It had nothing to do with the way her nose whistled when she breathed or the fact that she was letting her chipping nail polish sprinkle the carpet, though those were both annoying. The red polish was surely stuck to the green fibers and wouldn’t vacuum well. It didn’t even have to do with the way she had helped herself to the Issey Miyake fragrance in the bathroom. Perhaps it was his fault for leaving it out. It had to do with the way she talked about people; like everyone was either “so cool” or “the worst”. There was no in between with her opinions. This annoyed him.
“And you’re close with xxxxxx right?” She always inquired about the people he knew, as if he alone wasn’t interesting enough.
“Yeah she’s great, great girl.”
He kept it up, it was easy enough to mirror her hyperbolic nature, especially if it meant they’d be in bed within the hour.
“Have you ever…been together?” Her fingers traced the hem of her jeans.
“Oh no, we’re too dissimilar for that, but I love her like you love your favorite pair of socks.”
“What?”
“Like that pair that you’re worn a million times but doesn’t get a hole like the others.”
He was giving a lot of praise to a girl he barely knew, and in fact had slept with on one rather regrettable occasion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d compared someone to socks.
“I see.” She was skeptical and her eyes blinked over to the wall clock, which was always an hour behind this time of year.
“I’m supposed to call my mom at 7, she’s got a consultation tomorrow and I need to make sure all the forms are in order.”
“Well that clock is wrong, it’s already 7:36.” He was reclined on the couch, his left arm extended across the back and his right bent atop a pillow.
“What?” She was surprised, but not concerned.
“How about you give her a ring now and then we do something else?” An ambiguous proposition. He is so laid-back.
“No… I mean- no l don’t need to call her right now. Are you seeing anyone else?”
“Not recently.”
He wanted to sound casually desirable, the kind of guy that girls see for a night but then are too intimidated by to ask to see again. Because surely, he’s got plenty of others waiting. Surely she isn’t the first girl to drench herself in his Le Sel d’Issey and not notice the clock that’s stuck in the past. However to him, “not recently” means not in the last year, or two, or maybe however many years fill a lifetime.
“I like you.”
And now he was surprised.
“Do you really?” He tried not to sound desperate, but his shoulders had started at the words. When was the last time someone had said that to him? It must have been three years.
“Yeah… I mean, do you like me?”
She sounded desperate enough for the both of them.
“Yeah, yeah. No, I do.”
“Okay…” She looked disappointed by the interaction. But did she really expect him to profess his love right then? How can I profess something that’s not there? He did alright though: he said he liked her. Well, he didn’t say it word for word, but he answered affirmatively. And he is okay with liking her. Because even though she doesn’t have IT, she has the same eyes and hands, and her hair is kind of off but mostly right, and at this point since his carpet is full of her nail polish, they might as well go into his room right?
***
It turned out she had a deviated septum from when the ball hit her at a football game junior year. He only found out 2 months into seeing her when she was giving an ekphrasis of yet another person she knew.
“My ex-boyfriend was the worst. He always complained about how it’s audible when l breathe. It was stupid. I’m glad you don’t get hung up on those sorts of things.”
His whole “chill dude ” cosplay must’ve been working if she hadn’t yet gotten the sense he was a guy to dwell on someone’s irritating, probably treatable, bodily noises. Though maybe it wasn’t all an illusion of his. In fact, it was somewhat true that he found a level of comfort with her that was unfamiliar. It certainly wasn’t found in his friends, his old CDs, or his Friday night joints.
“Damn, is that why he broke up with you?”
“No it was because he figured out I was slowly trying to turn him into a different kind of dude.”
“Ah, yeah. No, we don’t like that.”
“Remember Dior Homme? Back in like the early 2000s.”
“Hedi Slimane and the skinny jeans?”
“Yes, precisely. Men when they looked like they just got done smoking a cigarette on the streets of Paris and were off to go manipulate their girlfriend. That’s all I wanted… well, not the last part.”
“Oh, of course… And he didn’t fuck with that?”
“It seems not, since I’m talking about it to you instead of him.”
“You’re right.”
She had brought her dog over again and it was gnawing at a crumbling bone on the carpet, chunks of chicken flavored biscuit joining the colors she had left against the soft grass. Maybe that’s why the dog liked it so much.
