The Hefner Monologues Ending Story, Part 3

[thehefner]

Now again, as for the show itself, Good was one of the finest shows I imagine I'll ever be a part of, and one of the greatest roles I may ever see in my theatrical life. It was a powerful play and a rich, meaningful performance for me to give; finally, something substantial beyond wacky comic relief and hardcore nudity! And it really bear repeating, with some degree of shame, that I looked fucking hot in an S.S. uniform. I mean seriously! I was sleek and intimidating and it gave me shoulders! Shoulders, people!

But once the play was done, I was left with the bizarre shaken feeling of having completely prepared myself for the bomb to finally drop, only to find out, whoop! Not tonight! Gotta wait another month and a half! I was in a totally shell-shocked and bewildered state, completely uncertain over how to feel.

My friends certainly were curious as to why I didn't exactly seem festive at the cast party for Good. With Erin's words from our dinner together in mind, it was then that I started to realize just how vindictive and unforgiving women could be when it came to those who hurt their friends. If you dare to hurt a friend of theirs, oh, you better consider yourself dead. That's not to say all women were like this, of course, but when I brought Tammy up among most of my female friends, the response was almost always the same.

"Oh," they'd say. If they were in a comic, their word balloons would have dangling icicles. "Her."

Once, I made the damn fool mistake of accidentally suggesting that Tammy might be coming up to WAC, and my friend Nichole seethed: "The Vixen is coming here?!"

"The what??"

"I call her The Vixen. Why didn't you tell me she was coming?!"

"Um… because you might kill her?"

"Hell yes, I would! Damn Vixen."

Guy friends usually don't like to talk about these things for a couple reasons. First is the seeming pointlessness of it. If you can't do anything about it and if they can't do anything about it, why are you talking about it? But then there are guys like Dave, guys who don't want to talk about it because, quite simply, they don't want to be reminded of when they went through these very things themselves. They're finally over it, but the pain is still there somewhere, fresh for the revisiting. They want to dismiss it, for you to move on with your life, and so it's generally the guys who will say the dreaded phrase "get over it." Women think it just as much as men do, but are less willing to outright say it, or so my experience was.

There are few words more maddening, more infuriating to the person trapped in a depression or obsession, than "get over it." It's so cold and impersonal, a frank and brutal command of what needs to happen without any explanation of how. Because getting over something or someone can only be done when the person in the midst of it want to get over it, and until that conscious decision is made. It's such a difficult, personal process that cannot simply be accomplished by being told to "get over it." It's about as effective as telling a depressed person, "You know what you need to do? You need to stop being depressed."

So there I was, sullen, displeased, and alone on a Saturday night. I was just about to invite Dave over when, surfing the internet, I happened upon Misty's latest LiveJournal entry. At this point, Misty and I hadn't really hung out as often as we had intended; I was often busy with my rehearsals for back-to-back productions and she… well, I was never quite certain why she seemed to always be unable to make time for me. It didn't seem like she was exactly Miss Popularity or anything.

According to her blog, she was to be alone in her dorm room all night. It seemed that all her friends were away for the weekend, leaving her to entertain herself for the evening. Particularly, and I quote, "Looks like I'll be dancing with myself tonight."

I mulled over these words for a minute, letting the slowly sink in.

"… Huh."

Then, out of curiosity, I noticed that she was logged onto Instant Messenger, but had posted an away message. One of the great pastimes of the bored college student is reading other people's away messages, to see what they're doing or what song lyrics or Simpsons quote they posted or whatever. Misty's simply read: "she bop."

"… Huh."

I spent a good half hour considering whether or not to IM her or call her up to inquire about these to see if I was getting the clues, but figured that if I was right, well, I wouldn't want to interrupt her. Then again, I also considered, that was exactly what I should be doing. If I were a more decisive and driven young man, or the protagonist of a wacky teen sex comedy, I'd be on my way right that minute, knocking on her door or—whoops!—accidentally walking in on her.

Instead, I called up Dave and invited him over for a usual evening of movies and fried foodstuffs. Seeking his sagely wisdom, I decided to run Misty's two messages by him to see what he made of 'em. He reacted by draining of all color, dropping his jaw to the floor, and his eyes growing huge.

"HEFNER," he shouted, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE?!"

