We went on with having sex, all of Jake’s friends had done it and all my friends had done it- our group of friends were all grown-ups now, right? After our senior year ended but before he left to attend the University of Central Florida, he had arranged with his two best friends, Arlo and Nate that they would go on an east-coast road trip in Jake’s Mystery Machine. Their destination was Washington D.C., an ironic twist to Jake’s being as he avidly would read Abbie Hoffman’s Steal This Book and other anti-American manifestos. I didn’t really get it. But then again, I never got him anymore, either.
It was a couple days after our graduation, May 31st, but before their summer road trip and my birthday. Jake was going to come over my house that day, before he and I both had to go to work. Donned in a disgusting and grimy Dunkin’ Donuts uniform, Jake had skated to my house an hour before his shift began. I let him enter my house; things were the same as usual. We simply just hung out in my room; the TV was off as we lay next to one another. A year in to our relationship, I had begun to lack hearing the words “you look pretty today, Phoebe. You’re so beautiful, cute... what-have-you.” I had made it a point that day to look extra fine, as I was a seemingly cheerful mood for having to go work at Target’s Food Avenue in a few dwindling hours. I wanted to know that Jake had noticed my extra effort on beauty or something, or just know that he appreciated my existence to some extent. I hadn’t heard anything from him, so I asked him a simple question and I was only joking around when I asked it,
“Do you think I’m pretty?” My mouth curled in a curious sort of smirk, awaiting the answer I felt I knew I would hear.
Jake’s stare went from my brown eyes to across the room, darting back and forth like an insect bobbing to and fro toward a bright light.
“Jake? What’s wrong?” I asked, my voice not as fierce as I had intended it to be. He had nothing to say to me. Just like the times before. But this time, it seemed a little more serious.
“Don’t you think I’m pretty?” I asked again, this time with more emphasis on the I’m. No answer. Silence. My mouth began to taste sour. “Do you like me anymore?” I asked, my small, delicate voice breaking in pieces a little bit.
“I have to go. I don’t know anymore, but I have to go,” his voice trailed off in a shy and disparaging tone.
He picked up his skateboard and left my room in a feverish hurry. I was stunned. My eyes wide, but not yet wet. I had no idea if I should stay or follow. I had no idea if my eyes should well up or stay hard and stiff. His reaction was not one I was expecting. I had only been joking when I asked him those things, assuming I was going to hear the boyfriend answer most girls do hear. Still mildly in shock, I wasn’t sure what I was doing. I ran out of my room moments after he had exited my house, I had heard my front door close with a slam. I left my brain, seeping its grey matter all over my bed, as I ran outside, not really knowing what to expect. I ran; bare feet pounding the gravelly asphalt, catching minor stones in between my feet were of no thought to me. I scraped the bottoms of my feet running toward him, until our bodies gained distance equivalence. Not wanting to display how out of shape I was, I held in the deepening breaths my body wanted to exude. I played it cool, as if I always ran awkwardly and like an insane woman all the time.
“Why won’t you talk to me?” I asked, in between secretive pants. I didn’t want an answer to the question I had just posed. His head was still straight forward, not looking to me. We were reaching his house, I saw his blue and orange Mystery Machine only a few feet ahead of us. He had 20 minutes before he had to be at work and I had 2 hours until I had to clock in.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Do you want to go in?” He finally spoke when we reached the doors to his bus. He beckoned me inside. I crawled into the familiar sanctuary. The air inside was pleasantly musty with a tinge of a fading grape air freshener. It was all so common and recognizable, so why couldn’t I recognize what the hell was going on?
Jake’s gaze was to mine now, after he had closed the doors for us to have some privacy. I noticed the rain beginning to trickle onto Jake’s windshield out of the corner of my eye. “I don’t know if I like you anymore, Phoebe. Not like how I used to,” he said. His monotone voice was shaky but frighteningly assured.
“W-w-whattt?” I croaked, a lump forming where my throat was. “How can you say this to me? It’s two days before my birthday! What’s wrong with me?” My eyes had begun to flood. I could feel the salt water drop down my face, catching upon the pillows of my round cheeks. I thought had done everything for him. Everything.
He took a deep breath. Jake was rarely ever sad or downtrodden. But that day, he was crying. “I just don’t think I like you anymore. You didn’t do anything! Don’t think that.”
“But, it’s almost my birthday!” That was the only thing I could say in the midst of all the shit. I was going to turn 18 on June 2nd and this was turning out to be a less than desirable birthday present. I spoke calmly after I hiccupped a few more sobs. “I think when you leave for your road trip, I am going to miss you more than you are going to miss me.”
“I think you’re right,” he replied, the only tears I had ever seen of his sprinkled the bridge of his nose. I felt a little better, seeing his usually stoic demeanor turn sort of human.
“When did you realize these feelings? Was it before or after we had sex?” I questioned. If it was before we slept together, I was going to faint. Thoughts ran through my head that he was only using me for sex now. I wanted to projectile vomit everywhere.
“After... we did it... I began to not like you as much,” he replied, shamefully. He paused as his phone rang with Dunkin’ Donuts’ number displayed on the caller-ID. “I need to go to work now, though. I’m thirty minutes late.” he replied. He pushed his dreadlocks out of his face, revealing a saddened look I couldn’t believe. “I think we need a break for a while. I need to think things through.” He began to get up and crawl into the driver’s seat.
He offered to drive me home since it was raining, but I felt a little melodramatic, so I said I could make do with walking home in the rain. I left his bus, feeling disgusting and empty- a feeling that was not unknown to the Phoebe Body. I began walking down the street in the rain as his bus drove off. I half assumed that as revenge, his bus would hit a huge puddle where I was walking and splash me in dirty humility, like how it happens in movies. Thankfully, it didn’t, but I was hoping maybe the rain would serve as a catharsis to my horrible feelings. That didn’t happen, either.
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