The Last Time I Saw My First
She and I had been broken up about three months, and I was spending a week of my summer vacation at Rider University with 900 16-year-old boys.
I proceeded to get plastered with a few of my old college friends, one of whom was a girl I’d always liked, Lisa. We post gamed back at her place with about ten people from the bar. Eventually the night wound down and most of them left. I was invited to crash there, in Lisa’s bed no less. We lay down, and she promptly passes right out, I however, do not. I lay there, smelling her hair and working my fingers between her elbow and her stomach. I may have felt her up, I honestly don’t remember. Either way, after about fifteen minutes of one way affection and cuddles, I get sufficiently dejected enough to leave.
The only catch being that I am still pretty drunk and I don’t know how to get back to my home from her place. I do know how to get back to Monmouth, and I know how to get home from Monmouth; so the operating vodka theory is that driving to Monmouth, I’ll be able to get home. I start the car and drive back to my alma mater with Shame as my only passenger. When I get to the university’s main drag it is just about 3am. At that moment it dawns on me, that technically I am IN my ex’s neighborhood, and she had said to stop by if’n ever I was there. I figure, even if she’s asleep, I can still piss by her house since her apartment is right on the West Long Branch Boardwalk.
As I drove by her house, I saw that her lights were on and her front door was open. How Fortunate! Perhaps I’d be able to use the bathroom indoors like a gentleman. I circled the block looking for a parking spot and found one about two blocks away. I walked up to her front steps as blasé as I could muster being three sheets to the wind and twenty seconds from wetting myself. As I looked into her apartment through the glass storm door, I saw her standing in her kitchen. She was exactly as I had remembered her; the disfiguring accident I’d been praying for since she broke my heart never occurred.
As I saw her, she saw me, and hurriedly waved me inside; probably assuming that I was in some sort of dire emergency that required me to insanely show up at her house at 3am like a Matchbox 20 song. I came in, started saying something about being in the neighborhood and my tongue completely seized as I noticed the dude sitting on her couch. It had never dawned on me that people aren’t up at 3am with all their lights on, ALONE. She introduced us and for the life of me, I cannot remember the guy’s name. I wish I could, finding that guy online could only enrich this story. Realizing that I’d either crashed a booty call or just cut one short, I started to sputter, stutter and stagger for the door.
I don’t remember what excuses I was offering or what explanations I could possibly concoct as to why her ex-boyfriend who lived 90 minutes away was at her front door at 3am, but I left the way I came no more than twenty seconds after entering. Homeboy closed her front door behind me, as if I might become deranged at any moment or only be the first in a string of drunken exes staggering in from the shore. Completely embarrassed and still having to urinate like crazy, I took a few seconds to reflect. Sure, she was doing someone else. Sure she might have been doing that someone minutes before my arrival. Sure we weren’t dating anymore, but I really had to pee.
With all the spite I could muster I walked back towards my car, past her side window, and down the sidewalk along her carport. I saw my opportunity for a quick,quiet and dirty revenge sitting alongside the curb. I fumbled at my buttons, unzipped my pants and began pissing in her recyclables. Once the stream started, there was no stopping it. 20 seconds went by. 30 seconds.
Her back porch light came on.
Her back door opened (literally not figuratively).
She and her dude are coming outside. The sound of the stream hitting the bottom of the can is becoming deafening. I can hear it over the sound of the nearby breaking waves.
43 seconds. She sees me.
45 seconds. He sees me.
46 seconds. I wave.
47 seconds. Still Pissing. I mutter some sheepish excuse about really having to go.
48 seconds, “I didn’t think you would have to see this, I really meant…”
52 seconds, “I thought you guys were going to…”
54 seconds, He starts across the lawn at me. I don’t know what his intentions are but he looks aggressive, so I stop aiming at the can, and point it at him.
60 seconds. I am keeping him at bay with a stream of piss like the world’s most homoerotic lion tamer.
64 seconds. She calls out to him from her car. (I REALLY WISH I COULD REMEMBER HIS NAME).
68 seconds. He walks back to her car watching me over his shoulder.
72 seconds. I begin pissing in the can once again.
75 seconds. They are both staring at me from the front seat of her car, the car I drove to Florida, a few months before.
80 seconds, they pull out of her drive way; I am still pissing in her recycling can.
85 seconds, she makes an illegal left onto a one way street to avoid driving past me.
89 seconds, I know I am never going to see her again*.
After finally finishing, I walked back to my car, and began my 90 minute drive home. The only CD I in the car is Dashboard Confessional. Shame screams for me to turn it up. Drunken tears of embarrassment and adrenaline are shed as I punch the roof of my shitty Nova whilst driving back to Monmouth, it’s cool though, I know the way home from here.
*We are now Facebook friends. She has two lovely daughters and is married to a gentleman who appears to make way more money than I do. I do not know if he is the gentleman in this story. I’d like to think so. I’d also like to think he was impressed by my penis, I doubt it; but one can always hope.