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She said I was obtuse. “That’s not fair” I retorted. I wasn’t sure I knew what it meant, but given past arguments, I was pretty sure she was insinuating I was clueless. “You can go walk in the bathroom right now and check The bar of soap is in its tray. All toothpaste residue has been wiped out of the sink. And the toilet seat is definitely down.” Or did she want it up Why isn’t there an app for that She grunted and walked out the door. Through my Living Room window, I watched her descend the stairs from my apartment to the moving truck below. I had to stand because the couch was now on the truck. She said she’d only taken her stuff. I’d soon discover that all she considered to be mine was a mattress, some rolls of toilet paper and the beer in the bag in my hand fresh from the store. Had she really replaced all of my furniture in the year and a half she’d lived with me I did have furniture when she moved in, right I continued to stare out of the window. The musclebound driver was leaning against the front of the truck waiting for her. She walked up to him. I swear she took a quick glance up to where I was standing and then kissed him square on the lips. Do you think she knew I was watching from the window Maybe I am clueless, I definitely didn’t see that coming. It does explain how she was able to get movers to come on a Sunday at the exact moment I was making my pregame beer run. My favorite beer is only carried by a store on the other side of town and apparently the shopping expedition gave the movers enough time while I was away. If I had hit one more traffic light, would I have known about her affinity for men with nonecks A little while later I’d pulled my mattress to the living room and was watching the game on TV sucking down a beer. She had left the electronics—those I had definitely purchased. I also discovered she left this stupid pink bunny she always slept with like she was four. That’s getting chucked first thing. I called my friend Joe and told him the story. “Cabo,” was his oneword answer. “But Joe, she took the luggage.” “No worries,” he said, “Throw your crap into my bag. You don’t need much—shorts, Tshirts, swimsuits.” He paused as if he had something of vital importance to communicate. “You will need to carry your own condoms though I draw the line there.” After getting off the phone I picked up Priscilla Cottontail fully intending to chuck her. But it looked so pathetic—worn out, lying face down on the floor, the pink color badly faded—I kind of felt sorry for her. Then I remembered Susan saying she’d had it since she was four. So, then why’d she leave it behind I picked it up and put it in the Living room window and propped it up by wrapping its arms and legs around a beer. I figured that would get her through the time I was gone on my minivacation. The following weekend Joe and I were in Cabo. Even though the sun had long gone down it was still hot and unusually humid. The strip also seemed darker than I remembered. Maybe the town had become climate conscious and wasn’t turning on as many lights. “You know,” I said to Joe, “We’ve been drinking since we got off the plane, and I don’t feel that drunk.” “Me neither,” Joe said. “Must be this heat.” I started to say, “I think I’m sweating off the alcoh...” “Damn I’m hungry,” Joe Interrupted. I was pretty sure Joe had ADHD. Not finishing my sentences was a frequent occurrence in his presence. The smell of charredbroiled meat filled the air. It guided our noses trancelike to a taco stand parked on the side of the street. An old guy with a white mustache ran the beatup stand. Sandwiched between this roadside eatery and the nearest car, two ladies dressed in jeans sat in plastic chairs presumably awaiting their meals. “Dos carnitas tacos.” I said. “Dos carne tacos.” Joe interrupted. “Jesus dude, will you leave the Spanish to me” I wasn’t positive, but as it sloshed around in my brain a bit, it occurred to me that it’s actually “carne asada,” but knowing Joe’s love of arguing over minor details, I let it slide. The old man reached over and pulled some steak out of a cooler. He meticulously separated the beef into two perfect mounds of meat as he spread our snack upon the grill. Then he pointed to the drinks lined up on the edge of his stand. “Dos Coronas.” Joe said giving me a look. “I could have handled the beer.” I responded rolling my eyes. “Yeah, that’s about all you can handle.” He retorted. “What is that supposed to mean” I asked. “I mean you really can be kind of clueless,” he said, twisting a lime into his beer. “That poor lady sitting next to you on the plane was petrified. It was probably the first flight of her life and all you did was harass her.” “I thought she was joking” I said, “who pays attention to the safety talk” The old man had given me a huge slice of lime