"Ah," I said, "So my suspicions were correct, then?"

"You can't leave a girl like that alone!!! Go OVER there and FUCK HER BRAINS OUT! NOW!!!"

"Dude, I can't."

He sputtered and twitched like a Mel Blanc automobile for a moment. I could almost see his brain shutting down before he managed to find the words:

"Why the hell NOT?!"

"Dave, it's not right."

"What the fuck d…?! Ok. Ok. Look, dude. The girl is completely fucking crazy for you. You know this, right? Everybody else fucking does!"

"She is?" Duh, dummy, you know this, would you actually believe it for once?!

"Yes! I've talked to her about this. She totally pines away for you all the fucking time!"

"But… but how come she never seems to have time for me?"

"How the fuck should I know?!"

"You think it's because she's shy? Like, she's afraid of being decisive and needs me to make the first move?"

"Nggg, who cares!"

"Or maybe… oh god… Dave, do you think that maybe it's too hard for her to hang out with me if we're just gonna be friends? Like, maybe it hurts because she's afraid her feelings are unrequited? Is that it?"

"Hef! I'm saying the girl is diddling herself as we speak with what she wishes were your hands! Stop talking! Go! Fuck her 'till she can't feel feelings no more!!!"

"Dave, I can't."

He said it as slowly and loudly as he could to make certain I understood. "She! Is offering herself to you! On a silver! Fucking! Platter!"

"Exactly!" I shouted back. It's a wonder that my neighbors didn't burst in and strange us. "That's exactly the problem, Dave! She's got her heart right out there for me, right on a platter! Now, I don't know how I feel about her, do you get that? The only thing I know for certain is that I care about this girl, deeply, but until the second comes when I do know, I am not going to fucking take advantage of her! Do you get that?!"

"Dude…"

"And another thing! Let's say that I did start dating her. What if it went bad, huh? Then we'd be stuck here with one another until graduation! That would be absolutely unbearable, dude. It's not worth that risk, it is not! I'd rather take the suckiness of this now rather than risk ever going through that shit again!"

"Hef! I'm not talking about starting a relationship here…!"

"You know what? Fuck it. Whatever. I can't explain it to you."

"For fuck's sake. You know what this is really about, don't you?"

"What? You mean Tammy? Of course, I fucking realize that. There, I said it. Jesus. So… so, ok, maybe I am scared of getting over her. Maybe I'm afraid that if I do start dating Misty, I'll have to let Tammy go once and for all. Maybe I actually am afraid of being happy with someone who actually might be able to love me, someone who isn't just a tragic, hopelessly romantic doomed train wreck of an affair! There! Is that what you want me to say? Because I worry day and night that's what everyone thinks of me, I do. And god help me, I spent even more time worrying that about myself. But I don't know, dude. I don't."

"Shit," Dave said, taken aback. "I was just going to say you're a faggot."

I sighed. "I just don't know what to believe most of the time. Every time I start to have a belief, I have two other voices offering counter-opinions, until I worry that I was wrong about everything. I don't want to act and be wrong, because then I'd have no one to blame but myself, won't I?"

"Hef… we all fuck up."

"Well, I don't want to fuck Misty up. I don't."

Dave considered this for a long moment. I looked back at my computer and saw Misty's away message right there, and how easily it would be to send her an IM, maybe to ask her if she wanted a hand.

"You wanna get a beer, dude?" Dave asked.

Wearily and warmly, I smiled.

"Sure, man. Let's get a beer."

And so that was the end of that, the two of us soon back to our usual discussions of superheroes and horror movies. Shortly thereafter, Erin contacted me to tell me how sorry Tammy was that she couldn't make it, she got held up at work, but she promised she would come to Vigil no matter what, because she knew how much it'd mean to me. And she was right on that front, but I tried not to get my hopes up this time. The possibility of her flaking out on me was foremost in my mind from the instant I hatched this hare-brained scheme of mine. Heck, her not showing up might have been the very best thing for me. But when opening night for Vigil came, I couldn't deny it any further. I wanted her there. She had promised, so we'd see. We'd see.

