Less Than Perfect

Less Than Perfect

Stranded. Not just stranded, but stranded in the middle of nowhere. The only thing in sight is a lone, ugly, gnarly tree in a field, which summarizes exactly how I’m feeling right about now. My stupid tire betrayed me on a stretch of road that had apparently last seen traffic in the days of cowboys and Indians. What in the world possessed me to give up my apartment in the city, quit my job and travel half-way across the country by myself? Oh, that’s right, a guy! Not just any guy though. The guy who told me I was the one, who said he loved me, who described me as his muse and who begged me to give up my city life to join him in his sea-side house, so that I could inspire his painting. The same guy who texted me about ten minutes ago and told me how he was thinking of me and how much fun he had with me…last night. Of course, last night I was in the middle of driving through Montana and was nowhere near Jeff. Last night I was living on scalding 7-11 coffee and Slim Jims, dreaming of running into his arms when I reached the Washington coast. Apparently, last night he was having just sooooo much fun with someone that was definitely not me! The text unnerved me so much I swerved into the other lane, then over corrected and ran off the side of the road and in the process blew a tire that had already seen better days.

I knew there had to be a reasonable explanation for the offending text. Maybe he was sending it as a joke. Well, I have to admit I was not LMAO or feeling very : -) about the whole joke. Or maybe he didn’t mean to say last night. Sure that could be it--if I just wanted to scoop my brain out of my head and throw it out the window. As any insane woman who is changing her whole life for a man will do when she receives a clear sign of his “commitment” to the relationship, I started laughing. Not just a small little ha-ha laugh, but a hysterical, maniacal belly laugh that requires you to stop what you are doing, grab your stomach and gasp for air. It’s the kind of laughter that if you have your TV set on mute you can’t tell if the person is laughing hard or in extreme pain. Inevitably, it leads to great, heaving sobs and muttering over and over again, “Why?” while banging your head against the nearest solid object, which in my case was the steering wheel. Next comes the guttural screaming and cursing. Sailors all over the world would have smiled had they heard my tirade against Jeff. Self-loathing came at the speed of light, and I must have muttered the phrase, “stupid bitch” about myself a dozen times. Finally, with hands trembling and battling the black rivers threatening to carve a Grand Canyon in my face, I texted him back.

What do u mean last nite?

His classic reply: Lex?

Yup! The 1 & only Lexi! U no, the 1 u invited 2 come live w/ u?

Where r u?

Not w/ u last nite!

Ohhh. LOL!

I pictured myself under a can opener operated by Jeff, spinning around as it neatly sliced off the top of my head. Then he reached into the cavity, carefully removed my brain and threw it out of the window. Except in this version the window is closed and it makes this squishy, sticky splat and then slides down the glass.

Do u think I’m stupid?

Don’t b like that Lex.

Like what Jeff? Smart enuf 2 figure out u were trying 2 txt some1 named Laura or maybe Linda & picked my name instead?

I had to wait a few minutes for his next reply: It’s not what u think. She’s just a friend. U r my muse!

Confirmation sucks. So what am I supposed to do with this? It’s not like I can just turn the car around and go back to New York. I have no job, no place to live and truth be told, I was looking to get out of there anyway. I can’t go forward knowing that he’s cheating on me before I step foot in the state. Although, even if I wanted to do either of those things right now, I can’t, because I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere, with a flat tire and an ugly tree for companionship.

U there Lex?

How do I answer him? Do I rage at him for doing this? Do I go into self-pity mode and make him feel guilty? What do I say to the man that I was willing to change my entire life for, and now he’s made me look like a complete idiot? As these questions are swirling in my mind, I remember when we met. He was in town for an art show. He walked into the diner where I worked, sat at the empty counter and ordered coffee.

“Not that you know how to make it here. God, what I wouldn’t give for a cup of Kopi Luwak,” he said with a smirk.

I stopped for a second and took in his dark hair and eyes and the one dimple on the left side of his face. He flashed a grin at me, daring me to make a retort. I rose to the challenge.

“Granted, I don’t have any coffee that ran through some animals butt, but then again I’ve heard that you can tell a lot about someone’s personality by the coffee they drink. So, are you always such an ass?”

The look on his face was priceless, and for a minute I thought that would be my last day on the job, but then he threw his head back and laughed.

“Ahhh! You have seen my flaw. I can be a pretentious ass when it comes to coffee. It must have something to do with coming from Washington. But I am surprised you knew what Kopi Luwak was.”