“I’ve since learned you shouldn’t try to change people, you should just look for the kind of person you want.”
She had no idea that she was suddenly speaking his language. But how did she learn it?
“And I am the kind of person you want?” He knew how pitifully insecure he sounded, despite his best effort at a purely curious tone. He couldn’t help himself. In fact the question came out on its own. He stared down at his pants. Long, black, with the slightest flair at the bottom. His shirt was thin and wrinkled but it looked intentional with the old cardigan he’d put over it. Maybe he was like the 2000s boy she was describing… a cigarette did sound good.
“Mostly.”
What? And now she had his full attention. For perhaps the first time since they became exclusive (she insisted on using that term because these days, “every guy takes dating to mean non-monogamy”) she stared as he scrambled around, trying to not let his costume fall apart. But it was too late because his face had already strung itself into disturbance, like an invisible plastic surgeon was suggesting he get an eyebrow lift and the mouth of a bass. He reached his hands up and slid his brows back to bored and his mouth into more of a pufferfish; the air of shock contained between his cheeks but at least his lips were pressed together. In one more second, he had expelled the air.
“HA.” Good, a laugh. See, he doesn’t care. “What do you mean mostly?” Well, he had to know at least.
She inquired him. Maybe she was the not-so-invisible surgeon. She seemed to know how to reproportion his face all right. He breathed in and out, his nose generously silent, to steady his face for the response, and inhaled as much of his own Le Sel d’Issey as hers. Is she hesitating? What are you about to say?
“I mean, you are mostly the kind of person I’m looking for. You got most of IT.”
Did she say IT and not it? He could’ve sworn she did. How did she learn his language? What does she know about IT?
“And what is IT?”
“You’re good looking, mildly environmentally conscious, listen to obscure enough music, don’t cheat on me, complain just the right amount, you’re sweet on Friday nights, you don’t drink, and you’re really, really good in bed. And that’s mostly what I’m looking for.”
“So in terms of having ‘most of IT’, do I lack ‘all of IT’ because of things I do or things I don’t do?” He hoped he was making sense.
“What?”
“Is it because I do things you don’t like or I don’t do things you do like?”
“Well in the gap between most and all of IT, it’s not about what you do, it’s about who you are.”
And what the fuck was that supposed to mean.
He actually knew what she was saying but was becoming increasingly uneasy by how fluently she spoke. He sounded ignorant to the words just because he couldn’t believe they were coming from her instead of the mirror, or maybe he thought it would be more fitting to hear the words from behind her eyes instead of his.
“And there’s no way to close that gap?” He knew the answer, of course.
“No, for that you’d need to be someone else, and then, well, it wouldn’t be about US anymore.”
“I don’t seem like the gap closer type?” He just wanted to see what she’d say.
“No, no one is the gap closer type. Either they have the gap or they don’t. The gap is stagnant and its existence is dependent on the other person. For me, you exist with a gap. But I’m sure for someone else, you have all of IT.”
She gestured a lot when she spoke and on IT she opened her hands as if grasping a large orb. Perhaps the IT was right there in front of her, but he just couldn’t see it.
“And when did you realize this? Before or after we–” he bit back the phrase ‘started dating’, “became exclusive?”
“It’s not a realization if you’ve always been aware.”
He had been trying to remain tactful. But this was too much, and all of a sudden it was pugnacity and not blood that was making his heart beat. You are not going to tell me I’m not enough for you. Not enough for YOU of all people.
“You know xxxx, it’s funny you bring this up…” he paused and ding her face froze. “I’ve felt the same about our relationship. I mean, you’re most of IT for me as well.” He mirrored her gesture for ‘IT’.
A hand shot up to the spiral charm on her choker, a nail running through the grooves of silver. “And why am I not all?”
“Well, it’s like you said. The gap is about who you are, not what you do.” He felt his chest rising and his costume sewing itself back together against his skin. He was beginning to look more and more like the guy she’d described earlier.
“And who am I?”
“Well you get along with children, tip kindly but not too much, have nice eyes, you read a book every once in a while, you taught me about flowers, you wear a helmet when you bike, you’re hygienic, and god damn are you good in bed.”
“And that is not all?”
“Well, no, not for me. But it’s most of IT.”