An hour before show time I hung out in the green room in full costume, mentally preparing myself not for the role, but for the thought that she'd actually be there. I'd wondered if I would look out into the hallway and see her there, just like when she and Paul surprised me backstage a half hour before my performance in Blue Surge. I jokingly scolded them for knowing better: "What are you thinking? You can't come see the actors before the show is over! You can't break the fourth wall! It's an illuuuuuusion!"

But there was no sign of her. Not backstage or in the audience, from what I could make out as I peeked through the crevices in between the rafters. Strangely, my mother wasn't there either, but that I attributed to a combination of traffic and her tendency to wait till the last minute, a trait I unfortunately inherited.

But my father was there, that was the significant thing. My father hadn't seen me perform on stage since I was in 10th grade, playing ensemble roles in musical community theatre like "Derelict #2" in Little Shop of Horrors. Having him there to see Vigil was a huge thing, honestly bigger than having Tammy there. Of course, then it just occurred to me that this would mean that my mother and father would be in the same room for the first time in, oh, ten years or something. I doubted there'd be any drama, since they would likely just ignore one another completely, but the very idea made me all a-tingle.

But still there was no sign of Tammy. So when the stage manager called places, I sighed, not really surprised at all. No tears, Heffie. The show must go on, and all that.

Vigil began without a hitch, and the sheer joy of the show instantly made me forget about Tammy and all my troubles. There's nothing quite like playing such a completely bitter loser who eventually totally snaps and goes bonkers; it's quite exhilarating, really. I suggest everyone try it at least once.

My co-star Michelle was in top form as well. Ah, yes, I forgot to mention, Michelle was the one who threw me the birthday party after the performance of Cuckoo's Nest. You remember, the one where Tammy and Van Breeman tagged along and cuddled right in front of me? Good times. Michelle and Nichole definitely fit strongest of all into that category of female friends I had discussed earlier. They were giving Tammy and Van Breeman the hairy eyeball all evening, becoming increasingly angry and protective. Twin Mama Bears, seething at the Vixen who was hurting their friend, the… well, I'm not sure what I am. A squirrel? Bunny rabbit? Lemur? Whatever, let's go with lemur.

Michelle and Nichole were some of the only people who were kind to me Freshmen year, perhaps the first two true friends I made at Washington College. As antagonists in the Drama department came and went like the snows of yesteryear, they stuck by me and I by them, until now we were all seniors, top of the heap. We'd made it together and now there we were, Michelle and I, performing in my dream play.

(It's also interesting to note that Michelle was actually three months pregnant at the time of this performance. Heh, but that's a story for another time.)

Ten minutes into the play we had reached a scene break, whereupon the ushers opened the lobby doors to escort the latecomers to their seats. As it happened, we had exactly three latecomers wander in while Michelle and I stood frozen in the darkness, waiting for the lights to rise so we might come to life again. Even before they got into view, whispering apologies to other patrons as they went to find their seats, I knew who they were. Tammy, Erin… and my mother.

Any excitement or anxiousness I would have had at the sight of my lost love there was instantly overwhelmed by the realization that Tammy and my mother had both been out there together, stuck in the same close quarters as the waited in the lobby! If I didn't know my mother better, I've have been wondering why Tammy was still mobile!

Erin would later tell me exactly what happened during those ten minutes when both she, Tammy, and my mother were all running late. Mom knew Erin and Tammy from all the times she came to see me in Rude Mechanical productions. Like all good mothers, mine is my self-proclaimed number one fan. She also knew the girl's face from the times I had her over to my house, when Tammy and I would dry-hump as quietly as we could so as not to arouse suspicion from my mother in the next room over. And of course, she remembered the wedding.

We all know she's poison…

When Tammy saw my mother, she reacted with her characteristic cheeriness, that ditz façade that would fool others into the first impression that she was a carefree, if not air-headed, young soul. Mom, on the other hand, completely stiffened up, reverting to her default polite friendliness that came from years of being a nurse and saleswoman, therefore at least thinly masking the sudden tidal wave of frigid motherly rage.

"Oh! Well hello, Tammy."

Erin told me that she was thinking to Tammy, "Girl, you clearly have no idea that this woman wants to strangle you!" When I told this to my mother, she said that wasn't true at all. "Maybe a good hard smack, that would be all."

