Success Avenue

She'd fallen in love with the other guy; the alcoholic crackhead, the one who hit her up for drug money and rides to the 'hood. Most every night, sometimes more than once a night, she sat in her pickup truck on (the sardonically named) Success Avenue, ruminating on what she would do if one night he went to buy crack and never returned.

But the guy before her, ambitious and driven, sober ten weeks now, she wasn't even sure she liked. He was furious with her at the moment for an insult to his manhood that she was struggling to comprehend. We are finished, he was ranting, unwilling to allow her to get a word in edgewise. She'd seen this anger from him before and although she couldn't believe this was about her suggesting that he purchase the smaller drink thus saving a dollar (there were free refills), she knew better than to start lighting cigarettes near the gasoline-soaked monument of his temper. He's gotten physical with her, in anger, exactly three times. Today was similar to that last time when she was actually afraid of what he might do and in a fit of quick thinking, parked front and center at a 7-11 in the wee hours, thinking he probably wouldn't hurt her in front of witnesses. Instead he snatched the kitty-ear headband from her head and ended up yanking her hair quite hard. He hadn't meant to pull her hair but his life was a series of I-didn't-mean-to incidents.

At 20, he didn't mean to get caught in possession of drugs and various other (not so) petty crimes which led to a conviction and a ten year prison sentence. A dozen years after his release he didn't mean to wrestle the car keys from his ex's hand which resulted in her getting scratched, calling the cops, and a weekend stay in County for him. He didn't mean to trash an upwardly mobile career, his family, and an impressive against-the-odds education. But once again, the drugs and alcohol got the best of him and a twelve year climb was pissed away in a matter of months.

The irony of his telling her to get out of his life was that an hour earlier she'd had every intention of telling him the same thing. She'd taken issue before with his careless disrespect of her. The way he ordered her around. And especially since he got sober, his self-righteous attitude and vague contempt of her. After getting his graceless texts, she realized she couldn't do it anymore. Although he had great charisma and a dynamic way with people, toward her he only made her feel bad about herself. She needed no help in that department. She only ever heard from him when he needed something. Today's call was to ask if she could pick him up at his temp job at 4:00 p.m. then drop him at his court-ordered Domestic Violence class (a result of the key-scratch incident). She told him she could. Here's what followed in texts:

3:29 pm J: make it 5pm

L: Can't do 5

L: So 4:00 or abort mission?

Ten minutes pass.

L: Tell me before I go east please

J: 5pm Same address.

4:00 pm L: I said I can't do 5. I can do 4:30

L: Yes or no

4:25pm L: I'm parked on the street and will wait till 4:35 then I gotta go with or without you.

4:45 ish L: R u aware of what an inconsiderate, selfish asshole u r?

At around 4:55 he calls her, castigating her for sending the 'asshole' text, only quieting a bit after she points out that she'd already left the house when she got his text but because she didn't know if was getting her texts, felt unwilling to leave him stranded and thus had now been waiting for him for nearly an hour.

He appears at 5:00 pm with his usual brusque "Let's go". He explains how they asked him to work until 5 and he couldn't use his phone in the workplace. He is clueless as to why she is so peeved. They argue as they drive across town to his class. They spot an old haunt of theirs from his tweaky days, a greasy-spoon hamburger stand that happens to be down the street from his former crack dealer. They used to sometimes stop there while he waited for said dealer to make contact. He now suggests they stop with a "you got me?" to her. In the 10 months of their acquaintance, she can count on one hand the times he picked up the check (even if she were missing a thumb and a pinky). The fact that she is currently broke and has easily given him over $1000 over the past 6 months, completely escapes him. She tells him she can spot him $5.00. He wants chili fries for $3.99 then hands her $2.00 to cover the cost of a large drink. The drink is $2.99 but he figures he has $1.00 coming to him from the chili fries. Before they entered the restaurant she’d suggested they share food and drink to economize. He has a 'thing', which he's never explained, about sharing food and drink. He just won't do it. She orders his chili fries, her carne asada fries and two small drinks.

“A large drink”

"But it's free refills so why not just get a small"

"Because I want a large"

"I'm gonna get smalls"

"I don't want a drink. Give me my $2"

L rolls her eyes in the general direction of the counter girl, who has to keep changing the order, due to his high-handed attitude. She gets her drink and joins him at a table to wait.

"Why did you take your $2 back?"