“I see…”
It had been so easy to switch places. And it worked out that she brought it up first because her unexpectedly being humbled gave his words more weight and he relished the feeling of the fuckboy uniform smooth and tight like a second epidermis. She sagged in comparison. Where was her plastic surgeon? But a part of him still wanted to take her to his room.
“Hey, who really cares?” His shoulders started again, but just to give a noncommittal shrug.
She did. She really cared. And he stirred at the anticipation of her response.
“But what am I missing? What’s my gap?”
He hadn’t expected her to ask so explicitly. He had figured she was playing the same game as him.
“Your gap? Well…” He wasn’t sure he really knew. “It’s something I just feel… in my soul.”
Together, their eyes looked at the clock, her eyes seeing directly, his eyes reading the reflection in hers. This time, it read 8:45, which was actually correct. They were finally both existing in the same time and place and had just put a lot of shit into the in between, it nearly filled the gap.
“I don’t know why I care so much. One day I’m gonna die. You’re gonna die. And in the flash between being and non being, I’m not gonna give you any amount of time in my mind. And I know you won’t do the same for me. So why do I care?”
***
Good thing the day of her death hadn’t come yet, because she was still giving him all the time in her mind. They had not yet forgotten the conversation about their respective gaps; if anything, the gaps had grown in the last few weeks. Had not yet forgotten the way it felt to pull their shape shifting skins on and off. And they would never forget how good they were together in bed.
The sun was only teasing the tops of the buildings, but the dog had insisted on being let outside. After he gave it some annoyed mutters about the time and how it was freezing, they took the elevator down through the apiary of apartments.
He took it once around the block, tugging back and forth on the leash because the dog wanted to sniff every doorstep and he wanted to be done with the dog. Passing the corner store which he frequented every weekend, he looked in the window. And for some reason, she was already inside buying a plain bagel with veggie cream cheese and lox and onions and tomatoes and cucumbers and capers; it was his order but she liked it now too. He instinctively rushed towards the glass to ask how she came down without him seeing when her figure rushed towards him too. Oh, but it was just the reflection. He was being stupid, the store wouldn’t open for another 20 anyway.
The neighborhood was the quietest it would be all day. He looked down and the dog was sniffing at a trail of piss. Stupid dog. There were plenty better things to smell. The dog looked at him, as if hearing his thoughts. The expression looked familiar, he’d seen it on himself while brushing his teeth in the evenings. It was the face he wore when he asked himself, are we both settling or accepting? It’s not like anything is wrong. It’s not like anything is really missing. There’s just a gap. She’s with me because she can’t be with a 2000s Hedi Slimane model and I’m with her because she’s the closest to IT I’ve found. He looked away from the dog.
When he walked back to the bedroom, closing the door silently behind him, she was still asleep, her steady breaths trapped between skin and sheets. Her face was the only part of her breaching the air. She looked out of place in the same reality as him. She was content and he was desperate. She was warmth and he was a fever. He slid his hands under the covers and felt for her waist. The fabric wrapped around it felt familiar; she was wearing his shirt. He slid it up past her navel and it felt like opening a present he had wrapped himself. Knelt at the side of the bed, his head resting on her ribs, his fingers strolled along her stomach. She didn’t react corporeally but she knew he was there. He dove beneath the surface of the covers and swallowed the salty scent of his own fragrance. It was rather like putting his lips on himself.
“Are you comfortable?” She was awake.
“Yeah.”
“Come on the bed.”
“It’s burning under there.”
“Then take your clothes off.”
An hour later, he extricated himself from the crashing waves of duvet to make her some sencha. While the water boiled, he stood trying to crack his back. His calf cramped and he curled on the ground, massaging it. Eyes blurring across the carpet, he saw some new purple chippings sparkling among the verdure. Irises; he wouldn’t see those outside for a few months. They’d be done by then, he thought.
***
The sex was hot. Probably the hottest sex he’d ever had. Or maybe the hottest sex anyone had ever had. What exactly made her remarkable he wasn’t sure. And it was about halfway through when he realized he didn’t know her last name or how long she’d been in the city or… “I can’t feel anything with the condom on…” if she was on birth control. She just sniffed but didn’t offer to take it off. This girl clearly didn’t have IT. After he finished he did the gentlemanly thing and let her do what she needed to do, and as soon as she rolled off of him to lie with her head on his chest, he said, “I’m gonna go smoke.” He left her lying on the bed as he gathered his papers and tobacco.
