Two of my
favorite artists of all times trigger the memory of KF. It’s unfortunate that
every time I listen to either one I’m bombarded with memories. The last time I
saw him I was at a bar singing karaoke. It was a real reunion, as these rare
outings are usually harsh reminders that I am one of the few of my friends who
no longer congregate. I didn’t expect to see him there, and I especially didn’t
expect that he would be so unkempt. He still radiates immaturity. His ragged
curls framed his now-chubby face, his new pot-belly was wrapped in a super hero
t-shirt, and his leather jacket looked a little tighter than when I last had
seen him. His Steve Buscemi eyes lit up like a 12-year-old as he rounded the
bar with his drink and slid up the stool beside me. He doffed his leather on
the back of the stool to reveal his long underwear sleeves under his t-shirt. Something,
maybe the smell of his deodorant, or the inside of his jacket, or his
conditioner, triggered a flash back to tickle fights on his living room floor
and having my arm pinned behind my back until I cried for mercy. I thought for
a moment that he would put me in a headlock and give me a noogie.
My rum grew
watery with the ten minute interlude of conversation that revealed the only two
bits of information that seemed relevant; he missed me, and he still lived with
his mother. My name was called up to sing, and I thought that he’d move on to
someone else in my absence. I spent the next three minutes or so in a
passionate display of a Liz Phair song that was a mystery to every other single
human being in the bar, including the DJ. When I returned to my seat, KF was
beaming. He reminded me that he loved Liz Phair. Seriously, most dudes have no
idea how dirty her songs are. They just don’t pay attention because it’s a
chick singing chick sounding songs. I had to give KF credit as he recapped a
joke Liz had told either on an album or at a concert, I don’t really remember
which.
“There’s a
bull and his son standing on top of a hill overlooking a valley of cows. The
son says ‘I want to run down the hill and fuck one of those cows.’ The father
shakes his head, ‘No, son, we’re gonna WALK down the hill and fuck ALL of those
cows,’” KF belted out a laugh and kicked his legs like a child. It seemed to me
that he had lived his life by that joke even before he’d ever heard it. Not
that he was promiscuous, but because, with the mentality of an adolescent boy, sex
occupied a large part of his brain the majority of the time.
When I first
met him, KF was introduced to me by my friend as “The Biggest Asshole he’d ever
met.” I was 16 and immediately interested. KF was probably 19 or 20 at that
time, but I shook his hand with a smile and a nod that assured him that “it was
very nice to meet him.” I might have gotten his number that day. In any event,
it wasn’t long before his number was showing up on my caller ID.
To this day he’d tell you that he’s
not an asshole, that he’s the nicest guy in the world. But the truth is that
he’s immature, disagreeable, confrontational, and stubborn as hell. Example:
When we first started dating we were in Best Buy shopping for CDs. I purchased,
at that junction, a Rancid album. “And Out Come the Wolves,” is the album that
has “Ruby Soho” and “Time Bomb,” which are pretty much the only Rancid songs to
ever be played on a Clear Channel radio station. His was of the camp that it
was a “sell-out album.” To which I responded that it can’t be a “sell-out
album” if they had only ever played two of the tracks on the radio. This
argument went on for the entire duration of the evening, including during
intercourse, and the drive home, and the kiss goodnight. The man just could not
believe he was dating someone who would actually buy that album. Then again, he
still didn’t drop me off right away or break up with me over it, so he must be
“a really nice guy.” Right?
Despite our differences, KF had me
between boyfriends at least three times. Even after I dated the majority of his
small circle of friends, he was still interested. The sad part is that I really
liked him. The fact that still watched cartoons and read comics was part of his
charm. The fact that we had play fights that resulted in “you lose, so you have
to suck it” was actually kind of a turn-on. We liked the same movies and the
same music. Plus, I found him extremely attractive. The fact that most of my
friends didn’t understand what I saw in him made him even more appealing; there
was less of a chance that one of them would become enamored, which happened a
lot back then.
When everything you like is
considered esoteric, it’s always a miracle when you find someone attractive
that enjoys the same things as you. For the most part this was the basis of my
relationship with KF. Parked outside the smoke shop, when I was still too young
to purchase my own Parliaments, KF left the car on with Social Distortion
playing while he ran in to buy me a pack. “Sick Boy” came on, and when he came
back to see me singing along a look of complete and utter surprise came over
his face. He kissed me so hard I thought we were going to do it right there in
the parking lot. For weeks after he’d turn it on whenever we had sex.
I’d wronged KF a million times. I
broke up with him for other guys, I dated his friends, and when he got his
deviated septum fixed I came over to take pictures and laugh at him because he
got a “nose job.” For his birthday one year, I purchased two tickets to MxPx
and broke up with him a few days later, only to tell him that he still had to
take me. Two of his friends went with us. I rode in the back seat with the
younger of the two, singing along to “Story of My Life” and “Mommy’s Little
Monster” knowing that it was torture for him. When we arrived we learned that
the show was sold out so our companions couldn’t get in. They ended up at
O’Donovan’s and met back up with us outside after the show. KF and I spent the
entire show apart. I met up with him after only for him to tell me that he watched
me the entire time. I shook my head, and then, to add insult to injury, just as
his friends walked up I pulled my sweat drenched tank top from my skin and told
the older one to feel how wet I was. He did, with relish. The look on KF’s face
was stupefied at his drunk best friend feeling up his very recently
ex-girlfriend.
Our relationship became completely non-nooky
when I started dating the tank top groper. I took KF for a walk around Moore
Park, tiptoeing around the truth about who I was dating. It had been agreed that we’d wait a while
before telling KF. I was quite impressed with myself in how well I articulated
everything I wanted him to know without revealing the who. After he learned the truth, the extent of our interaction was
the rolling of my eyes at him when he complained that I was insensitive to his
lactose intolerance because I served cheesecake for a mutual friend’s birthday
party, or watching his face turn red as I announced to the late night patrons
of Perkins that his dick was freakishly huge, or getting a ride home from him
and arguing the whole way home about what a “nice guy” he is.
There used to be times when I wondered
why he put up with so much of my shit, and why I put up with so much of his.
The truth is that the shit he dealt was fun-loving banter. It added to the
character of our relationship. The shit I dealt out was cruel and heartless. I
could never make him cry no matter how heinous I was to him. But he never made
me cry as a matter of principle. Of course, living with his mom at his age
doesn’t bode well for him, but if given the choice between a nice guy who lives
at home and a jerk who owns a home, choose the former. As you get older, you
might appreciate a little immaturity.
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