What follows is a rant that includes: how she has no manners, how she once before humiliated him in front of people (this is true. When a doorman at a club was being a power-tripping dick and was refusing to let in J because he'd forgotten his I.D., she played Bad Cop and sneered at J, "way to ruin my night". Bro-code demanded the doorman let him in and he did. Her ‘bad’ for not cluing in J, but how could she? She apologized and explained that to her, sometimes the ends justifies the means), and how she just did it again and he is leaving her to eat alone because he doesn't even want to be around her. And he storms out. She changes the order to take-out and then joins him outside. When she tries to speak to him he gets up in her face ordering her to unlock the truck or he'll break it in so he can get his stuff. He'd rather take the bus and he doesn't want anything more to do with her. So she puts the food in the extra-cab of the truck and drives away, vaguely wondering what the hell she's gonna do with all this food because she has errands to run. She gets home at 10:30pm and ends up throwing the food in the trash, untouched. In trying to save $1.00, she ends up trashing $12.00 worth of food. Irony can be a real laff-riot.

Soon after the fight she’d texted:

L: I truly don't understand how my suggesting u get a smaller drink and save a dollar when u can drink just as much with a smaller cup is disrespectful. But have it your way. Nice knowing u.

Although she’d cried a little earlier when she realized she had to let him go, she hadn't cried since. His declaration of the dissolution of their friendship leaves her feeling empty, but the more she thinks about his temper tantrum, the angrier she gets. Who the hell does he think he is? She thinks back on all the times he has humiliated her in public: shouting over and over at her "don't talk about my son!" in Carl's Jr. after she asks an innocuous question about his young child. The violent episode in Watts where he pressed the end of her Club (car-theft prevention implement) into her neck hard enough to bruise (and as she struggled to wrench the Club away from him, a personal low ensues as they were intervened upon by the bike-riding drug messenger guy). The time he turned from her on the dance floor mid-song to grind on some skank for the rest of the night. She has never in her life hit anyone in anger but she longs to punch him in the face.

Now, to be fair, this was never a romantic relationship. They met on a hook-up site. There are love sites, dating sites, pseudo hook-up sites, and the true hook-up sites. They met on the latter. He’d sent her a “wink” indicating a certain regard. At first she dismissed his wink. As a female, she was inundated with messages and winks from thirsty dudes. Most were not her type. Some were pigs right out of the gate. Some possibilities presented themselves. Before J, she’d only hooked-up with one other guy from this site; a Wasp-y firefighter with nice manners (good manners go a long way) who she suspected was married due to his high level of discretion. When she first looked upon J’s photo, she dismissed him out of hand. Angry-looking Latino guys pushing 40 (he was actually 42 but put 38 on his profile) were not her usual type. She liked young, skinny white guys that looked like Ed Norton. But when she saw his shirtless body shot, it gave her pause. He was a little more muscular than she liked, but all in all, a very impressive physique. Upon a second look at his face pic, there was something in his eyes that spoke to her. Although she very rarely messaged first (she believed if a guy was interested, he’d make contact; she should have remembered that), she sent him a brief “Hey” and he messaged back right away. She likes that he is direct about wanting to meet right away. He is in a motel and invites her over. Just as she parks at the motel, the door directly in front of her opens and a guy steps out. She has the briefest moment to think to herself, “wow, cute guy”, when he notices her and smiles, and she realizes it’s him. It's a dangerous smile. It makes her heart skip a beat. It crinkles his eyes and seems to convey, “this smile is for you only”. He tells her he has to talk to someone real quick (later she learns it was his dealer) and lets her into the room. He returns about ten minutes later and doesn’t waste time stretching out on the bed and gathering her close for cuddles. In her varied encounters with men, she had come across a few cuddlers. But after sex, not before. His cuddles are as dangerous as his smile. Months later, she’d have to bargain with him for cuddles. Sometimes a ride to his dealer and ten bucks bought her ten minutes of cuddles. She wasn’t sure which of them had sunk lower in that scenario. She suspected it was her.

They kissed, she sucked his cock for awhile, and he ended up doing her doggy style. It was pleasant. They were finished but he didn’t cum. This bothered her enormously. Did he not enjoy it? Was she not enough to get him off? He seemed satisfied and explained that sometimes he just didn’t cum. Hm. This did not sit well with her at all. Without the barometer of hardness of cock and volume of moans and fluid, she was rather at sea... After a while she sucked him hard again. It was endearing the way one of his legs would seemingly involuntarily move over her head so he could trap her head in the vise of his legs. Sometimes it was a bit hard to breathe but she found she liked the feeling of being trapped in the act of giving pleasure. He had her stand at the foot of the bed and bend forward. She’d brought her butt plug and lube and made him promise to lube her up if he was going to do anal. He did anal. He did not lube her up and surprise, he lost the condom inside her when he pulled out. She only learned of this the next day when she quite literally pooped out the condom.

