A Story, During a Slow Day

A conversation, in a Riverside bar.

"Did your ex ever tell you that he thought you were beautiful?"

I'm drinking PBR Tallboys with a friend and the question takes me by surprise. It's a rowdy bar, one we've come for an event, and I wasn't anticipating anything heavier than normal late-Saturday-night conversation. I think for a moment before answering. It's not really the kind of conversation you want to shout across a bar table.

"Nope. None of them have."

"Really?"

"I mean, they had parts of me that they liked to compliment, but yeah, really."

"Is that something that's important to you?"

I set my beer down and study her for a moment. If the question surprises me, the conversation that follows stuns me. This woman is one of my closer friends. God knows she's heard me spill my guts hundreds of times, and we've never had this conversation.

More than that, she's pretty.

Not pretty enough, not pretty-in-the-right-light. She's just pretty.

I would have never thought she would need reassurance.

***

A text, during the middle of a long work day.

"I've got an extra ticket to CHVRCHES tomorrow night and  I know you're bummed that it sold out before you could get a ticket. See you at First Ave at 7:00."

***

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about wants and needs lately.

The conversation in the Riverside bar doesn't exactly help. It's late, late, late when I get home, but I'm wound up and everyone else in the world is already in bed. I spend most of the rest of the evening up, journaling, and thinking about relationships. It leads me to thinking about what I want from a partner, the qualities I'd like him to find in me and the things I need from a romantic relationship. 

I make a list.  

There are the obvious, immediate things. I'd like my partner to think that I'm funny, bright, and interesting. Beautiful would be nice, but I'd rather have sexually desirable. Getting along with my best friend is a non-negotiable. A desire to continue to learn and a certain level of excitement over learning something new is incredibly important.

Then there are the less obvious things that are also important to me. Understanding why I love First Ave. so much or how there are certain songs I always have to hear to the end or I feel like I missed something. Knowing that after a really bad day I want to go for a run and then eat a bunch of gummi bears. Learning to run interference when I'm staying with my family so I can have a little time to myself. Leaving me to myself when I really do just want to stay in and read. Appreciating that the real way to my heart is bringing me coffee in bed on a slow Saturday morning. 

***

A phone call, late.

I squint at the number through my sleepiness and pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Kels?"

"Yeah, are you all right?"

"I thought your phone would be on silent! I'm sorry. I just called to tell you that I love you."

I smile through my sleepiness. "There's a rule on my phone to always ring for certain people. You're one of them."

"That's sweet. I love you. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

***

"Have you had the experience of talking about Us at work?"

I'm walking through South Minneapolis, holding the hands of two of the girls from the gang from the neighborhood. 

Let me back up. I have a group of friends I see, on average, three times a week. We have impromptu weeknight dinners together. We run together. We go to shows and one another's work events. I do my laundry at their houses and they have the keys to my apartment. I snuggle with them when my heart's broken. I plan my vacations with them. Most of us live within walking distance of one another in the same neighborhood in South Minneapolis. When something goes wrong or I've got news to celebrate, they're my first call. 

Anyway, I'm walking through South Minneapolis with two of these people. I'm talking about how the fact that I live in the Cities still hasn't gotten old, that I love being able to get together with them on a random Wednesday, and that it's good to have people to talk to over the course of the week. That sparks the question about whether or not I've talked about the gang at work. 

Of course I have. I already said that I spend all my free time with these people. They come up in my conversations with my coworkers frequently. But I know what's actually being asked, because it's an experience all of us have had. When you tell your coworkers that you spend all of your time not with your spouse or significant other but with a group of six-to-ten close friends, the reaction tends to be the same:

"That's not normal."

***

An email, on the bus ride home.

"We're running tonight. You're stressed and not dealing with it, so you're coming over, we're running, I'm making you dinner, and then we're going to snuggle up and watch House of Cards.

I have gummi bears."

***

It's pouring when I leave the bar. 

The walk back to the car is well-lit and not necessarily unsafe, but the guys in the neighborhood are inclined to catcall and my dress is not exactly modest. I ask one of my more broad-shouldered friends to walk me back. Despite his lack of an umbrella, he cheerfully accompanies me the six blocks or so. On the way I talk a little about how nice it was to get together tonight and thank him for being sweet enough to walk me back through the deluge. We're stopped at a crosswalk when he turns to me.

"You know I'd do anything for you, right? We all would."

It occurs to me then how lucky I am. Some of those more subtle needs, loving Metric's Synthetica album and realizing that sometimes my favorite way of being with people is to be in the same room reading separate things, are already being met. It is, I suspect, one of the reasons why I'm happy being single. 

***

A moment, outside a Riverside bar.

I give my broad-shouldered friend a lift back to the bar so he can catch up with the rest of the gang from the neighborhood. When I pull up, he hops out, shuts the door, and opens it and sticks his head back in.

"What's up?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I really like your dress. You look beautiful."