In the split second before I got back into character for the next scene, it occurred to me that some of my friends in the audience might recognize Tammy. What would they do to her if the did? Or what would they do to me for actually inviting her over? I half-expected Michelle, in character and very pregnant, to leap off the stage and tackle the poor girl in the front row. Had she actually noticed her, I honestly wouldn't have been surprised.

Vigil continued as scheduled. Tammy sat in the front row, not realizing that she was sitting right in front of my father, who was doing his best to ignore my mother sitting right behind him in the only free seat left. I couldn't take the time to let this sink in, but Erin certainly noticed it, amused with the thought that if only my mother had a shotgun she'd only need one bullet. As for the play itself, I knew that its dark subject matter and particular sense of humor wouldn't be to everyone's tastes, but enough of the right people reacted just the right way, from Mom's cackle to Dave's shrill "HA!" my Father's "ho, ho, ho," to Misty's wide-eyed awe, right down to Tammy's squealing giggle. All these in unison for my show, for my dream. I can only hope everyone has at least one dream so perfectly fulfilled.

They all came upon me backstage afterwards, and while I would have soaked up as much attention and feedback as I could possibly contain, I made it a point not to linger. Tammy was by my side for most of it, but she simultaneously did her best, however unintentionally, to disappear into the crowd. No one recognized her, harassed her or me because of her, and soon I myself would steal away with her back to my dorm. However, I did make a point to introduce her to one person, and one person only.

"Tammy," I said, "This is Misty." And with little more than a simple exchange of greetings and a small handshake went the one and only meeting between the first great love of my life and the girl who maybe, just maybe, would become my second.

I hugged my father and wished him a safe drive back and my mother asked me if I'd be up for breakfast the next morning and I said maybe, call me and we'll see. Then I turned to Tammy and asked, "You ready to go?"

Without a trace of surprise as to the nature of my plan, with a voice that sounded like she had been preparing months for this moment, she simply said, "Yeah, let's go."

I turned back to Misty for a second and whispered, "I may call you later." She nodded, ever-reserved and complacent, noted with compassion and understanding. With much of Misty's emotions, hers were subtle, virtually invisible to the casual on-looker, but I could see it was there. It meant a lot to me as Tammy and I headed off.

Credit Erin and Dave for being well-prepared best friends. They kept a good five feet behind Tammy and me as we walked, doing their best to entertain themselves and leave us alone, for the most part. We all hung out in the basement of my dorm for a little while there, all of us getting comfortable. I slipped away to go to the bathroom and returned to hear Dave telling Tammy:

"Seriously, I was in fucking awe of Hef when he told me his plan to sweep you off your feet on Birthday Ball. I don't know how I'll ever live up to that."

Tammy saw me and grinned, saying, "No one ever did anything like that for me before. It's still the most romantic thing that's ever been done for me."

"Is it?" I asked. "Still?"

"Yeah."

"Hm," I grunted, smiling ear to ear. "Good."

At which point Erin and Dave nodded at one another and headed out ("Let's let the kids have some privacy," Dave said) and Tammy and I found ourselves alone at last, sitting on a couch together, mere inches apart. Actually, as I delve back into memory, I think we were even almost cuddling again. How the hell did we get there? Maybe it was just effortless with us.

Of the women I've been with over the years, I still have yet to encounter anyone so completely cuddleable as Tammy. We just fit one another. At that moment, I remembered when we were in her bed, her whole body lying atop mine. You've got to remember, this was sixty pounds ago. I remembered saying, "Y'know, if I ever do lose this weight, I'd worry I wouldn't be comfortable for you to do things like this anymore." Her eyes closed, she squeezed me and said, "That's not what makes you comfortable." It the moments like that which always made it hard to return to the present.

"You comfortable?" I asked her. "I mean, is the couch ok?"

"Yeah, it's fine. A little sink-y, but it's coo."

"Yeah, you could probably find fifty bucks in loose change and Hoffa's corpse in between the cushions. Also, I should warn you, these couches probably aren't of the best hygienic quality anymore."

"Heh, probably not!"

"Yeah, these couches are probably about seven parties past sanitary."

"Ewwww."

"You should probably be careful how you sit on 'em. You might end up pregnant."

Tammy first gagged, then giggled, smacking me playfully. Her smile was wide and so was mine, both of us riding the nostalgia. That's the problem with delving into the past, though. It's hard to extract a good one without a few others resurfacing as well.

