Hard-Boiled Men

Every year, regardless of what city I may find myself in or the guy who lays next to me, it always appears to be the same story. Men are at their worst when it comes to their birthdays.

How often do they misconstrue this insignificant date to make it appear as if it was their crowing moment? For that one special date, they feel as if they ought to take their place amongst the ancient Greek gods, while their women at their feet.

As a general rule, men are mere children. They do not know what they want and more than often they simply change their minds depending on the time of the day. Most men do not know how to communicate how they feel. They do not understand what it is that can drive a woman insane. Men are the exact reason why women develop wrinkles and have to inject themselves with poisonous Botox.

Men are generally bad, but none are worst than a Gemini.

I am not one to believe in Astrology, zodiac charts, moon and sun signs. I was never one to believe in any of this bullshit. That is, until I met my Gemini man.

If you do not believe me, you can simply open up any book in the store. You do not even have to buy it. Just pick yourself a corner, somewhere comfortable in the store and read all about this complicated air sign.

“Beware of the charming Gemini man,” It will read “He will bring wind into the desert and life into the grave yard. And then, just as soon as the party has begun and you once again find your long lost enthusiasm and hope for a better day, he will walk out of your life in search of the next best thing.”

“The Gemini man,” It will read “loves nothing more than his freedom. As the great communicator he will trap you within his web of charm only to thief your heart and ransack your body.” Ain’t that the truth?

“The Gemini man is not as interested in sex as in conquest. His friendly mannerism and childish smile may fool you into giving up your defenses, but do not be so quick to do so. For beneath his allure hides a cold hearted conquest to control earth’s winds regardless of their direction.”

“The Gemini man,” It will read “Says not what he means and does not mean what he says. He simply says for the sake of his own entertainment. In his world all is temporary and on to the next conquest”

At the bottom of the page, you may just find, compatibility chats. The Gemini man goes well with the Aquarius woman, the balanced Libra may balance him, the Gemini woman can run with him and without him just as well.

And if you are a Virgo woman, he will break your heart. He never was deep enough to understand the secret of your heart.

Today is the birthday of my Gemini man. There he sleeps in the warm bed smiling peacefully in anticipation of another day. Just as soon as he will wake up, his birthday will begin and I will do my best to make it a memorable one.

But the problem with these God damn Geminis is that they will not let you out due them regardless of the feat. Give him head and he will out due you by staying down there until you get the most amazing multiple orgasm that you ever experienced. Cook his a five-course meal and he will surprise you with a chocolate fudge brownie that he bought all the way from that specialty store in the upper east side.

Last year after I did my best to make it the most special night of his life he simply smiled and then gently whispered “I love you” into my ear.

God Damn those Gemini men.

A week has gone by and with it so did my Gemini man.

“It has nothing to do with you” that’s what they would likely write in that book of Zodiac “He simply is not designed for a long term relationship,. For the Gemini man freedom is the ultimate goal. He mistakes commitment for a spiritual prison cell.”

Every year, regardless of what city I may find myself in or the guy who lays next to me, it always appears to be the same story. The early days of September are the most lonely days of them all. As the years go by, I try and forget about them at all.

When my birthday will come around in September, I will not open up my email account. I will not check the post office box or answer my telephone.

“Somebody has a birthday this morning” He would likely say and I would slowly wake out of my tired bed with a frown.

“I made you something special for your special day.” He would say and I would pretend that I am love with him despite the truth in my heart.

God damn these Aries man. They never take no for an answer.

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For Herald, things seemed rather ordinary for a Wednesday afternoon. Walking through the supermarket aisles, he noticed the perfectly stacked containers of breakfast treats and one hundred calorie snack packs.

But these were not simple rows of consumerism and daily specials highlighted in large print. The super market was his gateway to discovery. It was his suburban version of the kind of life that he always read about in those adventure magazines. It was the kind of life that he never dared to pursue in the name of being pragmatic and those Gods of socially acceptable norms.

His worthy vehicle was no four by four jeep that could break through rough terrains and climb over steep topography, rather, it was a shiny super market cart whose front left wheel was tilted in the wrong direction.

Herald did not mind the daily task of grocery shopping. There was so much to be discovered as he passed through the familiar rows. On aisle Nine there was a special on frozen hamburger meat, only $4.99 per lbs. The old lady in aisle four offered free samples of micro waved pizza that tasted like ketchup dough topped off by gummy imitation Mozzarella cheese. Herald waited in line with the rest of them and when the pizza was finally ready he received a perfectly squared piece that fitted well into the tiny plastic cup.

Herald swallowed the pizza bite without chewing, one could say that he drank the pizza or rather inhaled it. When he asked the old lady for another piece she declined on account of the store policy that every costumer only gets one sample.

