Too Much

I can recall all that we became.

In fact, I remember how we met, too. It probably isn’t even relevant to this topic, but I remember. Every detail; every minute is forever ingrained in my mind. Sadly, I can’t speak for you, if you remember every moment that happened between us. But if it means anything still, I do. I even remember that you smelled of some expensive cologne.

I woke up that first fateful day at seven oh six, three minutes after my alarm had gone off. I sat up and watched it tick to seven oh seven before getting up to begin my morning routine.

My shower lasted twenty minutes, as the first ten was spent getting used to the cold mist that hit my sleepy joints. After my shower, I dressed in a blue button-up and dark slacks. Breakfast was a slice of cold pizza I hadn’t eaten two nights prior. I brushed the mess that was my hair until completely ruining my progress when I ran a hand through the damp locks. By this time, I had an hour before I had to get to work. The twenty-five-minute walk wouldn’t be too terrible.

I decided to head out early so I could stop at the small coffee shop a few blocks from my apartment. It was eight- ten as I waited for my simple cup of coffee. I was fidgety; it was taking too long for a cup of black coffee with three sugars. My feet and fingers gave away how antsy I really was; I was tapping a half-beat behind the song that was playing on the radio as my fingers constantly threaded through my hair.

There was a line five people long behind me, waiting as patiently as one could in a crowded coffee shop. The person behind the counter was alone and stressing the fuck out. I was still tapping along happily.

When my coffee was finally handed to me, it was eight-twenty. I put the cup up to my mouth and took a quick sip as I turned.

My first step away from the counter, I lost my balance. My second step, I slammed right into you, spilling my coffee down that expensive suit you had to buy for that posh interview you had in an hour and a half.

Your face contorted into something I think was supposed to be menacing. But I just wanted to laugh at your attempt. Soon, that cute little face of yours, with your long, weird nose and such, was bright red as you continued to yell at me for ruining the suit. I tuned you out; because, really dude? It was petty compared to... I don’t know, world hunger maybe. Whatever you hipsters believed in. But then you insulted my mother. Now, I’m no momma’s boy. That was just below the belt. So I did what any (in)sane person would do and wrote your sorry ass a blank check. I walked away as you continued to yell at me.

I had to head home to change out of my coffee-stained clothes. It was eight thirty-two as my keys hit the floor with a satisfying jingle. Ten minutes later, I was leaving. And in the rush, I forgot to lock up my apartment.

My boss was angry when I showed up seven minutes late. He didn’t believe me when I told him about the incident at the coffee shop and how the poor girl behind the counter nearly had an emotional breakdown. He, too, yelled at me about being incompetent. My hair still smelled like coffee with too many sugars and no cream.

At nine thirty-seven, my boss told me that when a certain interviewee came, I should see them to his office immediately. But you didn’t show up for another twenty minutes.

When you strutted toward me three minutes before your allotted interview time, I took the moment to look you over. You weren’t wearing the suit anymore. Instead, you had on black skinny jeans, a band tee, and a black dinner jacket thrown on top. You didn’t look as professional as you had at the coffee shop. Your gaze looked smug until you realized I worked there. Then it was pure hatred. When you left, I assumed without the job, you scowled at me again.

When I got home at five-thirty, I debated eating the second slice of cold pizza. But I got indigestion from the first piece that morning convinced me otherwise. So I ate ice cream and potato chips before falling asleep on the couch

I woke up the next morning twenty-seven minutes late. I rushed out in too much of a hurry to bother looking good. I knew my hair was tousled and my clothes were on backward, but I was busy worrying about coffee and being late for work again.

The girl at the coffee shop thought I was solely there to screw up her job. But there was close to no one behind me. Until, of course, everyone suddenly decided to show up. This freaked the employee out even more than my being there.

Nor did it help when I turned to leave and you magically popped into my path. Again, coffee poured down both of our fronts. This time, you laughed off my clumsiness. Probably because I gave you another blank check, huh? I still had no idea how I could pay my bills if you withdrew two large quantities. Maybe rent could be bumped two weeks.