"You actually sat here before," I said.

"What? When?"

"At my party. After Cuckoo's Nest. You and Van Breeman came down here…"

"Oh god, yeah. I remember."

"Yeah. I was sitting over there, while the two of you were together on… this couch."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right."

There was a long pause that passed between us then, but it was not awkward. This pause was one of mutual preparation, of rehearsed frankness and words already long considered. But when I took my turn to open my mouth, all that came out was:

"Why?"

I realized that while it may have sounded dramatic and all, she probably needed me to be a tad bit more specific.

"Why… what?" Tammy asked.

Ok, this was it. Time to ask the questions that I'd been planning and plotting for months now. Here we go. All the questions. The many, many questions that all kinda blurred together in a tangled unclear mess, which coupled with the anxiousness of the girl right there in front of me, waiting anxiously for my question.
"Why… not?"

… Ohhhhh-kay. Well, a second word, that's a bit more progress anyway. C'mon, Heffie, think! Get that closure! Get it, boy!

"I mean… why not me?"

Tammy looked down and considered. What the hell kind of question was that, I wondered. I already knew what the answer would be.

"I don't know."

"Yeah. I dunno, it's a stupid question."

"No, no, it's not," she assured me, with utter sincerity. "It's not."

"Shit, I'm fucking this up."

"It's ok," she said, all at once looking worried, patient, and understanding. "Take your time."

I sighed. "Do you… remember… when you and Van Breeman were sitting here on this couch? My friends came up to me afterwards and asked, 'What's going on between those two?' And I said, 'Nothing, they're just friends.' It's what I wanted to believe, y'know? I didn't want to be crazy and paranoid and scare you off."

"Nothing was happening between us then."

"Come on, Tammy, you were snuggling up next to him. You were practically making out."

"But we weren't really… doing anything. Not yet."

Another pause. I said, "I can't believe you left me… left me and Bryan… for him."

Stronger now and fueled by a nice touch of anger, Tammy jumped on my words and said, "I am not proud of that. Believe me, I am not proud of that in the least."

"You said you'd never leave Bryan. You wouldn't leave him for me. Why him? Why Van Breeman of all people?"

"Because I was an idiot. Van Breeman was a snake-oil salesman. He knew just the right words to manipulate and twist to get things the way he wanted."

I considered this for a few seconds. Crackling an ironic half-smile, I asked, "You know why I finally called it off with you, right?"

"No. Why?"

"Because Van Breeman told me to."

"… Oh." The realization hit her, and she knew it made perfect sense. "Oh god. That son of a bitch."

"I've taken to calling him 'pigfucker,' actually."

"Have you?"

"It seems to fit."

"Ha! Yeah!" she said, and giggled.

When her laughter died a second later, I said, "I trusted him. You knew that, right?"

"So did I. I know. Heffie, I'm so, so sorry."

"For what?" I asked. Yes, I wanted her to apologize, but more, I wanted her to know why.

"For… everything, I guess. I am just so sorry, Heffie, I swear I am. I never, ever wanted to hurt you."

"I know," and of course I believed her. I had sometimes wished she actually had been malicious, so that I could dismiss her as just a cruel, heartless, bitch. It would have been so much easier that way.

"When you came to visit me at the store and I saw you… I saw how thin you were… I had no idea, Heffie. I'm so sorry. I hadn't realized… what I'd put you through."

"I don't imagine you did, from the way you avoided me during Oedipus."
Sounding genuinely surprised, she said, "What? I wasn't avoiding you."

"Van Breeman told me you didn't want to speak to me. He said I scared you, that I grabbed your arm after we saw the movie and you were terrified of me."

"No. Heffie, no."

"He told me you wanted me to stay away, for the sake of the show. So I did, I didn't try to do anything until the very end, and the whole time you pretended like I didn't exist."

"I was… I was trying to focus on the show, yes. I also wasn't in the best mindset at the time either. The bills were piling up, Bryan and I were falling apart, I was under so much stress at work, and yeah, I was just trying to get through the show. But I swear, Heffie, I swear I wasn't trying to shut you out."

"Then why didn't you call me? Why didn't you even try to contact me after the show, for all those months?"

"I…" she looked down again, and softly said, "I don't know."

