Sunday, March 19, 2006

Last Day

What would you do if you had one day left to live?

Crazy Steve, as I have appropriately nicknamed him, has a habit of pouncing on me with abstract questions as a means to shift everyday small talk into something of substance.

“I don’t know,” I venture. “Go to Paris, meet some hot Frenchman with a big cock, have lots of hot steamy sex, die with a smile on my face,” I laugh. Pause. “What about you?”

“Nothing. I’m already doing everything I want to do every day.”

From the moment I met Steve, it was obvious that he either had it all figured out or that he was extremely talented at pretending he did. The more I got to know him during the five months I spent in Dublin, I realized he really did have it all figured out. Or at least the version of “all” that pleased him. Despite being short and not particularly attractive, he possessed the typical Irish charm, wit and seamless ability to lie that facilitated his nymphomania and made for many bizarre, alcohol-fueled nights that often resulted in us getting lost and screaming at each other as we stumbled along Great George’s Street. Despite several attempts on his part, I was the only female he knew whom he had not slept with (made glaringly clear when he succeeded in screwing my flatmate a week after I left).

“What if it’s not that simple?”

“But it is that simple. I make what I want to happen, happen.”

For people like Steve, it is that simple. He alters his idea of what he wants to suit his means. He settles when he needs to, he shoots for higher ideals when he can. He fails, he succeeds, but most importantly he never misses a beat.

But what about the rest of us?

What if the things I want are out of my reach? What if there is another element involved that is completely out of my control? What if the thing I want more than anything before I die doesn’t want me back?

I'm lying there, fingers entwined, one smooth bare leg draped lazily over the edge of the bed, sinking into the crook of The Mistake’s arm, head resting in his shoulder. I don’t remember how it comes up, but I tell him that I don’t believe in love.

He’s incredulous. How can you not?

I’ve never experienced it, I don’t have much to go on.

My God. He can’t believe it.

Maybe I’m just waiting for someone to prove me wrong.

But what I really say, staring intently at him, willing him to read my mind…

Prove me wrong.

Needless to say…

If I were to die tomorrow, I’d find the person who would prove me wrong. I’d make you prove me wrong.

Wherever you are.

Some people posses the means to fulfill all their desires every day. Carpe diem. Live every day as if it were your last. Dream as if you’ll live forever, live as if you’ll die today. Dance like no one’s looking blah blah blah.

Others wander around, eyes open wide, looking for something to happen to them.

Still others do everything they’re supposed to do, get what makes them happy, but can’t seem to get a handle on what they really want.



Anonymous Lolo said...

Gah. I hate people like Steve. I mean, I wish them well and I know they exist but daaaamn do I hate that they have to tell me about their existence because I am a bitter and envious soul. It's just so easy for some people and I'm not ever one of those people, natch.

I'm just not good with the "whole big picture" sort of scenarios, I get anxious and start rabbiting until I get my hands on something that distracts me.

10:59 AM  

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