When I got to work, a similar ten minutes late, my boss was ready to fire me. I quickly pack my shit into a box and, on my way out, you finally decided to show your pretty little face. You had a smile plastered to your lips until you noticed me leaving. You stopped dead to watch my sorry ass walk out.

When I got home, I decided to eat ice cream and watch Olympus Has Fallen in a pair of sweats. I only watched it because Gerard Butler was in it. I didn’t watch it for its plot: something about North Koreans taking down the White House, maybe? Like I said, Gerard Butler.

The next morning at the coffee shop, I think we were all impressed when I sidestepped your broad shoulders. Only to kiss the door on my way out. And I got banned from the coffee shop, without a cup of coffee.

Somewhere between there and my apartment, you caught up with me. You held up a cup. “To replace yours, because your luck is something else.” I have to admit, your voice was like Heaven; you know, when you weren’t yelling.

I warily took the warm liquid. “Thanks.”

You hesitated before expressing your apologies for yelling, even though I knew you were out a substantial amount of money for the suit. “Can we just start over, say, with lunch today?”

“Uh, sure.”

So I gave you my number so you could text me the address of our lunch date. Then, you bid me adieu because you still had to be to work in nine minutes. But you called my attention back with, “My name’s Jack, by the way.”

“Alex.” My voice seemed so small now, like I was nervous of you.

Your smile erupted as you waved goodbye and headed down the sidewalk toward work. I pushed my way back inside, away from the incident that just occurred.



I remember it took a total of twelve dates, including that first impromptu lunch date, for you to “make it official”. Your words, not mine. It was early fall at that point; six weeks into the “good night Love” and “good morning honey” texts, the “three sugars, no cream” coffees, the mid-afternoon and early evening texts of “work, ick. how are you?” or “just got home :3”.

It was a normal Saturday for me, bored out of my mind and still unemployed. You stopped by the night before with Chinese and Home Alone, though I just wanted the take-out. As you came up, I quickly stuffed the disorder that was my apartment into the crevices of the couch and in the drawers of my coffee table.

“I hope you don’t mind that I just stopped by.”

“You brought food; all is forgiven,” I allowed.

Your silly giggle that I’d grown to love reverberated around my apartment before settling contagiously over me. I allowed you access and you threw yourself on my couch.

We ate quietly, telling of how our days went. You were so happy about your job, about some merger that I didn’t quite understand. And I; well, I did as many bored, unemployed men did. Though I didn’t tell you this; you already thought I was “quirky” or something.

I fell asleep as you watched the movie. You were my awkward pillow until you had to leave. Then, you carefully woke me up so you could slip away. As we shuffled toward the door, you turned back hesitantly.

“I really like you, Alex.”

“I like you too.”

You leaned forward and ghosted your lips against mine. At first, it was meant to be an innocent kiss. But when you pulled away, we both really want to do it again. I was too shy to initiate it, so you did. Your arm slipped around my waist and tugged me quickly into another kiss. This one was completely centered on the fact that we really wanted more, more, more. And almost as soon as it began, you pulled away. The tip of your nose brushed mine, sending shivers down my back. You grinned widely. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you whispered before stealing down the hall.

The next morning, I woke to my cell chiming a Blink song. I rolled over to see it was you calling. “Jack?” I asked groggily. “What time is it?”

“Like, six fifty?”

“What the hell are you doing, call at six?”

“I want to show you something.”

“Show me later, Jack.”

“Later will be too late. Please? Get up and meet me at the coffee shop.”

“I’m banned. Remember?”

“You’re not going in. Come up, get up and dressed. Fifteen minutes, ’kay?”

“Ugh, fine.”

“Bye.” And the line went dead.