I sighed. Once again, it was the answer I was expecting, but I was satisfied. Because I was sure she did know why. And for that matter, I did too. It was fine. That was the thing about this whole situation, I realized. I was fine. I was fooling myself if I thought that Tammy could tell me anything I didn't already know by that point. There was nothing she could possibly say that would get me over her; all that mattered was that I was finally asking her the right questions. How many people actually get the chance to ask all those questions in their head? Now it was done. The task accomplished. For the first time in over a year, I felt content.

But what now? I had to consider what it was that I really wanted now. Could I be content to simply leave it at that, to take my winnings and cash out? I had to face facts and wonder why, behind everything I told myself all those months, why I really, truly wanted her here. What it truly closure that I sought? Was I like a junkie, trying to get one last fix before going promising to go cold turkey, "for real, this time"? Or maybe not even that. Maybe I wasn't hoping to stop at all, ever again.

The questions and the pain were behind us, so we decided to spend our last few minutes together just like we used to, laughing and joking, being goofballs and telling stories. And singing, of course. I was the only man she knew who could be halfway decent at carrying a tune, and we both missed having our singing partners. We went back to our old favorites like "Come What May," from Moulin Rouge and Mitch & Mickey songs from A Mighty Wind. It wasn't until halfway into our singing, "A Kiss At the End of the Rainbow" that I realized that we had worked ourselves into a trap.

"A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow" was our song ever since I showed her A Mighty Wind in my dorm room almost exactly a year before. In that movie, Mitch and Mickey were lovers and a folk duo, a combination of Sonny & Cher and Simon & Garfunkel. "A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow" was their most famous, notably for the fact that they actually kissed at the end of the song. They fell apart and Mitch went bonkers, but they were reunited years later during the events in A Mighty Wind. At the penultimate scene, they perform "Rainbow" together at the concert, and every single character is on the edge of their seats, wondering if they will kiss one last time.

And so there I was with Tammy, singing this very song one last time, both of us probably wondering what the hell was going to happen.

When we got to the pause, we both sat there in awkward silence. Tammy just looked down, a small but warm smile gracing her lips. And in that second, I scrambled to make a choice. Maybe it was the romantic in me, or maybe it was the fact that I'm a Big Dumb Male, but just as Tammy began to resume the last lines, I threw all my common sense out the window and I went in for the kiss, just one last kiss, that's all, just one, because we can't finish the song without it, we can't finish our song…

She turned away as sharply as if she were avoiding a blow. Instantly I was filled with a desire to shoot myself in the head for my stupidity.

"Heffie…" she began, and before I would even hear a word of her rejection, because the only thing worse than the knowledge of my own idiocy would be to be rejected by her yet again, I said:

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, that was so stupid of me…"

"No, no, it's fine—"

"No it isn't. God, I'm such a fucking idiot!"

"It's not like that, Heffie, it's…" she looked at me, and I could see there was a plea for understanding in those shining eyes of hers. "I've been… Heffie, I've been really good. I have. I've been trying to be a better person. To not make all the same mistakes again and again. You know? You understand? I'm trying. I really am."

And I could see that she meant it. I could tell she meant it just from talking with her then and when I visited her at work. I knew what had happened to her. In the months since we fell apart, Tammy had finally reached the point we all get to sooner or later. Or at least, I should hope we all do.

It usually happens in our college years, between 18 and 21, just at the point where you're a cocky and self-assured youth, you know the ways of the world, you know what's up and down and black and white and red and green… and then something happens, the rug's pulled out from underneath, and you realize that you don't know jack about shit. It's a beautiful moment, perhaps the first great step to maturity. The darker part of my nature was only sad that I had not been there with Tammy to see it firsthand, while the lighter part was filled with such happiness for her. For her and for me too.

I knew that wasn't just another guy to her, just another notch on her belt… but even if I was, I could take comfort in knowing that I was the last. It took a burning and tragic romantic affair and a manipulative bastard for her to get there, but the pattern was finally broken. And now she was truly, finally happy.

"That's wonderful, Tammy," I said, and touched her face. "That's so wonderful."

