LOVE IN THE MODERN AGE
JENNIFER CADDICK
JENNIFER CADDICK
Jimmy sits next to me speaking sticky prophecies and taking one last hit. My lazy eyes silently flirt with him, facetiously testing how long he will talk without pulling a reaction out of me. He is so high tonight he doesn’t even notice my games.
I grab a red-tipped bottle of wine from between his crossed legs. Half a bottle left. I take a swig and bite my lip. We can only afford a $2 bottle, so it is pretty harsh. I sit on the floor and listen to how Vincent Gallo’s voice drones on beautifully in the background with his wonderful way of making the room feel fuzzy.
“Goodnight, baby… sleep tight here with me … we can lay in the bed, you and me … and I wont go away or leave you alone…”
I remember this song makes me cry even when I am happy. I take another drink to wash down the lump in my throat and stick the bottle back in the crook of Jimmy’s leg. He is still yammering away about the world. I lie on the wood floor of his room and stare at his face in the fluffy, peach candlelight. I love his eyes. But not in the way most people love eyes. I love them because they are soft and sad. His eyes feel the sadness of the world. I can see the hurt in the depths of his black pupils.
It scares me how attracted I am to this boy … this sweet, intense boy who wears a gold crown ring on his finger. He thought he lost the ring once. As he scoured the house I sat on his couch and meditated until he fished it out of the bottom of the washing machine. I told myself I helped him find it … or at least I summoned some type of higher power to help him find it. After he told me that the ring had been his late father’s wedding band.
Suddenly, I notice he is staring at me. I sit up halfway, propping my back up with my elbows.
“What?”
“It is just crazy that it is you … here with me right now”
“ Yeah, I know, but now that we are here, I can’t imagine us not being like this with each other.”
“I know…”
I press my bare back onto the cool boards of the floor and shut my eyes. I can feel the wine in my blood. Jimmy sits next to me and runs his hand along the ridges of my ribcage.
As he touches me all I can do is wonder why people lie to each other. We say we will always be honest, but it’s easy to say that when we are caught up in each other. It seems like it used to be so much easier for people to meet, get married, have children and still be in love 50 years later.
I sigh and think of my grandparent. They fell in love in Ecuador when they were just 19. My grandfather, a farm boy from South Dakota, was a Marine stationed at the American embassy and my grandmother, a wealthy, Ecuadorian girl, just so happened to catch his eye while he was on a break. My grandfather still remembers the yellow blouse she was wearing as she invited him over for tea. And now, after 52 years, they still fall asleep holding hands while they are watching TV on the couch.
Is it living in an age full of Internet dating, fast food, Tivo and reality shows that makes us incapable of being interested in someone for more then a few months? Instead of actually engaging ourselves in society, we double click an attractive face on the Web to see if they too like Mexican food and The Beatles. Instead of sitting down for dinner, we cruise through Taco Bell and scarf chicken soft tacos. And instead of talking to each other we flip on the TV and watch that episode of “Rock of Love” we missed.
It is easy to blame society and the media, but we need to recognize that we must take responsibility of our failed relationships. We consume love, or at least the idea of what love should be, and then defecate it out after our bowels become so disgruntled by us actually having to listen, respect and be honest to someone else, that we can no longer maintain a relationship that requires us to sacrifice being completely selfish. Then we start the whole process over again by signing up for Match.com, going to the gym or drinking. Is it possible to stop the churning machine that grinds love into tiny bits of bloody, word vomit? Or are we destined to continue spewing out programmed “I love yous” every few years to a person we know will fade away into a paradise lost?
I have personally gone through the cycle a good three times. My first real relationship occurred when I was 16. He was a control-freak who managed to manipulate my whole life to revolve around his. I was sucked in to believing he was a God and that I needed no one else in my life but him. Luckily, I was able to be slapped back into reality and realize that I was becoming his personal robot. I finally was able to work up the courage to end it. That was probably one of the scariest things I ever had to do in my life.
Then I met a boy who was the complete opposite of scary. He epitomized everything cute and sweet with his Eeyore eyes and playful imagination. But his refreshing innocence eventually lost its charm and I could see him for what he really was- a little boy who still needed his mommy to do everything for him. I discovered I couldn’t be his caretaker. I wanted someone who didn’t just want me, but wanted to care for me.
I thought I found that person a few months after the breakup. He was laid back, liked to party and liked me for me. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have finally found a guy who genuinely loved my personality as it was. It turns out I wasn’t so lucky. After two years, this person, the person I trusted with everything, ended up being a complete fake. He had cheated, lied and manipulated … and I had fallen for it. I told myself I was done with love. Done with it forever. Well, until I met the boy with the crown ring …
My heart pounds as I watch Jimmy’s fingers slide over my powdery white skin. I secretly repeat to myself that he would never lie to me. We are different … right? I get up and sit on the brown comforter covering his bed. He smiles at me from the floor. He likes when I wear his red plaid pajamas. He begins to sing as he smiles into my eyes. Jimmy always has a song in his head.
“Make no mistake she sheds her skin like a snake. You're going to walk the plank again …”
I like the way he sings “plank.” He flicks his tongue when he says certain words. He picks up the bottle of wine and hands it to me while he continues singing. I giggle, but it isn’t the alcohol; it is because he genuinely makes me blush with his cute gestures. I gulp the rest of the bottle. I peer through his white, wooden blinds and see that it is raining. His dogs are happily rolling and digging in the mud. I have an urge to do the same thing, but instead I look back at Jimmy and tell him to get into bed.
“Do you think you will ever leave me?”
“I don’t ever want this to end in any typical sense.”
I like hearing him say that. The music has changed to “The Virgins.” I laugh as I scratch Jimmy’s beard.
He told me once that his last girlfriend hated when he wasn’t clean-shaven. all the time. My last boyfriend hated when I drank, I think that was because he hated himself when he drank. I wonder if Jimmy’s ex hated herself? I hate myself sometimes, but I still would never force someone to stunt their personality into something easily manageable to make me feel better about my shortcomings.
People seem to forget they fall in love because they are attracted to the original qualities the other person exhibits. It is interesting how those same qualities are usually what cause couples to end their relationship. They become more and more self-involved and concerned with being comfortable that any slight quirkiness that they haven’t already beaten out of their significant other becomes a sign of how different they are and, yet, another reason to break it off. What people need to realize is that those differences are what creates beauty and inspiration.
That’s why my grandparents found such lasting love- they had less distractions. They had time to discover, not only each other, but life's mysteries as well. They had to focus on real issues, or they wouldn’t have been able to be together. My grandparents’ love was forbidden. Her mother prohibited her from marrying a jarhead and the U.S. government would not give permission for a marine on duty to get hitched. They secretly pledged their love at a civil ceremony. Once her mother found out of their marriage she was furious. My grandmother was not allowed to see her husband until they had a wedding in a church. Eventually a small service was held and the teens were allowed to be together. Today, this same situation would have many onlookers whispering, “I give it three months.” But, for my grandparents, they recently celebrated their 50th anniversary in Hawaii.
I snap myself out of my obsessive thoughts by biting Jimmy’s shoulder as hard as I can without breaking the skin.
“Dammit, Jenny! That hurt!”
“Sorry … I just wanted to make sure this was real.”
I bury my body in the tiny space between his side and his arm, playfully pouting. I can feel him grinning as he outlines my chin with his pinkie. My lips curl up with foggy contentment. Never have I felt closer to a person in my life. I don’t even care if this is going to last - I can’t quit it yet.