with my corona. I’d given up on trying to twist it into my beer and instead was trying to squeeze the juice into the opening. “Dude, when she asked you to repeat what they said, did you really have to respond, ‘put your face between your legs and kiss it goodbye’” “Again, I didn’t think she was serious. How was I to know she was actually worried about proper procedure during a water landing” I gave up on the lime. There wasn’t a trash can in sight, so I just held the halfsquished hunk of fruit in my hand. The ladies who’d been camped out on the plastic chairs stood up and left, so we decided to take a load off. “Thanks for making the trip,” Joe said holding out his beer. He had been trying to get me to go on a trip with him for months. “I don’t have much else going on right now,” I responded clanking my glass bottle against his. I’d forgotten the lime was in my hand and lime juice squirted all over my face. “I’m serious man. I mean, sorry about Sharon.” “Susan,” I corrected, but he didn’t seem to hear me. Not that it mattered, I’d busied myself wiping juice off my face. I realized that I still had my sunglasses on. This was a good thing, otherwise I might have gotten the acidic juice in my eye. When I took them off to clean them, I realized that Cabo hadn’t become greenconscious at all—the strip was just as brightly lit as it had ever been. “I’m glad you’re here,” Joe continued. ”Most of my friends have gotten married off. You’re about the only drinking buddy I have left.” This was the closest Joe and I had ever come to a deep, meaningful conversation. My mind wandered back to Susan. She could have said she was running off to Tibet to join a Buddhist monastery or suddenly at the age of thirtyfour decided she was a lesbian, and it would have made much more sense. Is the noneck driver from Heartbreak Haulers going to be any less obtuse I guarantee that prick will be leaving his beer on the coffee table without a coaster inside of a month, to say nothing about the position of the toilet seat. We had finished our Coronas and started a second round when the ladies returned. Being ever the perfect gentlemen, we stood up and gave them their chairs back. Now I ask you, would a clueless person be so conscientious The old man finished cooking our tacos a minute later and was about to hand them to us when I pointed at the goat cheese. He smiled and dumped a heaping helping on top. I took a bite. The combination of steak, salsa and melted goat cheese was incredible, “Dude, I think this is possibly the best taco...” “What’s that” Joe asked. I started to respond when I realized Joe was talking to one of the ladies in the chairs. “You want massage” The lady nearest us said. “Can you show me a sample of your work” Joe answered. She looked and said something in Spanish to her friend who sat furthest away from us. Her compadre, in turn, answered in Spanish. “Es Muuuuuy buenoooooo,” she said emphatically upon hearing the translation, putting her hands under her breasts and pushing them up. To be honest I hadn’t really taken much notice of either of these women prior to that moment. I thought the one who we were now hovering above was a bit on the chunky side, but standing on the sidewalk, looking down her shirt at the flowerpatterned bra and all that it contained I must admit that her physical condition definitely had its advantages. “No, your hands.” Joe said without missing a beat. Muy Bueno then turned to the translator, who again responded in Spanish. Muy Bueno then looked at her hands. Confused, she slowly flipped them over as if she had no idea why anyone would ever show any interest in her hands. “No, no. I want to see a sample of your work.” Joe said, leaning over to give her easy access to his shoulders. Again, Muy Bueno looked over at the translator. During this entire episode both the translator and the sidewalk chef looked like they were about to laugh. The translator was plain looking, the kind of girl you’d pass up at a bar. But she also had the look of someone who was terminally happy. Probably married, I thought, probably had a couple of kids, and probably didn’t complain about the position of the toilet seat. She probably made some senior very happy. Happy. The word echoed through my mind. Had I really been that bad Been that much of a slob Stop it It would have been a shout had I said it out loud. Don’t go down that road…you’re here to forget...Take a drink …there you go…Stay in the moment…forget her…she’s in the past…Slowly, the present drifted back into focus. Muy Bueno was now rubbing Joe’s shoulders. “How much for the massage” Joe asked. “One hundred and fifty dollars.” Apparently, Muy Bueno didn’t need a translator when it came to matters of money. We walked away. “One hundred and fifty dollars.” Joe whistled. “That’s a lot of money for probably the worst damn massage…” “I know,” I