Soulless

The sun was too bright, and the heat was suffocating. The grass was yellowing and dying in the hot August heat. I was sweating in my tank top, the bag slung over my shoulder seemed heavier than it did ten minutes ago, and my shorts were plastered to my thighs. The weather clearly knew that this was going to be the worst conversation I'd have all month, and it was laughing at me. Real fucking nice.

The man in front of me searched my eyes for an indication of what this was about. Scratch that. He already knew what it was about. He was looking for my decision.

"I have to go to San Francisco. I have to go, Brad." He started to interrupt, but if I didn't finish my speech I might change my mind. "No. Please stop. I'm going. I've given it a lot of thought, and if I don't go, I'm going to regret it forever. I'm going to spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I had sacked up and gone. And if there's any hope for us, any chance at all at saving our relationship, I need your support or every time I look at you for the rest of our lives I'll hate you for it. That's selfish, I know, but I need to be selfish right now. This is completely about me for once in my life. I love you, but I'm leaving."

I took a few deep breaths, and neither of us said anything for a few minutes. I shifted my bag on my shoulder and sighed. He wasn't going to stop me, not that I wanted him to, and he wasn't going to give me his support. As much as it hurt, I knew deep down in my heart that the next sentence I said was going to be the last one I ever got to say to Brad. We weren't going to survive my time in California. Shit, we weren't going to survive this conversation.

I bit my lip to stall the tears welling in my eyes. "I'm sorry," I whispered. He didn't say anything back. He just kept staring at me. I'd never seen Brad speechless, ever. Usually he wouldn't shut up. I closed my eyes, and opened them, locking on with his one more time. He still wasn't saying anything. He hadn't even moved for fuck's sake.

I sighed. This was it. I had a plane to catch. I shifted my bag on my shoulder again and turned away from him. It was four steps later, as tears had already begun falling down my cheeks, that he called my name.

"Jamie?" It was a question, like he was pleading with me. I'd only heard that much desperation in his voice two other times in two years with him.

I stopped walking; that was just a reaction. A few moments later I turned around; that was a decision. It's funny because when you're a kid you imagine the big moments in your life. You think they are going to be framed by these picture perfect scenarios, and you think you are going to be prepared for them. But that's just not true. I had no idea as I slowly spun around that one split second decision was going to prove to be one of the most important choices of my life.

In fact, if I hadn't turned around then, if I'd just kept walking, my life would have been completely different. I would have gone to San Francisco and probably done well. Maybe I would have even stayed there long term. One thing is for sure, I would have never spoken to Brad again. Except maybe I would have seen him ten years later, at some bar in Boston, with my husband and his wife. Maybe we would have smiled at each other, an unspoken sign that ten years had been more than enough time to forgive. Maybe we would have even said 'Hey!' or 'It's been so long!' or 'We need to get a drink!' Maybe we would have just silently nodded and gone on about our own days, not willing to bring up those things to our significant others or ourselves. Maybe we would have even accidentally destroyed our marriages by separately getting really drunk and then making out in the skanky bar bathroom because that is a 'Brad and Jamie' thing to do. I'm not sure.

What I am sure about is that if I'd kept walking, Brad would have never forgiven me and I would have never forgiven him, and maybe that's what a relationship is about. One person, desperate and sad, throws one last pleading call out there, and the other person has to decide if they can throw the lifeline that far. Are they strong enough? Do they still have the energy? Is the tide completely against them even if they do? Maybe some things really are 'meant to be,' and maybe if they are, that lifeline reaches the other person. Maybe that's what happened between Brad and me.

I had finally stood up for myself. I got on my ship and decided to leave port, and Brad jumped in the ocean after my boat. He tried to swim but the currents were strong, and he knew he would never catch me unless he called out to me and I decided to throw that orange floating ring out to him. I did.

I know a lot of my friends and family would have thought I was crazy. Let him drown. That's what they would have said, but they didn't understand. They didn't know the whole story of Brad and me. They didn't know all the intimate details and sacrifices we'd both made. No, to understand all of that we would have to start about two years and two months before in June of 2011, right after the Boston Bruins had won the Stanley Cup.



"C'mon, Jame! Let's go!" Corey yelled through my door.

I snuggled further into bed and pulled the covers further over my head. It was most certainly not time go anywhere. I chose not to answer. Corey didn't appreciate being ignored, though, so he knocked on my door and proceeded right in. "Why are you still in bed?" He sighed and sat down in my computer chair.

"Why can't I be in bed?" I groaned.

"Because it is two in the afternoon on a Tuesday, and you shouldn't be sleeping right now."

"You also shouldn't be going to get drunk at some bar either, but I assume that is what you are doing. Let me sleep." I was still enclosed in my comforter, unwilling to come out.