“You want one?”
“No, I don’t smoke.”
“You’re really good, you know.” Compliments were easy to give.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His finger slipped and the paper creased, shedding tobacco on the sheets.
“Did you just want me to finish fast so you could go smoke?”
“No…”
She pulled the duvet over her chest and curled up on her side. He reached a hand out to touch her back but pulled it in when he realized his fingers were sticky from the hash. So what if he wanted her to finish just so he could smoke? So what if he was thinking about a drag of the spliff while she gave herself to him? She was probably imagining him to be somebody else anyway. She joined him on the fire escape. They sat opposite each other, her back against the window and his against the metal bars. They were two souls bonded by sex and, while that was a powerful thing to be bonded by, a bond composed only by sex cannot sustain. The more he engaged with it, the more he realized hot sex is not satisfying in the same way as sex with someone you love. He was beginning to feel evil; like he’d become the guy that girls spend years reflecting on and write about in a journal they leave out to tempt their other hookups. Was it such a problem if he only liked her so long as he could have sex with her? He didn’t think so, and maybe that was evil.
“I think you know xxxx, right?”
Now? She was asking this now?
“…Yeah she’s great. Great girl.”
“Have you ever…been together?”
“Briefly.”
“And it didn’t work out?”
“It seems not, since I’m talking to you instead of her.”
Suddenly, it was ugly. The ugliest sex he’d ever had. His hands were bedaubed, not from the hash like he thought but, from the guilt of being evil. Fingers sewn to each other, the costume was morphing. No longer a thin fabric reflecting the desperation of these other girls, it was a thick black absorbing the heat of every moment where he’d ignored guilt in favor of satisfaction. He was burning up again, just like when he had stared at xxxx in bed. But this time he couldn’t take his clothes off, couldn’t peel away the skinny jeans and jacket. He couldn’t tell where his body began. This girl clearly didn’t have IT, but neither did he.
What the fuck am I doing.
There was a gap. And it wasn’t between the two of them. It was within himself. A gap between who he wanted to be, what his soul wanted, and his actions, the way he was living his life. It might have been the biggest gap he had ever felt with anyone. Maybe the only way to find someone with whom no gap exists is by filling your own first, so you can start looking for someone who will make your life better rather than someone who merely seems to fill your own gap. But does “The One” come without a gap? He didn’t think any relationship existed without one, even a tiny one. But he believed the best version of himself was one with no gap between soul and mind. It was now visible that his engagement with passive sex had been motivated by a need to fill his internal gap. And in the process, he had become evil; he had become the manipulative, cigarette smoking man xxxx had talked reminiscently of ages ago. Except now he didn’t even have her. But still, he didn’t really want her.
But what DO I want?
I want to feel satisfied. I don’t want to feel guilty. I want to fill my gap.
Maybe a truly evil man wouldn’t feel guilt for his actions. Maybe he wasn’t evil, not really.
xxxx had said no one is the gap filler type. But that must only apply to the gaps between two people. She also said you shouldn’t try to change people. But this wasn’t about change, it was about discovery. Reconstruction. I have to be able to fill the gap within myself.
“I’m sorry, but I have to get going. It’s been nice. Us, I mean. You’re lovely… you have a lovely face, you know. But it’s not a great time now.”
“Now” as in suddenly, not “now” as in at this point in my life.
One last act of evil, maybe. Saying goodbye so abruptly. But she didn’t seem surprised. She just told him to not forget his stuff on the bedside. She didn’t even say “When can I see you again?” And something about the absence of those six words, and his being okay with their absence, made his skin begin to chip, his fingers unstick, just a little. He closed the apartment door and hurried down, his boots slapping each stair and his eyes lingering on the landing windows. When he looked, he didn’t see xxxx anymore, just the reflection of his costume peeling off at the fingertips. The lawn outside the apartment was saturated with irises. He pulled a pack of Winstons from the jacket pocket. Looking down the street, he could almost taste the sencha from those extinct early mornings. That was another time, vanished. His soul asked for better. He was going to fill his gap. It might take a year, or two, or maybe however many years fill a lifetime. But for now, he just lit his cigarette.