The first time he smoked in front of her, he seemed embarrassed as he ask if she minded if he smoked something. She was used to guys smoking weed right before or even as they fucked her. At this point she was like a Pavlovian dog at the scent of marijuana. But she could tell this was something else. She asked what it was, and he vaguely said it was coke. She was so naive she didn’t realize he was talking about crack cocaine. She’d never, to her knowledge, even been in the general vicinity of crack. When it finally dawned on her what he was smoking, she was shocked. Everything she knew about crack she’d learned from the movies. Later, at home, she would google: crack, crack addiction, rehabilitation from crack...everything she could to try to understand what he was involved in. He’d mentioned that the drugs made it difficult for him to get hard or achieve orgasm. This she also investigated, her ego getting a small reprieve, as she learned about restricted blood flow and the common resulting erectile dysfunction.

Perhaps he’d taken another ‘herbal enhancer’ (it turns out he'd taken one the previous night) on their second encounter, because she sucked him so deep and hard that she had a sore throat for days afterward. He fucked her on the motel bed and mentioned a few freaky things he liked that she had no intention of doing until she knew him better. On this night she also learned his life story. In his youth, he’d been a gangster. He’d spent his twenties in prison on drug charges. He’d turned his life around after prison by going to college, working as a drug counselor, having a family. His grandmother had just passed away. He’d recently left his Baby Mama with whom he used to live which was why he was in this motel. His ex was doing everything in her power to keep him from seeing his child, not so much due to the substance abuse but because he’d left her. “I love my son”, he’d say over and over and she never doubted it. She was impressed by what he’d overcome but alarmed by what he was currently doing. He bedazzled her with his charisma and charm (okay, and hot body and wicked good looks) and perhaps the most dangerous to her, the way he seemed to need her. Just for small things at this point: sex, rides to 7-11, her company. But if crack and alcohol were his weaknesses, hers was feeling needed. She’d once asked herself if it was more important for her to feel needed or loved, and when she answered ‘needed’, it just cemented how completely fucked-in-the-head she was. She supposed this is how he managed to fly under her radar and into her heart.

Months later, after one of their many battles, she would write in her journal: “But of all of my boys, J is the one who keeps breaking my heart. This man has told me all his secrets. I’ve seen him at his lowest low. He’s cried in my arms. I’ve done things to him sexually I’ve never done with anyone else. He knows all my demons and I know his. Granted, when I see it laid out like that, I guess I can see why why I’m not the happiest association for him. But we’ve also danced together, laughed and frolicked, slept butt to butt on his tiny bed...I know he can’t help not being attracted to me or not loving me, but it hurts the most, I think, that he doesn’t seem to want to be friends.”

Somewhere around the 4th or 5th time they met-up, she thoroughly freaked him out by bursting into tears on the motel bed and blubbering about how worried she was that he was killing himself with drugs and alcohol. In her defense, she was a couple weeks off antidepressants and in a wicked PMS funk. She could tell she was irritating the hell out of him but his self-destructive behavior coupled with her guilt at enabling him, got the best of her. The only other time she cried in front of him was one day when he asked her to come over then didn’t answer her calls and texts for more than an hour. Her imagination was running rampant at this point and every passing second made her fear why he might not be answering. Just the night before he'd confessed to her that he felt he was destined to die young. The rueful resignation in his voice and his sad smile terrified her. She renews her deal with God: If he gets sober I know that means I'll lose him. I know he was never really mine but I will give him up. Please give him the strength to beat this. Now frantic, she knocks on the door to his Uncle’s house, asks if she can pass through, and when she gets to the the garage (where he resides) and awakens him from his stupor, she drops into a chair, covers her face with her hands, and sobs in relief.

It’s 3:40 in the morning and she is in Northern California visiting her sister for a few weeks. After she’d been away one week and hadn’t heard from him, she decided that if he didn’t make an effort to contact her for the duration of her trip, that was it, their friendship would be over. If he couldn’t manage to at least shoot her a text, what clearer indication that unless he was asking her for something, she was nothing but an afterthought. At the one week mark, she is becoming resigned to the idea, when he calls. She is asleep but awakens at the ring of her phone but is disoriented and cannot pick up in time. When she listens to the voicemail, she finds it is J leaving a collect-call message from county jail. There is no way to return the call. She sends him a couple of texts although she knows he probably won’t get them until after he is released. She feels awkward and foolish but attempts to call his mother to try to get some information but only gets a recording (that the recipient hasn’t set up her mailbox) so she can’t even leave a message. She is desperate enough to consider calling J’s uncle who only speaks Spanish but can’t think how she would explain the situation to whomever she would get to make this inquiring call en Espanol. She keeps her phone close by, especially around 12:30pm, the time he called from jail. She imagines inmates are probably allowed to make calls at the same time each day. When the phone rings around 12:30pm the next day, she jumps on the phone but when she answers, it is a recording from the Los Angeles County Department of Corrections giving her the option of depositing money into the account of 'inmate's name'. When she attempts to follow the recorded prompts, the call disconnects, to her great frustration. She manages to return the call and once again follows the prompts. She surreptitiously (for her sister is in the room and how would she explain depositing money to someone in jail) obtains her debit card and as casually as she can, deposits $25.00 and hopes she has enough money in her checking account to cover it.

