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Christina stayed for a few months, then she was gone again. A friend in Italy offered her a room for the summer and that was that. She wasn’t here for me. I knew that heading in and that was okay with me. I am one of many.

I remember George. The tall Malaysian Dutchman she said she met while she was in New York. She told me she met him around Halloween while on the subway to Queens. They had hit it off immediately. Freak chemistry. On the second date, he came over to her apartment (it was not her apartment, it was Ursula’s; a mutual friend of ours, I am not the only one after all) on a day that it was empty and cooked for her. "Ah ha," I teased her.
"No, it’s not like that. I don’t do those kinds of relationships," she said.
The next day, when she called, I asked her how was it. She had been complaining that she had gone without sex for quite a few months. Without "intimacy" was how she said it.
"It was great," she said, "I couldn’t help it. I was drunk. When you’re drunk, don’t you want to fuck?"
"Sometimes." I had already stopped drinking for a while.
"It was a bit weird though. I had never been with someone cut before."
"Was he Jewish?"
"He was. I’m use to the skin moving back and forth a little when I touch it, but it wasn’t like that. Kind of weird."
"I see."
"Anyway, I’m sorry I called you so early. Are you at work?"
"I just started. I don’t really have anything I need to do right now anyway."
"How’s that going?"
"It’s good. I’m still a temp."
"Good luck."
"How’s work for you?"
"It’s good. I feel as if all my tension has disappeared."
“Good.”

A few days later, I emailed Ursula about maybe taking some vacation days and going to New York in April. Ursula told me that Christina had moved.
"Where to?"
"Miami," she said.

After Miami, it was San Francisco.

I took sick leave on yesterday morning so that I could pick her up at the airport.

"You don’t have to be so nice to me, I can make it just fine. I lived in New York," she said when she first arrived. She called collect from SFO. She said her my cell phone battery had died and the charger was at Ursula’s place.
"That’s not the point. I said I’ll see you at the airport.”
The point was, I needed to take the day off. Earlier that week, my supervisor’s habit of leaving work for hours at a time to hang out at the Bay 101 Casino had been discovered by upper management. Since we were all complicit in covering for him, it was now coming down over all our heads.

I left her for a minute to take the trash out. When I came back, she was asleep on my bed. I didn’t wake her up until morning.

"You got to watch the water?" I said, "You want it hot, but not boiling. Otherwise you’d ruin the rice wrapping." Christina and I were making spring rolls for lunch. It was Saturday, her second day here. All her things were still in the luggage lined up next to the sofa.
"Do you cook for all the girls who come over to your place?" she said.
"Not really."
"Which means for some you do?"
"No. It just means that I don’t have many people over." It was true. Not since Danielle was here. But I didn’t talk to anyone about Danielle. Not even her.

I set a bowl of lettuce out on the kitchen nook. I didn’t have a kitchen table or a dining room. Usually I ate off the coffee table in my living room. There was a smaller bowl of pickled carrots, daikon and cucumbers that my mom made for me which I kept in a jar by the window; Vietnamese steamed ham, peeled shrimp, rice noodles and mints from the small plot of land that I shared with my neighbors.
"How was Miami?" I said.
"I didn’t like it."
"What did you do down there?"
"I was working a gift shop in South Beach."
"Really?"
"I hated it. Anyway, do you remember Alex?"
"From the Natsoulas?" I vaguely remembered him. It was at a gallery Danielle and I use to volunteer at during college. Christina was there too for a time. This was how we met.
"I was staying with him for a bit.”
"Doesn’t he have a wife and kid?"
"Well, he did. What are you trying to say?"
"Nothing."
"It wasn’t that kind of relationship. Still, it was a mess and I had to get out."
"Why?"
"They were going through the a divorce."
"What did he tell his wife?"
"That I was an old friend who needed a place to stay for a few weeks."
"I’m surprised he, or she, let you in."
"They were actually good to me. I even took care of their kids. But, I don’t think I should’ve been there, so I left."
"How old were his kids?"
"12 and 14. A boy and girl."
I looked around my own apartment. There wasn’t much.

Christina found a job as an everyday babysitter for a single mom with toddlers who lived out on Sunset. "She wants me to move in with her, they have a spare room in the basement but I think I’ll stay here if it’s okay with you."
"I don’t mind."
"You don’t mind if I move if I move or you don’t mind that I stay here?"
"Whichever one you want."
I was laying out the magazines she had subscribed to across the coffee table: Vogue, Elle, and Maxim, for me I guessed.
When Christina was not babysitting, she worked at the gelato place in Chinatown.
I stayed on at my office even though half of the people had been let go under new management.

Things carried on like this for the first two months.

In April, I came home from work to found a man sitting on my sofa. "Hey," I said. I guessed that he was a friend of Christina’s. She was in the bathroom.
He introduced himself as Abraham.
"Call me Ab.” He told me that they met last week while Christina was shopping in The Mission. She had left her phone at home and asked him if she could use his to make an urgent call. A few days later, he ran into her again at the gelato place and this time, he asked for her number and when she got off. "Freak chemistry," he said. He then asked me if I was a roommate. I told him I owned the place.
"Sorry I don’t have anything else here." I poured them cups of Aloe drink from the almost empty bottle I kept in the refrigerator. I reminded myself that I’d have to go grocery shopping later after they left.

Ab started to come over more often. Most of the time, he talked with Christina on the sofa while I went into my room. Other times, they talked in Christina’s room with the door open. It bothered me a little when I realized that this had become a routine.
Christina’s room use to be Danielle’s room. Even when Danielle was gone, I still thought of it as hers. It kept her bed, her desk, her vanity mirror and the dress she wore when she first started spotting, we were having her birthday dinner in North Beach that night.