Corey sighed again. "You're gonna have to get over this, you know, and I'm pretty sure shots are the best way to do it."

I rolled my eyes and then remembered he couldn't see them. "This has nothing to do with that. Why am I not allowed to sleep? I worked until 2:30 last night."

Corey was allowed to no time to respond before calls of "JAMIE! UP UP UP!" and "LET'S GOOO!" exploded from the hallway.

I finally poked my head out from my covers to see Wes and Noah standing in the doorway to my room. Corey was now lounging in my computer chair. "You invited them, too?" I groaned at him.

"No," He corrected me. "We invited you. Now let's go. Get up and put on some make-up. You look like shit."

"Have you even worn make-up since Little Dick dumped you?" Wes so sensitively asked.

"Fuck you. I told you at least thirty times that I broke up with him. And Noah, please do not ask me again if it was because of his little dick. Seriously, guys, I'm just trying to sleep." I understood, on some level, their concern. A week before I had ended a record setting seven-week relationship with my boyfriend, and in the past week I had basically done nothing but sleep. The two weren't connected; I had just been working a lot. It's not like seven weeks is even enough time to really be attached to someone. There were no hard feelings (at least on my part). The relationship just clearly was not headed anywhere, so why drag it out?

"Then come out and hook up with some guy and we can stare at him from across the bar all intimidating. It'll be fun," Noah suggested while thumbing through my record collection a little more roughly than I preferred.

"Or, ya know, we can just buy a thirty pack and sit in your room and drink all day," Corey piped up, slowly sliding further and further down in my computer chair.

"Pick one," Wes added with a disappointingly serious tone.

Two things were evident. I was not going to continue sleeping, and I was not going to shrug off my three friends today. At least going out to the bar meant no destruction of my room and the chance to slip away from them. Maybe they were right, and I did need to get myself into a little trouble today.

"Bar," I mumbled under my breath, swiping my cell phone from my bedside table and checking my text messages.

An echo of "Bar!" chorused around the room until it turned into a full-fledged chant, and I had to shuffle three large men out the door of my room so that I could change.

An hour and a half later, I found myself outside of an upscale, and assuredly overpriced, bar in Boston. Wes had insisted we come here, ignoring Corey and Noah's protests against buying $12 beers and my protests against being hit on by the men who do want to buy them. We'd all been quieted when he offered to pay for drinks for the night.

There was no line to get in, as it was only four in the afternoon on a Goddamned Tuesday. The boys handed over their IDs to the employee at the door, and I handed over my fake. It was only three more months until I wouldn't have to use it anymore, but for now I was stuck silently praying every time I tried to get into a bar.

It worked today, as it usually did, and we grabbed a high, small table that barely sat the four of us comfortably. Wes headed over to the bar itself and ordered for us. We started off the night with a round a tequila shots, lime and salt included, as was tradition.

"Alright! Goals for the night!" Noah said brightly while slamming his now empty shot glass onto the table. He pushed his shaggy blond hair from his eyes, and scratched the light layer of stubble breaking through the skin of his strong, angular jaw. This was another part of our tradition. "I'll go first. Tonight, I am going back to the house with nothing to be embarrassed to tell Em about." Em was short for Emma, Noah's girlfriend of four years. She wasn't much of a partier so she often stayed at home while Noah went out with us and made a fool of himself. He'd never cheated on her; I'd never seen him so much as dance with another girl, but he was the sloppiest drunk of us, constantly tripping and knocking over glasses. He'd also vomited in public more times than the rest of us combined.

"Damn, alright well my goal tonight is to walk out of here with a million bucks because we're clearly all just making goals that are never going to happen," Corey chirped him with a smirk that made his dimples show and the corner of his green eyes crease. Tonight his buzz cut was covered by a Red Sox cap tonight, evidence of a Bostonian, born and bred. Corey was my best friend in the entire world. He was the guy who relentlessly annoyed you and then sincerely asked you how your day had been.

Noah pulled a face at him, but Corey insisted it was his goal, and attention turned to Wes. Wes sat jiggling his leg. His face was buried in his hands, hiding a newly acquired black eye, strikingly high cheek bones, and perfect teeth. Upon gaining the attention of the group, he perked up and smiled wide, flashing those straight, white teeth. "I'm breaking my record tonight. Six numbers, that's my goal." We all groaned. "What?!" Wes practically shrieked. "It's happening tonight. Have some fucking faith, okay." He'd been trying to break his record for the past three months. He could never seem to get more than five phone numbers in a night, not that he ever had any intention of calling any of these girls.

"Alright, Jame. What's your goal?" Corey nodded his head toward me from across the table. I stayed silent for a moment. Six eyes focused on me, hanging on my answer, waiting to start the evening.