When I finally arrived at the coffee shop, you held out a cup of coffee, which I instinctively accepted. I swallowed a significant amount of the scalding liquid and looked back at you. “So, what has me up at seven?”

“Come on, I’ll show you.” You took my hand and dragged me halfway across the city to a marina, where we waited for the sunrise.

The sun warily poked his head over the water, making sure he didn’t have any unnecessary eyes on him as he slowly woke up. But he did and he gave you and I the most phenomenal sunrise I had ever seen. Warm rays of yellow, orange, and red graced the sky above us and she blushed terribly for a few minutes. They made such a cute couple, the sun and sky. We stayed there, watching their relationship bloom and waking the city, for the better half of an hour.

Then, you turned to me. “Alex, I really like you.”

“I thought we figured this out last night,” I smiled.

“We did. But I don’t want the abstract thought of you and I. I want the concrete you and I. I want to make us official.”

All I could think of was that stupid “Let’s make it official / unofficial B.S. surrounding the Jersey Shore cast.

Nonetheless, I snapped back to the present when you asked me to be your boyfriend. I giggled like a teenaged girl after talking to her crush and agreed perhaps too exuberantly. Your shy smile shined through and we ended up laughing like lunatics.

We parted ways after a too-short kiss, you went to work and I to a lonely apartment.

At noontime, my phone rang, but it wasn’t you. It was the owner of the bar you and I frequented. He informed me that I now had a job. Things were looking up for me.

You came over that evening with every kind of liquor known to mankind and told me to make you all sorts of beverages. I think you just wanted to get shitfaced, not help me learn to make “faaaan-saaaay specialty drinks”, as you referred to them.

With the added liquid confidence flooding through our systems, we somehow ended up naked in my bed. You were a giggling mess as our clothes pooled on the floor.

When I woke up the next morning, you had a pillow over your face; though it didn’t quite stifle your tired snores. I smiled and kissed your bare chest before crawling out of bed. I stumbled down to the kitchen to grab some water, then the Advil in the bathroom on the way back.

You were sitting up when I returned, sheets pooling around your waist. You smiled sheepishly, accepting the water and Advil gratefully. “Thank you, Alex.” Your voice was hoarse in the early morning grogginess, instead of its normal silky nature. You groaned loudly. “Shit fucking Hell, Alex.”

“What? You were the one begging for ‘just one more’ and downing it like it was no one’s business.”

“Shut up,” you grinned, throwing a pillow at my face.

I had no witty comeback, except to peg you with the pillow. We ended up laughing our asses off.

Eventually, we figured eating something would be a wise idea. So we walked out to the kitchen. Liquor bottles lay everywhere. We shared a chuckle. You wanted pancakes and bacon, which I didn’t have. We haphazardly went to the diner across from my apartment complex.

As you ordered you pancakes and bacon and everything else known to man, you thought it would be funny to harass our waiter. “Honey,” you said to him, “I know I’m gorgeous. But you need to learn not to stare. My sexy boyfriend here might get jealous and do something rash; like, I don’t know, take me on the table or something.” Perhaps you were still drunk? “Now, go place our order.”

He huffed away, clearly mad. But we laughed anyway.

“I hope you know he’s going to spit in our food,” I told you.

You shrugged and blew bubbles in your chocolate milk. “Ah well. My spit, his spit, your spit. It’s whatever.” You crushed our lips together, earning disgruntled noises from the people around us. You pulled back and addressed the people watching us. “If you don’t like seeing me kiss this sexy motherfucker beside me, don’t look.”

We got kicked out of the diner after that. Without our food, need I remind you. But it definitely wasn’t because you spilled syrup on our “gay-ass, homophobic, cock-sucker of a waiter.” We stumbled into my apartment and I ended up making you nachos as you stood on my kitchen island proclaiming your eternal love for me. I was really starting to hope that you were still drunk.

After I finally got you down from my island, you settled yourself on my lap as you crunched loudly on the nachos.

You weren’t an annoying drunk. But only I found you adorable.