My Dinosaur Life

“Now that old wounds are resurfacing too, it makes me feel golden, it makes me feel good.”

(Him)

When you see your ex, there’s always that little part of you that hopes they’re not as happy as you are.

That maybe they’ve found someone else, and you’re okay with that, you think that’s great or whatever, maybe you don’t even care about them that way anymore, but there’s still that prick of hope in the back of your mind where you hope they spilled a cup of coffee on themselves this morning or maybe got a flat tire on the way home.

“It’s shit, but it’s true” - is what she used to say.

Annie used to say.

And maybe she’s right.

If I see her on tv, in a music video, if I hear her on the local radio station giving an interview, the seemingly permanent black spot on my heart is hoping she’ll say something foolish.

If I see her next to Lady Gaga on the ‘What Not to Wear’ at the VMAs section of a magazine while I’m waiting in line at the grocery store, what I think is, she should’ve listened when I told her she looks better in bright colors.

As I watch her sing into her mic at this very second, and I’m crammed shoulder-to-shoulder against her band’s huge following as the sun is setting, all I’m thinking is maybe she’ll trip or forget the words to her own songs like I do.

It’s shit, but it’s true.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Everything’s been going perfectly this year, this month, and well, today.

Call me neurotic, but when things are this good, I can’t help but wait for God or Fate or whatever else is out there to say, “Just kidding. Fuck you, Justin. Hope you enjoyed being happy while it lasted, you poor bastard. Joke’s on you, you sorry fucker.”

I’m convinced the dinosaurs thought they had it great, while they still had it.

Her set’s over, ours was earlier in the day, and the venue is almost cleared out.

I’m in Australia with some of my best friends and countless other bands, and I have yet to see her face to face.

Everything was going perfectly.

And right when we’re about to leave for our ride to the hotel, that’s when I see her.

I see her, and my immediate reaction is to pretend I didn’t and maybe try to hide behind Jesse or Matt, because they’re standing closest to me.

I’m about to follow through on it when she sees me seeing her, and then it’s too late.

Jesse and Matt have walked away, she’s walked over, and I’m frozen in place.

God and Fate and something else either hate me or have a sick sense of humor.

“Justin,” she says.

She says it with no real emotion attached, it’s cordial, even.

Or that’s what it sounds like in my mind, at least.

“Annie,” I reply immediately.

Her lips twitch at the nickname.

The guy on her arm looks slightly annoyed, but she pays him no mind.

Her latest victim.

It’s horribly venomous for me to think things like that of her, and incredibly shitty of me, but it’s the truth.

“How are you?” she asks, disentangling her arm from his, brushing him off.

I knew perfectly well her band was one of many headlining acts for Soundwave this year.

So it’s stupid of me to be surprised we actually ran into each other right now.

“Maybe I’ll see you later,” she says.

Within the ‘maybe,’ a ‘definitely’ is implied.

“Yeah,” I reply. “Maybe.”

Her eyes search mine for mutual understanding through her big sunglasses.

I give a slight nod, and she returns a small smile and starts to walk off with the nameless guy.

Poor sucker, is what I call him in my head.

She mentions the name of a local bar to him as they leave, and I overhear.

Just like I’m meant to.

And me, stupid me, all I can think about is how I wish she wasn’t wearing sunglasses so that I could’ve seen her eyes.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

In the morning is when I realize what an idiot I am.

I wake up, and she’s next to me, her bright blonde hair a mess of tangles, and her face in a pillow.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself, groaning. I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes. She shifts next to me.

I feel like I have a hangover, but we’re both perfectly sober, albeit groggy. Neither of us touched anything last night.

She lifts her head from the pillow to look at me. She gives a sadistically innocent smile.

Or that’s what I take it to be in the fucked up place I call my mind.

“Good morning.” Her tone irritates me. She’s acting as if we’re back in Minnesota, all those months ago, acting like we’re still together.

Which we’re not.

“You have to tell me what we’re doing here, because I have no fucking idea,” I bluntly blurt out.

“You know what we’re doing,” she yawns indifferently. “What we did. What we do.” Her eyes lock with mine and I have to tear my gaze away before I get distracted.

“Fuck!” I exclaim, rubbing my face with my hands. “Why do you do this to me?”

“I don’t do anything.” Her tone is still flat, languid, and leisurely. She’s cryptic as ever and probably still half-asleep.

I pick up my glasses, boxers, and pants from the floor and storm into the bathroom.

“I have to get out,” I mumble to myself, splashing cold water onto my face from the sink.

I put my glasses back on and study my face in the mirror after semi-dressing myself.

Stubble decorates my cheeks and my eyes are red and tired. I don’t give a second thought as to how dirty my hair looks. I grip the edges of the sink and groan silently to myself.

Then I go back out to start picking up the rest of my clothes and redressing myself.

“Justin?” I hear her say.

I turn around to look at her, against my better judgment.

“I’m sorry. Don’t go yet,” she says, and her eyes are pleading with me to reconsider.

See, my better judgment is screaming at me to run the fuck out the door before I get sucked in all over again.

My hopeless heart drowns it out and I crawl back into bed next to her before I realize what I’m doing.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, and maybe it’s just wishful thinking that she means it.

“Me too,” I answer. Her hand is running through my hair absently.

I don’t want to say it, but it seems like I don’t have a mouth filter when I’m around her.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you too.”

I don’t want to, but I still do.

I can’t help it.

She makes me feel golden. She makes me feel good.

I’ll take all the love I can get from her before it goes extinct.

See, the dinosaurs had it easy. They weren’t expecting it.

One day they were and the next they weren’t.

She’ll be gone again eventually.

Not physically, of course, or at least not at first.

Mentally.

Emotionally.

Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a few months, or it could be as long as a year-but only if I’m lucky.

One day I know God or Fate will get bored with fucking with my life, and the cycle will end for good, and what fire of love is left will die out completely and be replaced with our numb ice cold hearts.

It’s shit, but it’s true.

I have to be pessimistic about this.

That way, I won’t be disappointed when our feelings finally die out.

This way, I’m preparing for the ice age before it happens.

So this is my dinosaur life.