"I'm going to meet a worthwhile guy tonight, and" I glanced around and paused for dramatic effect. "I'm going to lay the groundwork to break another relationship record. I'm going for two months, boys." They all laughed heartily.

"To a night of failure across the board!" Noah raised his beer and we all followed suit, clinking bottles. This felt like the beginnings of any other night, but this would not be a normal night.



I was a few in. My head felt slightly detached from my body, my voice control was limited, and I had no idea where any of my friends were, but this bar was actually pretty cool. We always ended up going to these really cheap, shitty bars so popular with the college scene. Normally that was awesome, but between June and August the college scene dies down for summer break, so all of those bars just turn into bars with no people.

Everything here seemed glamorous compared to our usual haunts. The people were all good looking and they clearly had money. There were different colored strobe lights, and I wasn't afraid to go into the bathrooms. Good on his promise, Wes had so far paid for a drink every time I asked him for one. Currently my Guinness was running empty, leaving me with three options. I could pay for it myself. No. I could find Wes and make him pay for another drink. Too much work. OR, I could flirt with a guy until he offered to buy me a drink. Fair enough.

As I surveyed those around me, trying to decided who was actually moving and what was just my cloudy head, I felt someone tap me on my shoulder. Turning around, it took a few moments for the person to really come into focus, and when he did, I decided that I did not know him, but certainly would not mind meeting him.

"Hi," I smiled brightly at him and offered my hand. He laughed and shook it. "I'm Jamie," I introduced myself and took the last sip of beer I had.

"Andy," he answered. "And I really just wanted to compliment your boots." There was a brief moment where I thought he said 'boobs,' and then I remembered what I was wearing. My hand painted, galaxy print Doc Martens were by far my favorite pair of shoes, and if you liked them too, you automatically gained points in my book.

"Thanks!" I bounced back and forth a few times on the balls of my feet while we both admired my shoes.

He began to say something else, but I was too busy studying his features. Yes, he was very good looking, and also clearly muscular but there was something so incredibly familiar about him, and I just couldn't place it. He had a strong jaw and dark eyes framed by thick, black glasses. His hair was short and he stood almost a whole head taller than me. He gave off this 'I know I'm wearing nerd glasses, but I wouldn't fuck with me if I were you' vibe. Had I met him before?

I silently cursed myself for not being able to think clearly. Fuck, why am I this drunk?

Suddenly, he stopped talking and just started laughing, and I realized I'd said it out loud and not in my head. "I really didn't mean to say that," I laughed, imagining I was beet red, and swayed a little. He quickly put a hand on one of my shoulders to steady me, and it was becoming increasingly obvious to me that I was way drunker than I previously realized.

"You okay?" He asked me.

I nodded my head slowly. "My best friend is buying tonight, so I think I went a little overboard."

He chuckled a little bit and took a sip of his own beer. As he did so, another man appeared by his side. He was a couple inches shorter than my new friend. He was wearing sunglasses inside the bar and his hair was seriously gelled. The douche alarm in my head started sounding immediately.

"Rounding up girls, eh?" he asked Andy. He then turned his attention to me. "I'm Brad."

I said nothing. Even drunk, I didn't appreciate being 'rounded up.'

"You have such a way with women. Remind me why you're single?" Andy laughed again, this time a little less guarded than before. Clearly these two knew each other well.

'Brad' pulled his sunglasses up off of his eyes. "Remind me why you only ever fuck one woman." Some girls might have been offended, but I lived in a house with ten immature, competitive man-children.

"That would be because I'm married, and not a total dickhead." If it wasn't for the easy smiles on both of their faces I would've been worried about something going down between the two.

"Alright well, I'll see you in the back, then. And hopefully I'll see you, too." He winked at me, and I failed to produce any reaction other than a furrowed brow and flared nostrils.

Andy laughed. "I'm sorry about him. He's a uhhh-"

"Giant douche?" I offered.

"Yes. He really is. He's a decent guy, though. He gets a little over confident when he's drunk."

"Yeah, I was getting that."

"I wasn't hitting on you, by the way. He held up his left hand, indicating the wedding ring on his finger. I really do just like your boots, and it's nice to get a break from that every once in a while."

I nodded my head, and smiled understandingly. "I don't fuck with married men anyway." I had plenty of guy friends. I knew the difference between a guy who wanted to fuck you and a loyal guy in a happy relationship.

"You can come to the back with us, if you want. The offer stands, and I promise not all of my friends act like that," my new friend offered.

"One condition." I held up my index finger to him.

"Name it."

"You buy me a beer or else I'll have to find my friend Wes first because I only came to this overpriced bar under the condition that I was not paying for my drinks."

Andy laughed again, his eyes starting to glaze a little by this time, and he obliged.