Less Than Perfect (long version)

Stranded. Not just stranded, but stranded in the middle of nowhere. The only thing in sight was a lone, ugly, gnarly tree in a field, which summarized exactly how I felt right then. My stupid tire betrayed me on a stretch of road that apparently last saw traffic in the days of cowboys and Indians. What in the world had possessed me to give up my apartment in the city, quit my job and travel halfway across the country by myself? Oh, that’s right, a guy! Not just any guy though. The guy. The one who told me I was “the one.” The one who said he loved me. The one 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 I could inspire his painting. Yes, the same one who texted me about ten minutes before 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 had lived on scalding 7-Eleven coffee and Slim Jims, dreaming of running into his arms when I reached the Washington coast. Apparently, last night he had 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. Deep breath in and big sigh out. That left me staring at this very ugly tree, with my very ugly thoughts swirling around in, what I’m sure, is my very ugly brain.

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 came 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 idiot” 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? There that was a simple text that didn’t let on to the fact that I had the overwhelming desire to slash his face to bits. Send. I drummed a tuneless song on the steering wheel while I waited for him to text me back.

A few minutes went by and then my stomach jumped at the sound of the text message chirp. His classic reply: Lex?

Really? He had to ask? I wondered how many other women he was texting. Yup! The 1 & only Lexi! U no, the 1 u invited 2 come live w/ u? Maybe just a touch of venom. Again I hit send.

At least that time his reply came a little faster. Where r u?

Oh, so now he cared. Not w/ u last nite! I jabbed the send button rather forcefully.

It took him a full minute before he replied that time. Ohhh. LOL! I pictured myself sitting 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 was closed and it made this squishy, sticky splat as it slid down the glass.

Do u think I’m stupid? My index finger showed the send button just how angry I was.

Don’t b like that Lex.

Did u really just tell me not to be like that? Like what Jeff? Smart enuf 2 figure out u were trying 2 txt some1 named Laura or maybe Linda & picked my name instead? My 160 character limit prevented me from going any further.

I had to wait a few minutes for his next reply, since I was sure he had to think a while before deciding what lie to text me. It’s not what u think. She’s just a friend. U r my muse!

Confirmation sucked. So what was I supposed to do with that? It wasn’t like I could just turn the car around and go back to New York. I had no job, no place to live and truth be told, I had been looking to get out of there anyway. I couldn’t go forward knowing that he was cheating on me before I even stepped foot in the state. At that point though it didn’t matter if I wanted to do either of those things since I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, with a flat tire and an ugly tree for companionship.

My phone chirped. U there Lex?

How was I supposed to answer him? Did I rage at him for doing it? Did I go into self-pity mode and make him feel guilty? What did I say to the man that I was willing to change my entire life for after he made me look like a complete idiot? As the questions swirled in my mind, I remembered 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 had 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.”

I tilted my head to the side trying to tell if he was playing games with me. “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.”

He paused a moment and genuinely stared at my face, almost to the point where it felt like an intimate caress. “But their beauty is common and too perfect. You have a radiance that shines through and a uniqueness that makes people 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 cheekbone, “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 real caress 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. I would love to paint you.”

My heart stopped beating. Things like this never happened to women like me. “P-p-paint me?” It came out as little more than a whisper.

“Yes. I’m an artist. As a matter of fact, I’m in town for a show. I’ll be here for the whole week, and I can’t think of anything more that I would like to do than paint you.” He reached in his jacket pocket, produced a business card and handed it to me.

“Jeffrey Katzer. Artist,” I said.

“And you are Lexi.” I shot my head up in amazement that he knew my name, but he smiled and pointed at my name tag, causing me to blush once again. “So, will you be my muse this week?”

Being his “muse” led to a crazy whirlwind love affair that I had fooled myself into believing could last. After he left New York, we kept in constant contact. As my graduation approached, he talked me into leaving the Big Apple and moving out to Washington to live with him.

I broke my reverie and realized that I was starting to get hot just sitting in the car. It was doing me no good, so I got out and made my way towards the lone, ugly tree. It was crooked and lacking in traditional beauty, just like me. I lowered myself to the ground and sat with my back against the cool trunk, feeling a kinship with it. Suddenly my phone chirped. Another text from Jeff? No, it continued chirping and I saw it was a phone call from a Washington number I didn’t recognize.

I hesitated before answering and then finally picked up. “Hello?”

“Is this Lexi?” a female voice inquired.

“Ummm, yeah. Who is this?” I said with a bit of trepidation in my voice.

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

It instantly clicked in my brain that this was the person he thought he was texting. With a frost in my voice that could have turned a Florida swamp to ice, I responded, “Oh, hello.”

I could sense she picked up on the arctic chill. “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 and a knot formed in my throat making it hard to talk.

“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. The anger and bitterness that had been churning inside of me suddenly came to an instant halt. “Your girlfriend? As in, you’re gay?”

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

For some stupid reason, tears started spilling down my cheeks. “So when he texted that he was thinking of you…” my voice caught.

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

I let out a sound that was a mixture of a sob and a laugh. Then to embarrass myself even further I managed to say, “Thank God you’re gay!”

A burst of laughter erupted 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’s deep voice sounded like the sweetest symphony in my ear.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat and managed to croak out “Jeff?”

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

“Stranded on the side of the road with a flat tire. I’m sitting under the only tree I see for miles, crying over all of the things I imagined you did with your gay friend Laurel.” He laughed lightly. “My GPS said I’m in some place called En-men-claw,” I said stumbling over the pronunciation.

“Enumclaw? That’s only about 40 miles away. You’re so close.”

I looked around at the still deserted road and field, “But oh so far away. Even if I call right now, it will probably take them hours to get a tow truck out here, and my city girl skills never included tire changing.”

“Well, then, lucky for you in addition to handling a paint brush, I can also use a jack and a tire iron. Will you be ok waiting there and I’ll come fix your flat?”

The sun broke from behind a cloud and lit up the field. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“OK. I think I know what stretch of the road you are on. That tree, it’s really old, gnarled and beautiful, right?”

I stared up at the tree and saw the sun filter through the leaves. The heavy branches had knots and gnarls and looked like it had been around for a thousand years. “Yes, that’s the one, Jeff. It’s the most beautiful tree I’ve ever seen.”