Herald was not the kind of a man who knew how to handle adversity. Like so many others, he chose to walk away in silence with that lingering feeling of being mistreated by the world. Life is not always fair, he reminded himself as he walked towards the fruit section where he noticed her standing there in between the ripe cherry tomatoes and those mountains of yellow and green bananas that were on store special, only two dollars per pound.

Her name was Dee. Doris if you wanted to get technical. Doris M. Pupnik if you wanted to be precise. Doris worked at the local video rental store. She had long brown hair that curled at its bottoms. Her skin was fair and her smile was reassuring.

Herald frequented the shop where she worked. He loved the old classic movies from the 1950’s, that time in America when things were more simple and people could be trusted.

In the 1950’s he always told her, people could depend on their friends and neighbors. Back in those days, people left their doors unlocked at night and allowed their children to run free through the neighborhood streets. Doris was not the kind of a woman to engage in those kinds of philosophical discussions. Maybe it had to do with the fact that she was born in September, Damn Virgos are always so practical, he thought to himself.

Dee was a southerner who held on to that southern charm. She always listened in an attentive manner and wished Herald a great day as he walked out of store.

Herald grew hesitant as he approached her. This was the very first time that they ran into each other on neutral grounds. This was the first time that he saw he legs. Come to think about it, he never even knew she had legs before. She always stood behind that rental store counter.

But there she was, in all of her flesh and glory. Herald smiled, approached and then ran scared. He simply freaked, he changed his mind, he could not handle the opportunity, he knew not what to say.

But it was too late. she already spotted him as he turned around.

“Herald, is that you?” she smiled.
“Yea, it is me, how are you Dee?”
“I am ok, how are you?”
“Pretty much the same”

Following some meaningless small talk about the rising price of vegetables, the merits of organic foods and some exotic recipes that she offered him for cooking tofu, Herald and Dee walked slowly together towards aisle ten. That was the place where the supermarket proudly displayed their DVD collection. From oldies to new releases, from such classics as Gone With the Wind to the latest Disney animation flick, this place had it all.

Herald felt the need to prove his sense of loyalty to Dee. He positively reassured her that he would never switch over to the supermarket rentals despite the attractive prices that they offered and their flexible return schedule.

“What about you Dee?” He wanted to know. “What kind of movies do you like to watch?”

“I actually don’t watch too much television or waste my time with movies” she confessed. “I find most of it to be beneath me. If you really want to know what I think, then I can tell you that most people who spend their lives in front of the television ultimately become mindless bores who have no true concept of the world. I would much rather read a novel, go hiking or have an occasional roll in the sack with a good looking man.”

Herald was the kind of a man who wore his feelings on his sleeve. In the case of Dee, he wore disappointment. How he ever mistook her for someone who could understood his heart, he would never know. Running away like a frightened child, he knocked over a couple of Coca-Cola bottles that went on special, only $3.99 for a six pack.

Leaving her, his groceries and his shiny metal cart behind, Herald stormed out of the supermarket and into that same blue Chevrolet that he has been driving for the past seven years.

She just stood there in silence. What the hell was the problem with these men? she thought. This of course was not the first time she tackled this ageless question to no avail.

The voice of a young Hispanic female rang “Cleanup on aisle ten” across the loud sound system.

Dee saw a woman around her age waking hand and hand with her three year old son. The boy smiled at the woman and simply said “I love you Mama”

It was getting late already. Dee would turn 36 in just a few months and had nothing to show for it.

A teenage boy holding on to a mop cornered off the area with those bright yellow cones that simply read “Caution slippery when wet.”

Dee had no place to go. She did not feel like eating another one of those frozen single serving meals.

After a supersized hamburger, French fries and a diet coke, she walked over to her new Toyota that she got on lease. The scent of new leather was still in the air but that did not make things any better for her.

It was getting late already, she thought, time for her to go home.

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That morning, like most others, was just another ordinary day that offered limited consequence laced with the morning fragrance of routine. She watched the dials of the old wooden clock shift slowly towards west with the partial enthusiasm of another day to come
.
Her hair was long and brown. It required a level of attention that she could not commit to.

Thank God, she thought to herself, that she never adopted that cat that Marcie offered her. Mr. buttercup may have helped cope with loneliness but he would more likely drive her insane. She did not want to turn into one of those single women who lived with cats. She always thought that letting a cat move in was the last step before accepting life’s lonely trail. But at least, cats did not demand as much work as did people.

Men were the most difficult to deal with, she always thought.

Thank God she never agreed to let John move in with her. He would have likely required even more work than would Mr. Buttercup. John was a stale male. As soon as she had her taste of his limited companionship and that five-inched tickle, she felt just as lonely as she did before he came into her life.

