Brad
Brad
As I clocked out of work I realized the date I had intentionally forgotten. Ugh, I hate this time of year. Every February, it’s all the same thing: Love, love, and love. Please, don’t even get me started on it. I try to avoid it as much as I can, but I could never tell you that I was never in love. To do that would be a total lie. A complete, one hundred percent, through the teeth lie. I was in love for the longest time, with this stupid guy Brad. I should’ve known even going into the relationship was a bad idea. Even his name, “Brad” sounds like the name of a villain.
Unfortunately, it didn’t used to sound that way. I was stupid not to notice earlier, the guy literally could’ve put on an eye patch, been bald, and pet a grumpy looking white cat and I still wouldn’t have picked up on it.
But whatever, I’m over it. The whole thing happened with Brad over four years ago, but every year I dream up the same memories during the valentine season: I think of me and him, picnicking, hiking, frolicking, you know all the lovey-dovey stuff you do when you are young and in a relationship. The memories are kind of like a blanket, you know what I mean.
Unfortunately, it’s not long before the other memories come sprinting out of their starter blocks. They wash over me like a wave while swimming during the winter. Yeah, I love corny metaphors. Bite me.
But anyway, the bad ones really suck. Like they are terrible. They neither stay nor leave my head; they lurk in the dark shade near the back of my mind waiting for an opportunity to launch a counter strike, just when you are happy… POW. A blur of memory comes flooding back all at once.
The neural shadows rush back into my head. Each blink of my eyes shows another vividly painful memory yelling, crying, and doors slamming shut. Then came the silence, the worst silence possible in human existence, one that stank of loathing and of the alcohol that slowly sank into the rug in the corner as it ran down from the wall where it’s bottle was smashed.
I walked the rest of my way to my cramped apartment fuming over how tomorrow would be a day of love and of pink and of flowers and worst of all chocolate. I want to punch Valentines Day in its stupid face and make it think about what it’s done.
I opened the door, tossed my keys towards the general direction of the bowl where they are stored atop the green table beside my door, missing, as usual. What a crappy way to end a crappy day. Work sucked, no passion to be found there. I hit my head off the low pole in the construction rigging on my way to work again and it left a nasty bruise. And, most importantly and worst of all, tomorrow is the day I hate the most (as you can tell I have a bit of an unhealthy obsession with the whole thing).
You’re probably one hundred percent positive I need an experienced psychiatrist, which, in fact I had for a while. You’ll be glad to know I am currently in tiptop shape. That is why this year I have decided to have a Brad-free V Day. It will be just me, myself, and a fresh salad at the cheesecake factory. No one, I mean it NO ONE will be joining me, not my friends, my siblings, or my mom. This Valentines Day I just want to be happy with my oversized appetizer and a fattening cheesecake dessert.
I don’t need anyone telling me how many fish there are in the sea or that I need a new guy. And I certainly do NOT need a date. This February 14th would be just about me. “Yeah right. That’ll never happen” I told myself as I slipped off my shoes. The thought occurred to me again as I lay in bed. I almost cried I laughed at myself so hard.
I woke up the next morning to my alarm screaming some of my favorite music, Let’s Dance to Joy Division by The Wombats. Ironic, well played ITunes. You’ve got my happiness in check. But it’s certainly not checkmate, not yet.
I then threw on my clothes and made my way to work. The day was almost a dream. While getting my coffee the cute barista informed me that they were all out of valentine themed cups. Score! As I continued my walk to work, non-holiday themed cup in hand, I swung my head under the low rigging bar, avoiding another collision; successfully making my way to the pitiful looking office at the end of the street without accumulating any injuries. Another bright spot in my oddly was work, although I did the same pitiful work that I did every pitiful day of my life since I graduated college, the day was not that bad and went by quickly enough.
On my walk home alone, I was left with just my thoughts. At during this time of ramped imagination I conceived an idea that made me laugh, almost hysterically (and drawing strange looks from plenty of passerby’s). What if, just what if, today was the lucky day I met the new guy of my dreams. I know it might completely ruin my whole valentines day in a one-man wolf pack idea. But still I would appreciate cupid leading me to a good guy for once, preferably a cute one with an accent and big muscles. And maybe even one with a name that wouldn’t sound like a one eyed bald cat hoarder. I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?