Dave and Erin must have sensed we were wrapping things up, or more likely they were just bored and impatient ("Think they got enough closure yet?" "Meh, whatever!"). They burst into the room (those two rarely entered a room any other way), and Dave, who by this point was rocketing away through the Beer-y Way Galaxy, immediately began to wrest control of everyone's attention.

The four of us started singing show tunes and rock songs for a while there, but I think the height of weirdness that night had to be when Dave, Tammy, and I sang the entirety of Meat Loaf's "Paradise by the Dashboard Light." By which I mean, I sang the Meat Loaf parts, while both Tammy and Dave sang the female vocals. At least I could take comfort in the knowledge that Dave would also eventually realize how fucked-up that was when he sobered up the next morning.

I think Tammy just rolled with it, amused by the deeply homoerotic nature between her ex-boyfriend and his red-haired loudmouth drunken Irish man-wife. Last thing we did before we escorted the girls back to the car was to sing one last round of "A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow," this time all the way to the end. When we got to the pause, I didn't do a thing this time, just sitting still and letting the moment pass. As quickly as one would snatch a piece of candy, Tammy darted to my cheek and gave it a peck. I looked at her and she smiled. We finished the song.

"Ok, if we keep up this sappy shit, I'm gonna develop diabetes," Dave said, and the four of us were off to the parking lot to find their car. Along the way, he groaned and took two great handfuls of flab from his gut, saying, "Jesus, look at me! I'm a fucking fat fuck! A year ago, I was the skinny one and you were the fat one! Aww, I miss my chubby buddy!"

Walking beside him while we led Tammy and Erin behind, I said, "You know what your problem is? You've been happy! You've got your dream girl, and you've been so happy that you've just been eating like crazy, whereas I've been miserable and couldn't eat a thing. Clearly, you just need a woman to tear your heart out, and you'll be sexy again! It's the Hefner diet guarantee!"

Dave cackled, and I was about to continue in that vein, when I felt Erin's hand gently squeeze my shoulder. Without anger, she said:

"That's enough, Heffie."

I nodded, glancing to see Tammy with her arms crossed, her eyes downcast and sad as she walked, and I didn't say another word. Yeah, that was enough. I was done.

We took them to the parking lot by the Quad, near my old dorm in Dorchester where Tammy and I had our private dance on the rose petals. Erin and Dave gave us a little space to say our farewells, though those two could have been a couple hundred feet away and we still would have heard them laugh. Tammy leaned against the driver's side door as I faced her, looking her in the eyes.

"Well," I said.

"Yeah," she said.

I scrambled to think of something else to say. "Keep in touch," was the next usual stock response.

"Sure," she said. We both knew it wouldn't happen, but it wasn't a lie. Not really.

I tried to say something else, tried to think up some other joke or story I'd heard to delay her departure just a bit longer, but she just stood there, watching me, taking me in with those wide, soulful eyes. For a good ten seconds, we stood there in silence, eyes upon one another. But I came to understand that we weren't just looked at one another.
With slow realization, I understood what she was doing. She wasn't just saying goodbye. She was saying goodbye. All at once I understood; that's why she came to see Vigil. That's why she came to see me. She needed to make peace, to put me behind her once and for all. All I could do was to watch as she buried me before my eyes.

And in doing so, she gave me permission to let her go. Once and for all.

What I pretended to want, what I wasn't strong enough to do completely, Tammy was going to do for me.

I touched her face, my thumb against her soft, warm cheek. Her head rolled into my hand, which she took and held in her own. Then she got on her tiptoes to lean into me, and we held one another. Not for too long. Not for too long. I pulled away, and saw her smile.

"Bye, Heffie."

"Yeah," I said. I realized that I was smiling too. "Bye, Tammy."

Then she and Erin disappeared into her car, and within a few seconds, they were gone. She was gone.

I never saw Tammy again.

Or so I thought to myself at the time. All hopeless romantics want that, don't they? It ties everything up in a neat little tragic bow, The End and all that. No, the truth of the matter is that Tammy still appears in my life every now and again. We saw each other about four months later at the Rudes' production of Comedy of Errors, and while I was absolutely certain that that was going to be the last time I'd ever see her again, a year after that she came to see me in a play. After that, we actually started chatting on IM again occasionally. Not often, not for too long, and not over anything really important, just small talk and jokes and goofiness, that sort of thing. Tammy's boyfriend Brent got a job opportunity in Ohio, which is where they've been living happily ever since.