She thought about her birthday. June was only two months away. She will turn 38. She felt like 27. Time was always missing. It was a rare commodity in her life. She decided not to think about it. Repression proved to be a useful technique as the years went by.

The long line of people who were standing in line for a morning cup of coffee did not make things any better for her. She stood behind a homeless man who smelled of misery and collective apathy. His kaki jacket was torn at the shoulder. His hair seemed as confused as the rest of it all.

He walked up to the young lady at the counter and asked her for a cup of coffee and for a cup filled with iced water. When she refused to accept his money on account of her being a born again Christian and all, he dropped two single dollar bills into her tip jar.

God bless you and the rest of America, he whispered as he walked away with his distinct pride.

Now it was her turn. Sabrina stood in front of the young Christian girl where she found herself empty of speech.

What can I get you today? She asked.

Sabrina stayed silent.

The Christian girl tried once again, Good morning, Mam, what can I get for you today?

Sabrina remained silent.

Two Wall Street secretaries were standing impatient in the back of the line. They both wore similar cloths, similar shoes and similar hairstyles. Beneath their socially acceptable appearances, they both held on to those same fears that drove so many people into the world of banking-.the fear of being alone in the world.

Hey lady, one of them bolstered, some of us have jobs to get to this morning, can you please hurry it up already?

Sabrina said nothing. She ignored their rudeness as she placed her eyes on the shiny crucifix that hung from the coffee shop employee’s necklace.

Following a third attempt, the young Christian girl just smiled and turned towards the large coffee percolator. She returned with a warm cup of coffee and a reassuring smile.

Here you go honey, no charge.

Sabrina dropped a twenty-dollar bill into the tip jar and walked away feeling better about the world.

There is a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women, said the homeless man who was standing outside. I could be wrong, but I think that the quote came from former Secretary of State Madeleine Albright.

Sabrina smiled and nodded her head in agreement. She took the old black book out of her crowded purse and disappeared into the hopeful streets of the East Village.

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Hard-Boiled Men

Jersey was sick and tired of her old leather jacket. She got it as a gift a few years back from John her old college boyfriend. Three years have pasted since graduation and she was no were near to where she thought she would be back when she was younger. She could still recall those days at the University of Pittsburg, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes in the area outside of the so called Cathedral of Learning. Only three years have pasted and already all hope was washed away. Jersey planned on becoming the great American novelist. That was always what her father hoped for. He loved literature only slightly less than he loved his own daughter. When she was born, her mother thought about naming her Emily after her mother but he her father somehow managed to convince her to name the young girl Jersey after his favorite author Jerzy Kosinski. Jersey never liked her name. Like all children she wanted to fit in.

That all changed after the fall of the Soviet backed government. That’s when her father quit his university position in the Hungarian University of Fine Arts where he taught world literature and moved his family to the United States. Jersey could still remember that flight to New York. She never set foot in an airplane before. She was simply petrified as the plane flew into the atmosphere. She recalled how her father held her hand while reading to her. Till this day, she could feel that ease that came to her as her father read from the short stories of Anton Chekhov. He always knew how to encourage her no mater how sad or alone she felt in this world.
Three years have past since she graduated from her undergraduate studies. Four painful years since her father past away. And what did she have to show for it all? An old jacket given to her by another disappointing man and a handle of short stories. That was pretty much it.
Jersey walked into that old Salvation Army store where she traded her old jacket for one that seemed even older. Never minded how much she paid for that old rag, at least she was rid of that old memory. She walked into the connivance store for a pack of cigarettes, there she ran into Dylan. He was also a student in professor Kinder’s American literature class. He too was named after a famous writer. Most people always assumed that he was named after the famous Bob Dylan. Few ever knew that his mother wrote her dissertation on the hidden Catholic themes in Dylan Thomas’ famous work Under Milk Wood.

Dylan was all smiles as usual. She never saw the guy sporting a frown. At first she thought of him as a fake. Nobody can ever be all that happy. That all changed after professor Kinder read his short story “Being There” about Dylan’s days growing up in the heartland of Indiana. Her words rang with genuine humility. He clearly was a good guy.

And then, on that day, after he asked her out for coffee, as he held on to that box of Malbero lights, she felt so alive if only for a moment. She carefully smiled in his direction, turned back and slowly walked away.
A newspaper on the coffee shop counter must have been left behind by someone who had no use for it. Jersey picked it up and smiled. The headline on the front page read the following “New Jersey Abolishes the Death Penalty”.

Jersey smiled for a moment with a sense of irony. Thinking back to Dylan’s smile, she could if just for a moment once again feel somewhat alive.

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