I knew something was about to go wrong, and it was going to be big. I could just feel it, the day had been going so right… and I had just started thinking about guys; always a method for disaster.
As I neared my apartment door the pit of my stomach tightened as I realized exactly what was about to go wrong. It was my keys, you know, the same ones I tossed on the floor yesterday. My hands dove into my pockets like two synchronized divers and then followed up with a routine that involved violent grasping at the emptiness where my keys should be. I flung my arms in the air in a way that really announced “NO CHEESECAKE FOR THIS HEARTBROKEN LASS”(rather rude of me to do so without even letting my hands dry off after their gold medal winning performance). I jiggled the knob and rechecked my pockets just to see if the line of small miracles I had experienced throughout the day would continue; but unfortunately for me, they had run dry. I huffed a breath of frustration, kicked the door, then turned, placed my back against it and slid down dramatically, thinking about my options as I inched towards the floor. Reaching into my pocket I found my two essentials, my phone and wallet. The day could still be saved!
Sliding my phone my pocket and examining it triumphantly, downloading Uber as I did so. “Who knows,” I wondered. “Maybe my dream date with the amazing accent will be picking me up on this ride, and I wont even have to pay for my cheesecake.” Chuckling, I got up and made my way down the hall, counting and calculating the in my wallet. I don’t think I would get that lucky. With the cash left over from my drive I would have just enough left to eat a good dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. And then of course I would have to do the unthinkable… Call my mother to get me home, but whatever; if there was anything similar about mom and me it was that we are both lonely on Valentine’s Day. And I can handle small talk for a few minuets before my brain went numb.
Making my way out the door of the cruddy apartment complex I lived in I dropped myself on a bench out front next to some poorly trimmed shrubs with unkempt branches sticking out of the green mass.
A car pulled over to the side of the road and honked, looks like my Uber has arrived. Weirdly, I recognized the silver car from somewhere, “Whelp, here goes nothing I guess” walking towards it.
As I opened the door an alarm went off in my head: DON’T OPEN THAT YOU IDIOT! Unfortunately, for my arm the warning didn’t reach it in time. I pulled the handle and saw the smiling face of whom other then the one and only Brad.
“Nope” I said aloud. I swung the door closed and turned on my heel turning my back to the car. “You can do this” I said and fixed my gaze on the door of my apartment building, I pulled out my phone and quickly unlocked it, dialing up my mom’s number. Thanks Valentines day, you proved you really, really suck. I thought.
I slipped my phone out of my pocket and examined it with curiosity for the second time that day. I was feeling both victorious for overcoming my obsession and defeated by the cruel irony of life. Ha, that sounds like the perfect line for a poem.
I guess there was only one choice left… Might as well swallow the pill and do it. I slid the lock on my screen slowly, hearing the click that proved to me that I was really going through with this. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself. Before I dialed the number. “Hey, mom, it’s been a while, how about a trip to the cheesecake factory?“
Before I was able to put my phone back in my pocket it buzzed, telling me I had a message from as my contact called him- doodyhead Brad. I know, killer insult right, can you believe they trust me with a job.
Anyway, he was telling me I owed him money because he came to pick me up. I was just about to send a killer comeback like “Yeah, and you still owe me for my therapy sessions” but sadly while I attempted to multitask, something I have never, ever been good at, not even a little; I stopped short and apparently the guy behind me didn’t. As we collided my phone skittered across the sidewalk.
A toned and muscular arm reached down and picked it up for me. “Really sorry about that, friend.” The other half of the crash said in a dreamy British accent. Maybe Valentines Day didn’t suck as much as I thought, this could be it’s present for all my patience, the super cool guy with an accent I had written off earlier.
“Did I hear that you were headed to the cheesecake factory? I didn’t mean to listen in but I couldn’t help hearing you speak of it. I’m going that way if you’d like a ride. And I do quite enjoy their cheesecakes. And I know, never accept rides from strangers, especially the one who was just listening to your conversation. But the offer is there if you would like.” I completely agreed with that last sentence…but this guy… I don’t think hell be able to surprise me with anything, considering the fact that I cant take my eyes off him.”Sure, Ill come along with you. What’s your name, mystery man?” After shooting a text off he looked up at me with his dreamy eyes. “Brad” he said.