She is still worried and extremely frustrated at her lack of information a couple hours later when J texts to tell her he is out. She texts that she just sent him $25. He calls and she grabs her phone and attempts to remove to the front porch for privacy but is thwarted by a security hook on the screen door. Her sister is calling out how to release the stupid thing and she tries to no avail. She’s telling J to hold on and give her a second. Her sister hauls her ass out of her chair at a glacial pace and begins to cross the room. She can barely make out his voice on the other end of the phone and he seems to be speaking to someone else. She keeps saying hold on a sec and what? are you talking to me and he loses what little patience he has and says he-has-to-go-bye. Her sister has released the hook-from-hell and she is on the front porch holding the phone in her hand like a dead fish. He then texts telling her 'she had an attitude on the phone as though she had been the one in jail and there was no money in his account from her lol but thanks anyway he’ll call her later'. After 24 hours of worry and anxiety that she couldn’t do or tell anyone about, this glib text feels like a slap and she angrily texts “ Don’t bother. I no longer care”. And the next few times he calls, she doesn’t allow herself to answer.

It’s been two weeks of unrelenting, nauseating heat in L.A. but finally, finally, a break in the weather. It’s 2:30am and she steps into the back yard to have a smoke and Oh, happy day!, a cool breeze. And Glory Hallelujah!, sprinkles of rain! She tilts her face to the sky and has an overused movie-moment whereas she flings her arms wide and feels the glory of God, the miracle of Mother Nature or whatever. She dances in the rain. She feels free. She feels ...happy, if only for a moment or two. A random, unaccustomed thought pops into her mind: I can accomplish anything! Wow, she doubts if that thought has ever in her life entered her mind.

She may be feeling uncharacteristically powerful and positive because six days ago she “blocked” J from her phone, and thus her life. Sure, she’d tried to do this before when he’d been particularly awful to her. The first time she blocked him she found she couldn’t deal with the fact that she didn’t know if he was trying to get in touch with her. It was one thing to ignore his calls and texts, but another to not know if he was even trying. And she admitted, it gave her a good deal of satisfaction to let his calls go unanswered. But she could never resist for long and eventually she would pick up if for no other reason than to satisfy the curiosity of finding out what he needed from her. Since returning from NorCal, she’s felt a sense of urgency in extricating herself from the relationship. Just as she’s come to realize how important it is to her to get the Last Word in an argument, she also knows that it’s of vital importance for her to cut him off before he cuts her off. Which will happen, and soon, for he is currently sober and his financial aid money (for school) is coming and he plans to buy a car. Never mind that he owes her over a thousand dollars (which she meticulously logged in her own rationalized attempt to reconcile all the cash she was giving to him). Of course, he claims that since he was “messed up” at the time, he is not responsible for what Tweaky J said, did, or borrowed. Oh. Long story short, she will never see that money again, and she knows this, and as soon as J gets his car, he will no longer need her for anything.

This eventuality has been weighing on her and she is desperate to avoid the slow and painful removal of this emotional band-aid. The thought of waiting for calls that never come is…unacceptable. So as much as she feels like a whiny little girl for boo-hooing about boy trouble, she devotes her latest therapy session to discussing the matter. She feels she should be above and beyond sniveling about the opposite sex. After all, her life is a complete and utter mess. She needs to figure out how to break out of her miasmic cloud of depression, learn to stop being afraid of success and paralyzed by a fear of failure, improve her health, live in the Now, blah blah blah…. However, so much of her time and thoughts are consumed by men, that an emergency jettisoning of dead weight is crucial before she crashes the entire 747 into the side of a mountain. So with an apology to her therapist, she lays it out and he helps her to see things from a slightly different perspective. She fell in love with the man not only because she admired his charisma, intelligence, looks, and accomplishments, but also because for the first six months of their “relationship”, he needed her completely. She knew she was a sucker for being needed, but she hadn’t realized that in being responsible for providing meals, money, transportation, sexual favors, a shoulder to cry on, entertainment, etc., she’d put herself in a mother role. Her maternal instinct has always been easily triggered, but this was maternal instinct gone bananas. She better understands her reluctance to let him go and the impending emptiness she foresees petrifies her with fear. But as it happens, in the end, he makes it easy for her.