She's So Clean

I throw the car into park in a shady spot on a side street in busy Portland, Maine. It’s both tourist and camp season, so while the streets are filled with people from out of state, my car is filled with miscellaneous art supplies, decorations, and sweaty clothes. I dig around in my bag for the makeup that I tossed in earlier that day. I feel queasy in that unsure-if-its-nerves-or-excitement kind of way.

I flip my car mirror down and hastily smudge gold eyeshadow onto my eyelids, blending only for a few seconds as I’m running out of time. Then, I spread on the berry lipstick. When I look up at the mirror again, I almost swear. The lipstick is way too intense - I need to blot it. Frantically I rummage through my glove compartment. Now would be a really good time to be enough of an adult that I have napkins or tissues or anything helpful in my car. I settle for an old, crumpled receipt and dab away at the intense color. Reaching behind me, I grab dry shampoo and poof it out into my hair. The powder settles on my slightly sweaty head as I rake my fingers through my fine hair, trying to work it in. I take a deep breath and give myself an internal pep talk that rivals the beer pong motivational speeches of my college days before stepping out onto the sidewalk.

Squeezing this date in midweek in the final weeks of my first summer directing a summer camp was probably a bad idea. Especially since I’d been promoted into the director role a mere 3 weeks before camp began, and 2 weeks before my life fell apart.

As I’m walking down the street to get to the beer garden, I do my best to push her out of my head, something that has been nearly impossible for the last month. My first date since the sudden breakup, the Tuesday when I lost my girlfriend, my dog, my house, and what I thought my future would hold. My heart flutters and I focus on the cobblestone streets that I am navigating. I’m not quite going to be late - but I’ll have to keep up this pace. I’ll make quite the entrance, gasping for breath in bright berry lipstick.

When I reach the bar, I see her quickly. She is adorable. She looks nervous. I almost turn around, thinking I’m not ready. But I don’t, I know I need to do this. After a few awkward moments of introductions and deciding where to sit, we both order our drinks in an overly polite manner and settle in.

She has the most beautiful white teeth, and deep brown eyes. I’m surprised at how my body is reacting. I wasn’t expecting this. She starts to tell me about her job and what she does with her days. I’m studying her face and smiling without meaning to and that is when I realize how clean she is. So clean. Organized. Disciplined. Straightforward. I think about the glitter and the fast food wrappers on my car floor.

That is when I know I am too messy for her. My mind travels to my disheveled bedroom, with the mattress on the floor surrounded by 80% of what should be the contents of my closet. I think of the time last month when I left my beach snacks in my cooler- only to discover the rotting red peppers 3 weeks and one nasty fruit fly infestation later.

Then I think of my other messes: the tears, the hyperventilating, the intimacy with which I knew the tiles on my old bedroom floor, and the depths to which I know my darkness. I will probably never be a clean person - always with clutter on my bedroom floor and a rollercoaster in my mind.

I’m startled out of my train of thought by the clink of her putting down her beer. Again, I notice her white, white teeth, and the way they contrast so beautifully with the rich brown of her skin. I’m suddenly so incredibly aware of and unsure of my own appearance. I felt beautiful while I was walking down, but can you really trust a car mirror? I feel my heartbeat pick back up and force myself to focus on her and just her.

“Tell me more,” I say, as I look into her eyes, surprised at the depth at which we connect at that moment. It terrifies me. I feel the wall quickly build. I feel myself distance away. I feel the tide of our connection recede and become shallow.

Perhaps I am not ready.

It was only five weeks ago that I lay sobbing on the floor in the hallway that used to be mine. My body heaving as I clawed at the cool tile, desperately begging it to make me feel solid again. My world had been pulled out from beneath me. I’d never before connected to this particular emotion; this helpless and desperate fear, the ripping of my heart. Still to this day, I can’t quite capture it in writing. What words do you use to describe the way it feels to watch everything you’ve built crumble? What words do you use to describe the pain of packing up a 5 year relationship in one Saturday? What words do you use to describe the way it feels when you're rejected by the one you’d convinced yourself you weren’t settling for?

All of a sudden I realize that I’m talking. I’m sharing stories about my work as if it wasn’t tearing me apart to show up smiling to a summer camp full of counselors and kids depending on me. As if I didn’t have a particular rock in the woods that I cried at twice a day. It’s funny how when we are trying to impress someone, we are so willing to bend the truth. So willing to tell the story in a way that only shows us as capable, successful, happy, perfect - as if humans were ever just those things.

She’s looking at me in that way - the way that tells me that I’m doing it. I’m drawing her in. This, of course, is the goal of a date, at least normally. She does seem safe. So safe. So clean. So organized. It’s terrifying. We awkwardly fumble over who is going to pay and then start to walk out together.

She’s looking at me in that way again. I know she is going to kiss me. I know I am not ready. Before she can lean in, I make the move and go for a hug. I touch her face, kiss her cheek, and tell her I can’t wait to see her again, even though I already know that I won’t.

I turn and walk two blocks away from her before the tears start to fall. The first few come slowly and then it’s like a hurricane has entered my mind. My breathing speeds up as the tears tumble down. My chest is tight. My heart is desperate. I pull out my phone and before I can stop myself, I’ve dialed the number. It rings twice and then goes to voicemail. With no hope of logic or pride stopping me, I take a breath and then begin to leave a message knowing I’ll regret it in the morning. I’m not even embarrassed to be sobbing out in public, just grateful for some cover as the dusk settles in around me.

The rickety stairs to my cheap apartment creak as I climb them. I wasn’t ready. She’s not the one. She’s not even the next one. I feel the buzz of the beers in my head as I collapse down into my bed. Shaking from the tears I unknowingly held back for the entire date.

Will I ever feel normal again? How do you start over? Am I too messy for everyone? The questions whip around my brain as I try to settle into sleep. Tomorrow will come quickly and I need the rest.