I let out a deep sigh “Son of a…” I said under my breath, then made my way to his car.
Unfortunately, it didn’t used to sound that way. I was stupid not to notice earlier, the guy literally could’ve put on an eye patch, been bald, and pet a grumpy looking white cat and I still wouldn’t have picked up on it.
But whatever, I’m over it. The whole thing happened with Brad over four years ago, but every year I dream up the same memories during the valentine season: I think of me and him, picnicking, hiking, frolicking, you know all the lovey-dovey stuff you do when you are young and in a relationship. The memories are kind of like a blanket, you know what I mean.
Unfortunately, it’s not long before the other memories come sprinting out of their starter blocks. They wash over me like a wave while swimming during the winter. Yeah, I love corny metaphors. Bite me.
But anyway, the bad ones really suck. Like they are terrible. They neither stay nor leave my head; they lurk in the dark shade near the back of my mind waiting for an opportunity to launch a counter strike, just when you are happy… POW. A blur of memory comes flooding back all at once.
The neural shadows rush back into my head. Each blink of my eyes shows another vividly painful memory yelling, crying, and doors slamming shut. Then came the silence, the worst silence possible in human existence, one that stank of loathing and of the alcohol that slowly sank into the rug in the corner as it ran down from the wall where it’s bottle was smashed.
I walked the rest of my way to my cramped apartment fuming over how tomorrow would be a day of love and of pink and of flowers and worst of all chocolate. I want to punch Valentines Day in its stupid face and make it think about what it’s done.
I opened the door, tossed my keys towards the general direction of the bowl where they are stored atop the green table beside my door, missing, as usual. What a crappy way to end a crappy day. Work sucked, no passion to be found there. I hit my head off the low pole in the construction rigging on my way to work again and it left a nasty bruise. And, most importantly and worst of all, tomorrow is the day I hate the most (as you can tell I have a bit of an unhealthy obsession with the whole thing).
You’re probably one hundred percent positive I need an experienced psychiatrist, which, in fact I had for a while. You’ll be glad to know I am currently in tiptop shape. That is why this year I have decided to have a Brad-free V Day. It will be just me, myself, and a fresh salad at the cheesecake factory. No one, I mean it NO ONE will be joining me, not my friends, my siblings, or my mom. This Valentines Day I just want to be happy with my oversized appetizer and a fattening cheesecake dessert.
I don’t need anyone telling me how many fish there are in the sea or that I need a new guy. And I certainly do NOT need a date. This February 14th would be just about me. “Yeah right. That’ll never happen” I told myself as I slipped off my shoes. The thought occurred to me again as I lay in bed. I almost cried I laughed at myself so hard.
I woke up the next morning to my alarm screaming some of my favorite music, Let’s Dance to Joy Division by The Wombats. Ironic, well played ITunes. You’ve got my happiness in check. But it’s certainly not checkmate, not yet.
I then threw on my clothes and made my way to work. The day was almost a dream. While getting my coffee the cute barista informed me that they were all out of valentine themed cups. Score! As I continued my walk to work, non-holiday themed cup in hand, I swung my head under the low rigging bar, avoiding another collision; successfully making my way to the pitiful looking office at the end of the street without accumulating any injuries. Another bright spot in my oddly was work, although I did the same pitiful work that I did every pitiful day of my life since I graduated college, the day was not that bad and went by quickly enough.
On my walk home alone, I was left with just my thoughts. At during this time of ramped imagination I conceived an idea that made me laugh, almost hysterically (and drawing strange looks from plenty of passerby’s). What if, just what if, today was the lucky day I met the new guy of my dreams. I know it might completely ruin my whole valentines day in a one-man wolf pack idea. But still I would appreciate cupid leading me to a good guy for once, preferably a cute one with an accent and big muscles. And maybe even one with a name that wouldn’t sound like a one eyed bald cat hoarder. I’m being ridiculous, aren’t I?
I knew something was about to go wrong, and it was going to be big. I could just feel it, the day had been going so right… and I had just started thinking about guys; always a method for disaster.
