So Long, Chester Wheeler(4)

She took a long swallow of her beer. She was avoiding my eyes, which was undoubtedly a bad sign. I waited. Not patiently.

“He seemed . . . I don’t know. Tense. Or aggravated. Or . . . I’m not sure what the word is I’m searching for. He seemed a little distant, but I figured that was just Tim.”

And I hadn’t even noticed any of it. It made my head spin. Almost literally. What world did I live in? What relationship had I been having for the past ten months? Obviously not the same one as Tim.

I spent a minute falling fully into my own sense of deficiency. Somehow, in some way, I was not enough. Hence the missing partner. The fact that I didn’t know what way, and he figured I should, only added fuel to the fire.

I decided to take the conversation in an entirely different direction. The current one was too unsettling.

“I have to tell you this really offensive thing the neighbor said to me.”

“You mean Chester Wheeler?”

“That’s the guy.”

“Don’t tell me, then.”

“I just need to get it off my chest.”

“That never works,” she said. “People think complaining about a bad thing will make them feel better. But it just stokes it. It keeps it alive. It’s like feeding it. This is why I never liked the expression pet peeve. Why keep a peeve as a pet? Why give it a dish of water and a nice spot to lie down in the corner? It’s just choosing to be peeved. Look, I more or less know what Wheeler said. Something idiotic. Because he’s an idiot. We already knew that. It’s utterly unsurprising. It’s not exactly breaking news. Don’t give the guy so much space in your head. You want to be keeping better things in there, right?”

I only sipped my beer for a time, feeling a little stunned. It was unlike Anna to give me such a sharp dressing-down. Or, anyway, that’s what it felt like.

I never answered.

“Look, I get it,” she added. “I’m not without empathy. He upset you, and the upset needs time to move through you. It usually takes me about three days to let a thing like that move all the way through my system and move on. But while you’re waiting, try not to feed it.”

“Okay,” I said. But it didn’t feel okay. I still felt a little stung.

“Moving on,” she said. “Obviously the timing utterly sucks.”

She didn’t elaborate. She didn’t need to. She had moved out less than a month before to give my relationship with Tim more space, and a more private feel. And now I had no one to share the rent.

“I don’t suppose you could—”

But she didn’t even let me finish.

“I signed the lease on the new place,” she said.

“You didn’t tell me that.”

“Why would I tell you that?”

“I thought we told each other everything.”

“I told you I was going to sign it. I didn’t think touching the pen to the paper would be big news.”

“I guess I need a new roommate.”

“Or two.”

“Right. Or two.”

“If I were you, I’d get right on that,” she said.

I sipped my beer in silence for a moment, looking around the place. The sky was still barely light outside. Two middle-aged guys had put a slow ballad on the jukebox and were dancing. It burned in my gut, because I had honestly thought Tim and I would last long enough to do that. To be that.

Why was I such a fool?

“Why did you pick a gay bar?” I asked Anna.

“Because you’re single.”

I snorted something that was meant to be laughter, but it made me sound like a donkey. Albeit a quiet one. Probably because I found no humor in the observation at all. In fact, I think it only dawned on me in that moment. I think it hit me when she said it. Tim was gone. I was not a person in a relationship. I was single.

“I’ve been single for, like, hours,” I said, trying to wrestle the moment into submission with my ability to appear casual.

“I’m not suggesting you should meet somebody right now and live happily ever after. I’m only saying that it might be time for you to accept being single. You know. Make the transition.”

“I hate transitions more than anything,” I said.

“Oh, honey,” she said. “I know you. Don’t I know how much that’s true.”





Chapter Two:




* * *





Oh

It was several days later, but I don’t remember how many.

The knock on the door came at 8:35 a.m. I had been up until all hours worrying about such matters as money and my future, and so was sleeping soundly.

I got up, put on my old faded corduroy robe over nothing, and grumbled my way to the front door. When I opened it, the light was absolutely brutal in my eyes. I had to shield them with one corduroy-clad arm.

The guy standing on my stoop was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt and tight jeans, despite being a bit too old for the look. I made him to be in his late fifties.

“I’m Rick,” he said.

“The guy who called about the roommate situation?”

“Right.”

“The one who said he’d come at nine thirty.”

“I’m a little early.”