those who study men i assume agree that they should desire not to be men. for we have this curious tendency to want and to need beyond our scope. beyond our own personal sanity and safety. to put it down quickly, it's the what-ifs that do a man in finally. so here i am with pixie showing up daily, bending over face down in the pillow, and fuck that, just holding me, holding the world out, the cool easy flow washing through. a little light. a little hope. corny. sure.
there is a particular night where pixie and i are out. sitting around a circular table with others. it's some awards presentation my company is putting on. one of those things where everyone meets up dressed in black patting each other on the back consolidating the choice they made with their one shot at it. and that's ok. but pixie looks over at me, grabs my hand and smiles. she looks rather good. but you see, i've had four jack and cokes and i'm still thinking about this thing, this unfinished business. and it just so happens that while i'm mulling this over i receive a message from Shannon. after two months of no correspondence. now, Shannon is lonely. and how was i? the boyfriend is gone again. Shannon with a cunt. a wet cunt. she wants to meet up.
fuck. it's War and Peace. it's Madame Bovary. it's total rip off. total unfairness of the universe at large. and i can't get the image out of my head of little Shannon bent over a bed frame, looking back with caution at my total rot filling in all the blanks. putting over a year's worth of effort into the thing.
the only thing left to do is to start a fight with pixie. i play it off as drunkenness. i bring up some of the other men and how long it took for her to leave the ex - the unemployed, no car, no ambition, cheater, woman beater, who twice gave her the clap. she didn't deserve a man like me: a student of Bandini and Heidegger, reader of the heavyweights. she takes offense and blames the whiskey, and it was the whiskey, but something else too. something further down and much worse. i get up to leave. and it does hurt, i admit, to see that smile go away. i go out towards the car, climb in and everything moves like a scene out of a movie, the main character fucking up final, the audience shouting like mad, but no matter how loud the protest, they're unable to prevent the climax.