responded, “I see massages advertised all over the strip for much cheaper. Why was she so expensive” We looked at each other. It suddenly dawned on us the type of massage she had been marketing. Maybe I really am clueless. Despite all the jokes I have heard over the years about eating in Mexico, Joe and I had just eaten at a roadside stand. It was the best taco either of us had ever eaten, but unfortunately, the jokes were grounded in truth. We were to be in Mexico for 4 days. Most of the next 2 were spent with me curled in a ball on my hotel bed and on the toilet seat, trying to ease the pain shooting through and out my abdomen. In my delirium I dreamed of the translator. Her black hair morphed into light brown with hazel eyes. It was Karin from the office. Her voice was sweet and flirtatious. “How come you never asked me out” Susan suddenly showed up, “you don’t want to go out with him. He leaves hair in the drain, and he leaves the toilet seat in the wrong position.” Suddenly the fire alarm went off. Over and over, it rang until I realized it was my cell phone. “Hello,” I heard a male voice that sounded weak and parched like an old man. The voice was mine. It was Susan. She very sweetly asked how I was doing, though I could tell it had nothing to do with how awful I sounded. Then, she said she left Priscilla behind yes, that really was the bunny’s name Had I seen her I thought of that bunny looking out the window watching for the truck to come back. “You just now thought of it” I asked. “No, I thought of it right away, but…” she paused. “I didn’t feel like I had a right to bother you about it. But now,” her voice cracked, “… now kind of I need it.” In between tears she got to the purpose of her call. The new beau had thrown her out and was holding her furniture hostage. “Did you pay the ransom” I heard the old man’s voice ask. She asked how I could be so insensitive. “I have been told I am obtuse,” I said. Susan either didn’t get it or chose to ignore the irony. Instead, she ranted for some time about how unfairly she had been treated. At some point she asked if she could stay at my apartment. For just a few days…or, maybe longer I could feel her smile bleeding through the line as she sweettalked me, reminiscing about the “good times.” She laughed at some of our misadventures—most of which, if I’m honest, were my fault. But while she talked, I kept thinking about Priscilla lying on the floor. And then there was this business of the furniture. I could see how a guy might throw someone out in a fit of rage—but Mr. Muscles did this for a living. Wouldn’t he be worried about bad reviews Something clicked. “Susan,” I said, cutting her off. My voice didn’t sound like an old man anymore. “Did you ever pay me back for all those times you said you were a little short” She went off again—louder this time—accusing me of being petty, cold, cruel. It was turning into one of her signature lectures. I hung up the phone. I had been clueless. Just not in the way she meant. I then called my apartment complex and explained the situation. I told them I’d be in Mexico for a few more days and wasn’t sure if my exgirlfriend still had a key. They were surprisingly accommodating and said they’d have maintenance out right away. I would just need to check in at the office when I get back and show them my ID to get the new key. I wasn’t exactly sure how I’d get Priscilla back to Susan, but I figured I’d worry about that when I got home—assuming I made it home. Sometime later, Joe came to my room to check up on me. He had a red head with him that he’d apparently hooked up with. The red head said in a thick New York accent. “Bob said you weren’t feeling well.” Bob I just rolled with it. “What’s wrong” she asked. “He has Montezuma’s’ revenge.” Joe said in a condescending tone. “You poor thing,” she added, “my uncle lost all his hair from that.” We both looked at her. “You know, cancer of the hair follicles. He lost all his hair from that.” “Do you give massages,” I asked. “You know Joe really likes massages.” “Shut up,” Joe said and they left. As they walked away, I heard her say, “What did he mean by that” “He’s delirious,” Actually, I’m not really sure what I meant either, and I was left to slip back into my delirium and dream of Karin. When I got home, I saw the bunny in the window —still looking pathetic, still clutching that beer bottle. I hesitated for a moment, packed some tissue in a shoe box, and placed her inside. I wrote “Susan” on the outside of the box. I didn’t want anything looking longingly out the window. I didn’t want reminders of the past. I’d stick it on the porch later and text Susan to let her know where she could find it. I left Priscilla holding that beer. Susan would probably think it was my idea of a joke. But, considering where Perscilla was going, and who she’d be with, she might just need it.