I'm the Kind of Human Wreckage That You Love.

(singing)
“So kiss me and smile for me, tell me that you’ll wait for me, hold me like you’ll never let me go... ’Cause I’m leavin' on a jet plane. Don’t know when I’ll be back again. Oh, babe I hate to go. There’s so many times I’ve let you down, so many time I’ve played around. I tell you now they don’t mean a thing. Every place I go I’ll think of you. Every song I sing for you...”

I sniffed hard and pressed my face into his lapel as my favorite part reared its beautiful, painful head.

“When I come back I’ll bring your wedding ring...

...I mean it this time, babe, I do. I hope you ‘do’ too.”

______________________________________________________________________________

We were brought together by a Eyeball Records party.

I was dating a booking agent from a competing label, who could be a real control freak. The night Gerard and I met my ex-boyfriend had hit me. I left him. Simple sounding, but I liked things simple.

My life had become increasingly difficult and complicated at that point. I wanted to believe that leaving him was like leaving all my problems from then behind. For good. I decided to go to the party that night because I thought it would help me forget about him.

I have these thoughts and don’t ever think them through.

Instead I ended up crying mercilessly and chain smoking in an alley two blocks from the Eyeball Records house.

I guess he saw smoke and heard my muffled bawling and came snooping. Looking back on it now he probably thought it was cool and mysterious.

He has a very overactive imagination.

Just out of some 1978 B-Rated horror flick, just before some Jack the Ripper copycat murders the star’s best friend. His actions tonight in the whole incident was very unlike the man I know now. His explanation is that it was ‘fate’. (Oh, God...) He came around the corner and although he startled me, he didn’t scare me. He looked familiar.

“Hey....um...can I grab a smoke?” He spoke as if he was just saying something to say something. He look preoccupied, as if he couldn’t tell I was having the worst night of my life.

I answered him surprised and sad. ‘Great,’ I thought, ‘another heartless fucker.’ I turned in silence to hand him one of my vanilla cigars.

A streetlight’s glare caught my face as I passed his request. I shot a quick glance at his face, ‘What a baby face, pale as toast,’ I noted to myself, the thought stopped my need to cry. I had to take a second look when I realized what his face had been expressing.

“What?” I say casually at first, but my saying something gave me reason to take a better look at him. “What is it?” whispering now from concern.

“Well...um...your eye...it,” he looked to the floor, then to me again, embarrassed. “It's bruised.”

I had pulled my hair up to the top of my head. You wouldn’t think it, but crying makes you sweat. Before, when my hair was down, you would of never seen the injury.

“Fuck...” I trailed off. I didn’t say it as an expression, but more as a... pronoun. I feel my eyes well up and I look up. I’m blinded by the streetlight and flinch.

We stand there in silence. ‘This poor guy,’ I think, ‘he’d probably rather walk blindfolded through the turnpike than be here with me right now.’



“I’m, uh, gonna go. But thanks for the, ya know, smoke.” He started to back away, back into the pitch black oblivion he came from.

I chuckled to myself and started counting to myself. ‘5, 6, 7...’ Then I started reaching into my bag.

He reappeared, looking embarrassed. I flicked my thumb to ignite my lighter and held it out.

He took a long drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke “Thanks.”

“Sure.”

Maybe three minutes of silence passed

Then I had a moment of complete clarity.

I didn’t have a single thought. Staring down at the floor, I felt so whole. It was the strangest experience of my entire life. When I finally came down, I looked at him. He was nervously looking at every random thing. Anything to avoid me. It didn’t work. We locked eyes then and I can only imagine that he could feel it too.