With that distance between us, it's so tempting to think that now I'll never see her again, but who's to say? Maybe there really is no ending, not in the truest sense. Even with death, the stories go on simply because life goes on. Every human life is a story, and every life in some way affects countless others, and so on for centuries onward. Maybe that's what all Divine Plan is, just the biggest ensemble story of all time. It comforts my writer's mind to think of things this way, and in that grand scheme, who could say what lay ahead for Tammy and me? I may never know where life takes her, but I like to think she will live happily ever after.

We still have fond memories of one another, believe it or not. With time, we've found it much easier to let go of the pain, to actively want to forget how those times felt, and to focus on what we did have. There are times when it feels like what happened with Tammy pales in comparison to what happened father, with the other women, with Dave and with Misty, and so much else. Or perhaps it's just the mercy of the passage of time. For my part, I remember Tammy like one remembers a beautiful dream. The memories may fade, but the feelings they evoked remain. I know I shall always think of her fondly whenever I see a rose.

On the last day of Fall Semester, as the remaining students packed up what they needed and headed home for the holidays, I called Misty and told her to come see me before I left. She trudged through the snow to my dorm's porch, wearing a scarf that she knitted herself, blowing in the wind with her long golden hair. We stood on the porch together for a little while, honestly just enjoying the simple pleasure of one another's company. She apologized for never being able to find the free time for us to hang out, and I said that was just as well, I suppose I was rather… preoccupied for a while there.

As I got ready to depart, the wind carried her scent over to me, and I was reminded of the first day she came over to my dorm earlier that May. I'd come a long way since then, and maybe, I thought, it was finally time to move on. To bigger and better things, as they say.

Now, near the end of things, it seemed like it was all starting to come together. I was kicking butt with my thesis, I had an actual social life for the first time in three years, a best friend for the first time in six years, and standing before me at that very moment, I had a strange and beautiful girl who loved me.

In the second before I kissed her goodbye, tasting her candy-like peach balm on my own lips, a thought had suddenly occurred to me. I realized that I hadn't really told Misty everything that happened the night Tammy came to see my play. When I thought about it, I realized that I hadn't really told Misty anything about Tammy. Nor, for that matter, had I told her about my full history with the Rude Mechanicals. Or my freshman year at Washington College, or the full story of my afternoon at the Playboy Mansion, or the first time I ever got drunk, or the story or my day at court, or any of them. And to top it off, I had a whole new story ready to try out, and I hadn't even told anyone yet.

What a Hefner Monologue that will be, I thought to myself. I almost couldn't wait to try it out in front of a whole new audience. I thought, soon, Misty, I'll tell you the whole thing. The whole thing, beginning to end.

But not just yet.


The End.

Comments

[spacechild.livejournal.com]

ok.. getting to the end there? i had one of those moments, you know what i mean, they happen in sad or bittersweet movies or plays that we love.. those moments where we are a breath from crying, just tearing up a little, but we dont. its just below the surface. but we want to.

i had one of those moments reading this.

thats why i better show up in the monologues somewhere someday (and in a good way).. because its something i would be proud to have a role in.

and i have to say.. i'm sorry for ever telling you to "get over it". you did need to, but on your own terms. do understand that for many of us, we say it because we want so badly for you to be, because for those of us who love you, its painful for us to see you hurting and hurting. remember that. still, i'm sorry for the moments where i was insensitive about it.

also, i've said this before but it bears repeating. you have grown so much through all of this. thank God for that. so many people just become bitter and angry over these things, but you've chosen to feel the pain you need to feel, learn from it, and stay a romantic.

you and i like to goof off and be geeks together, and its always a good time. but remember that we are similiar in more ways than just that. experiences, perspectives, where we've been and where we'll get to; there are alot of things there too. i spend as much time as i do with you for a reason.

ps - i owe you cal-tort and a movie rental. we need to do Hudson Hawk.

[mirthical.livejournal.com]

Bravo, Fuzzy. Bravo.

This has staying power, it has. I feel satisfied having finished it, in some way that I can't quite articulate. The best I can think of is toiling on a path up a mountainside, and at the summit, you finally can see the vista at the end.

There is great beauty here, love. I'm very proud of you.