I turned over his coffee cup and poured him some of steaming, black liquid that had never seen the intestines of a small Asian mammal. “Well, you see, in addition to my illustrious career in the food service industry,” I indicated the empty diner, “I am about two months away from receiving my MBA. I did my thesis on the branding of everyday items into high dollar ticket items. Seeing that Kopi Luwak is the most expensive coffee in the world, it was part of my research. “

“Beauty and brains. What a great combination.” Out popped that damned dimple again.

I felt my heart skip a beat and my face grew hot as the blood rushed to my cheeks. Not many men have called me beautiful. The last one I remembered was my Dad telling me that when I was wearing a pale lemon bridesmaid’s dress at my sister’s wedding two years earlier. Somehow, when it came from a sexy, dark haired stranger it did a lot more for my self-esteem than hearing it from my father.

“Oh! She blushes. Meaning she doesn’t know the true depth of her beauty.”

I quickly turned on my heel to put the coffee pot back on the burner so that he would not see the even deeper shade of red painting my cheeks. I took a calming breath and reached up with slightly trembling hands to tuck a strand of my short blond hair behind one ear.

I turned back and tried for a casual tone, “I bet you say that to all your waitresses. Just trying to get a free dessert or something.”

He looked almost stricken. “You really don’t know that you are beautiful.”

“Umm, I wouldn’t consider an asymmetrical face and a lopsided smile caused by my cleft lip a thing of beauty. I’m a realist. Some women were born to be on the cover of Vogue magazine. I’m not one of them.”

“But their beauty is common and too perfect. You have a radiance that shines through and a uniqueness that makes you stop and stare. You have a hollow here,” he reached up and lightly stroked my left cheek with the back of his finger, “that is not matched on the other side.” He then touched my right cheek bone, “And here, this side is a little higher than the other. But these differences create a natural beauty that magazines are unwilling to acknowledge.”

With each touch I felt an electric shock rush through my body. I couldn’t find my voice and I had to remind myself to breathe.

Then he traced my bottom lip lightly with his fingertip. “Your lower lip is perfect. It’s not too full and not too thin. Your lopsided smile, as you put it, lends to the overall character of your face. And your green eyes are…simply mesmerizing.”

Those gentle caresses had led to a crazy whirlwind love affair that I had fooled myself into believing could last. I break my reverie and realize that I am starting to get hot. Sitting in the car is doing me no good, so I get out and make my way towards the lone tree. It is crooked and lacking in traditional beauty, just like me. I lower myself to the ground and sit with my back against the cool trunk, feeling a kinship with it. Suddenly my phone chirps. Another text from Jeff? No, it’s still chirping and I see it is a phone call from a Washington number I don’t recognize.

I hesitate before answering and then finally pick up. “Hello?”

“Is this Lexi?” a female voice inquires.

“Ummm, yeah. Who is this?”

“My name is Laurel. I’m a friend of Jeff’s.”

It instantly clicks in my brain that this is the person he thought he was texting. With a frost in my voice that could turn a Florida swamp to ice, I respond, “Oh, hello.”

“Jeff sent you a text meant for me by mistake, but I’d like to explain.”

“I’m not sure I want to hear this.” I could feel the tears pricking behind my eyelids once again.

“But I think you will. You see, I’m Jeff’s neighbor, and I invited him over last night for dinner, because I was depressed, and he always makes me laugh.”

“Not exactly helping, Laurel.”

“I was depressed, because I just broke up with my girlfriend.”

Long pause. “Your girlfriend? As in, you’re gay?”

She’s laughing. “The last time I checked.”

“So when he texted that he was thinking of you…”

“It‘s because he’s a great friend. And by the way, all I have heard about for the last two months is you.”

This sudden lump in my throat is preventing me from saying anything, but finally I manage, “Thank God you’re gay!”

A burst of laughter erupts in my ear. “Well, that is something I don’t ever hear.” She chuckled again, “I have someone here that would like to talk to you.” I heard her pass the phone.

“Lexi?”

“Jeff?”

“I’m sorry for the confusion. Where are you?”

“Stranded on the side of the road with a flat tire. My GPS said it’s a place called Enumclaw,” I said stumbling over the pronunciation.

“Enumclaw? That’s only about 40 miles away. You stay there and I’ll come fix your flat.”

“I’m not going anywhere. “

“I’ll call when I get closer. Will you be ok until I get there?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I love you, my muse.”

“I love you, too.” We end the call and a wave of contentment flows through me. I stare up at the tree and see the sun filter through the leaves. Funny how just a little while ago I thought this was an ugly, gnarly tree, and now it seems to be the most beautiful tree I have ever seen.

Word Count: 1999