Statues Without Eyes

The days that followed were filled with guilt that a Catholic priest would be proud of. The truth is, that I still really like Ms. Y – regardless of the fact that I hooked up with Ms. X. That was the deal, wasn’t it? As long as Ms. Y and I were still a thing, there would be no bitterness? Right?! Isn’t that what she said?! My chance to make up for it was Thursday. The Scrabble master of ceremonies herself, Heather was hosting an event called Seattle SPIT. A gay and lesbian monthly spoken word/open mic night at The Wildrose. I’ve always been a fan of writing (I know, you’re shocked) and it would give me time to spend with Ms. Y. Among other things, it’s common knowledge that Ms. X doesn’t like spoken word. So, there was no fear of crossing energy streams (/Ghostbusters reference). Still feeling a bit guilty, I called on my Jessi to be there for moral support.

Interesting segue: Before heading to SPIT Jessi and I decided to have a beer at the Canterbury. A local dive bar up on 15th. Cheap beer. Shitty service. It’s all I ever wanted from a bar. On my way there I ran into my most recent ex, Lauren. It wasn’t really shocking, as she both lives and schools on Capitol Hill. I hadn’t seen her in a while and stopped to trade niceties. In the midst of this, I extended the offer to come have a drink with Jessi and I. So the three of us sat In seats of torn vinyl, cheaply held together by duct tape and awaited our beers while exchanging stories of recent past (mostly, what you’ve read here). My ex spent most of our conversation eluding to a threesome with my best friend and I. I was aware that she had always had a thing for Jessi, but was kind of taken aback by her forwardness. The first few times it was mentioned I brushed it off as a clever tease. However as the hour trudged on, I realized that it was no longer a joke. About the time that this realization sunk in it was time to head off to see some butch dykes spilling their hearts out on a microphone. There was an awkward hug, and an exchanging of looks between Jessi and I before we parted ways.

We now return you to our regularly scheduled program, already in progress: We arrived at SPIT just after it started. For being my moral support I offered Jessi a drink. The scene was as I expected it to be – Heather on stage announcing some poet I’d never heard of waring a smashingly adorable getup. Ms. Y and a table full of Heather’s entourage sitting and watching attentively. Through the dim lights of the room and over the top of my Sailor Jerry & Coke my eyes were drawn to the crimson lipstick that is Ms. Y’s trademark. She smiled back at me and I placed myself precariously at her side. She was instantly amorous towards me. Touching my hand and caressing my leg softly. This actually settled my nerves for a long moment. My anxiety bled out as she brushed her hands through my product riddled hair. We watched a few of the poets intently. Some were very good, others were very not. As the rum coursed through my system everything was rainbows and unicorn giggles. The evening was wrapping up, and my intention was to go home with Ms. Y. But things never go according to my intentions.

The clock glared 10PM across the neon of the room. Ms. Y joined Jessi and I as we cackled at the misfortune of others and ensured our places in hell by just being awful people. Ms. Y’s eyes widened and I heard her shout, “I thought you weren’t coming?” over my shoulder to some phantom figure yet to be identified. Before I heard the response, I knew that it was Ms. X who had come thinking the spoken word portion of the evening was over. I painted on a smile and turned to greet her, while my brain asked me, “Do you have any awkward last words?” and my body decided it was time to switch to double Rum & Cokes. I excused myself for another drink, while reaching for my phone. This is when the texting began. Frantically the texts flew back and forth. Me to Ms. X, Ms. X to Ms. Y, Ms. Y to me, me to Jessi, etc.

I settled my nerves by finishing my drink quickly, and rejoined the conversation. When I sat among the others, the conversation already in progress was the ’six degree’s of gay separation’, also known as ‘the chart’ in some circles. If you are unfamiliar with this, the concept is that everyone in the gay community can be linked via sexual partners by 6 or less. However, if you all live in the same city it tends to be more like 2 or 3. At this point all of the evenings drinks began to catch up with me. I remember Ms. Y asking, “I wonder how many it takes to link you to me?” as directed toward Ms. X. My eyes sank into my glass as I hastily finished the rest of my – well, at this point it was just rum on the rocks. After the giggling subsided, there was a follow up question, “Did you guys sleep together?!” pointedly asked towards Ms. X and myself. That question left me gasping, and I had to excuse myself to the rest room.

There was apparently a careless excuse thrown out to explain the laughter while I was hiding out in the bathroom stall reading bathroom graffiti. To the best of my knowledge the question was never answered. It was shortly after that that our little group decided to disband. As you might imagine the details of this portion of the evening are a little foggy due to the rapid intake of alcohol. I was sure Ms. Y knew. She and Ms. X left together and I was positive that the consequences of the evening would be an angry email awaiting me via Facebook in the morning. However little was said about me on their walk home, curiously little.

Jessi and I stumbled towards her apartment around roughly 1AM. The next morning I awoke to contemplate the lessons I had learned. “What did you learn, Cole?” my brain prodded at me for an answer, but the truth was, I had learned absolutely nothing.

-Cole