As I neared my apartment door the pit of my stomach tightened as I realized exactly what was about to go wrong. It was my keys, you know, the same ones I tossed on the floor yesterday. My hands dove into my pockets like two synchronized divers and then followed up with a routine that involved violent grasping at the emptiness where my keys should be. I flung my arms in the air in a way that really announced “NO CHEESECAKE FOR THIS HEARTBROKEN LASS”(rather rude of me to do so without even letting my hands dry off after their gold medal winning performance). I jiggled the knob and rechecked my pockets just to see if the line of small miracles I had experienced throughout the day would continue; but unfortunately for me, they had run dry. I huffed a breath of frustration, kicked the door, then turned, placed my back against it and slid down dramatically, thinking about my options as I inched towards the floor. Reaching into my pocket I found my two essentials, my phone and wallet. The day could still be saved!
Sliding my phone my pocket and examining it triumphantly, downloading Uber as I did so. “Who knows,” I wondered. “Maybe my dream date with the amazing accent will be picking me up on this ride, and I wont even have to pay for my cheesecake.” Chuckling, I got up and made my way down the hall, counting and calculating the in my wallet. I don’t think I would get that lucky. With the cash left over from my drive I would have just enough left to eat a good dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. And then of course I would have to do the unthinkable… Call my mother to get me home, but whatever; if there was anything similar about mom and me it was that we are both lonely on Valentine’s Day. And I can handle small talk for a few minuets before my brain went numb.
Making my way out the door of the cruddy apartment complex I lived in I dropped myself on a bench out front next to some poorly trimmed shrubs with unkempt branches sticking out of the green mass.
A car pulled over to the side of the road and honked, looks like my Uber has arrived. Weirdly, I recognized the silver car from somewhere, “Whelp, here goes nothing I guess” walking towards it.
As I opened the door an alarm went off in my head: DON’T OPEN THAT YOU IDIOT! Unfortunately, for my arm the warning didn’t reach it in time. I pulled the handle and saw the smiling face of whom other then the one and only Brad.
“Nope” I said aloud. I swung the door closed and turned on my heel turning my back to the car. “You can do this” I said and fixed my gaze on the door of my apartment building, I pulled out my phone and quickly unlocked it, dialing up my mom’s number. Thanks Valentines day, you proved you really, really suck. I thought.
I slipped my phone out of my pocket and examined it with curiosity for the second time that day. I was feeling both victorious for overcoming my obsession and defeated by the cruel irony of life. Ha, that sounds like the perfect line for a poem.
I guess there was only one choice left… Might as well swallow the pill and do it. I slid the lock on my screen slowly, hearing the click that proved to me that I was really going through with this. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself. Before I dialed the number. “Hey, mom, it’s been a while, how about a trip to the cheesecake factory?“
Before I was able to put my phone back in my pocket it buzzed, telling me I had a message from as my contact called him- doodyhead Brad. I know, killer insult right, can you believe they trust me with a job.
Anyway, he was telling me I owed him money because he came to pick me up. I was just about to send a killer comeback like “Yeah, and you still owe me for my therapy sessions” but sadly while I attempted to multitask, something I have never, ever been good at, not even a little; I stopped short and apparently the guy behind me didn’t. As we collided my phone skittered across the sidewalk.
A toned and muscular arm reached down and picked it up for me. “Really sorry about that, friend.” The other half of the crash said in a dreamy British accent. Maybe Valentines Day didn’t suck as much as I thought, this could be it’s present for all my patience, the super cool guy with an accent I had written off earlier.
“Did I hear that you were headed to the cheesecake factory? I didn’t mean to listen in but I couldn’t help hearing you speak of it. I’m going that way if you’d like a ride. And I do quite enjoy their cheesecakes. And I know, never accept rides from strangers, especially the one who was just listening to your conversation. But the offer is there if you would like.” I completely agreed with that last sentence…but this guy… I don’t think hell be able to surprise me with anything, considering the fact that I cant take my eyes off him.”Sure, Ill come along with you. What’s your name, mystery man?” After shooting a text off he looked up at me with his dreamy eyes. “Brad” he said.
I let out a deep sigh “Son of a…” I said under my breath, then made my way to his car.