"What are you going to do with the room now?" my mom said when she came to visit once.
"I don’t know. That’s Danielle’s room."
When Christina moved in, I moved the dress into my own closet.
Whatever was going on, was only temporary.

Once in a while, Ab brought over batches of beer that he claimed to have made himself. I learned from Christina that he had studied viticulture and worked in Napa and Sonoma in the wine making industry. "Why doesn’t he move out there? It’s a long commute" I said.
She shrugged. "He loves the city I guess."
Though I did not drink them, I could tell that they were strong beers. They were dark and no light passed through them when I held the bottle up to the window.
"I like the porters and stouts," Ab said, "You don’t have to worry about keeping them in the refrigerator. In fact, you’re suppose to drink them warm. Since you drink your coffee black, I thought you’d like them."
I’d get a new 12 pack once a month which I kept in the pantry next to the cake mix, cornmeal, flour and rice that Christina began to stockpile. Imperial stouts. Russian stouts. Chocolate porters. Belgian. IPAs. Some with hops. Some with no hops.

The apartment was also filling up: clothes were set on the balcony with rocks to keep them from flying into the neighbors: the refrigerator was full of vegetables, milk and juices: boxes of cereal and crackers were organized in the cupboards next to bags of potato chips: the magazines around the coffee table: a blender: plates and bowls: plants along the window sill: clay pottery: new lamp: a coat hanger by the door.

On a weekend, I was woken up by a heavy thump from the stairwell. I put on my glasses and went out to have a look at what it was; Ab and Christina were moving a stained bookshelf up the stairs. "Sorry," Christina said.
"It’s alright. Just try not to damage the steps,” I said. Standing there in a robe and basketball shorts.
Ab peered out from the bottom. "An old Russian lady down on Valencia was giving it away. It was too nice to pass up and Christina and I thought you could use it."
Valencia was at least three blocks away.
Without saying a word, I helped them bring it into the apartment.

We set it by the front door and filled it with books we had laying around and cleared the coffee table of the magazines. We used some of the potted plants to fill up the empty shelves. In the afternoon, when the sunlight hit, the wood took on a dark violet hue. Except for the gash on the backboard that we couldn’t see anyway, it looked great.
"Thanks, how did you find it?"
"Craiglist," Christina said.
Ab brought over a few books on wine-making the next day and I returned the plants to where they were.

My mom took the BART up from Fremont for a visit during the weekend after. She was very happy to see the changes in my apartment; I kept the door to Danielle’s room closed. We didn’t stay long and I took her shopping in Union Square. We didn’t go back to my apartment. "Whose the girl?" she asked on the ride back to Fremont.
"Just a friend who needs a place to stay for a few weeks," I said.
She sighed.
"Are you charging her for rent then?"
"I am,” I lied.

I was laid off eventually laid of in June and I didn’t bother to tell anyone. On my last day, I packed all my belongings from my desk into a white cardboard box I was allowed to take from the copy room. I was supposed to stay for the day but I didn’t see the point so I left during lunch; they could keep the half-day from my pa.

There were only a few passengers on the BART ride back. An elderly man in a business suit gave me a sympathy stare as I passed him. It must have been the combination of my tie and the box I carried. The power cord on the lamp was dangling out. After I took a seat behind him he turned around. "Don’t let it get to you," he said.
"Thanks, I appreciate it."
"I’m going to an interview today. And I’m 50! So there you have it," he said.
I offered him a red vine from the jar I brought back. It seemed like the natural thing to do.
"Good luck," I said when he got off at Embracadero and offered him another one.

I set my box down next to the bookshelf and had a look inside: file folders, a lamp, stationary, pens, a box of paper clips, a staple remover, tub of red vines, a thermos and coffee mug. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. At least not like last year when I wasn’t without a steady job for a year and Danielle was going crazy.

I hung my coat on the rack and grabbed one of Ab’s beer from the pantry Even though no one was home, I closed the door to my room, drank and laid on my bed. Because I hadn’t drank for more than half a year, I was dizzy right away.

Creaking sounds began to come through the wall. I sat up and listened. There was a soft moaning sound followed by grunting. It was Friday; I had assumed that both of them would be at work but I guess I didn’t notice the shoes in the entryway. And they probably assumed that I was at work too. They were fucking as if no one on the block was home.

I masturbated while listening to them. After some time, Christina shouted, "I’m cumming.” A few minutes later, when it was quiet again, I came to. I went to bed and slept until two in the morning.
They’d probably notice the box from my office in the living room.
Danielle’s room.

My throat was dry when I woke up. The house was empty now. They must have left without I was sleeping. I took out all trash and drank a cup of water. I stood in the doorway of the other room; the blankets were disheveled and all of the pillows were stacked in a column against the headboard. This was Danielle’s room.

Not know what to do, I I spent all weekend sending out my resume and cover letter and didn’t think about anything.
Christina called on Saturday night to say she would be in Napa for the weekend.
"Enjoy yourselves," I said.
She laughed.
I also took the sheets and pillow cases with me to the laundry mat the next day.

"So you’re moving to Italy?" I said.
"Yeah. A friend of mine told me she’s moving out of her family’s place and asked me to come stay with her for a bit."
"Which friend?"
"Her name’s Jennifer Ricci. I met her when I was in Miami. Her family owns a rubber plant."
"I see. You’re quite lucky," I said.

I filled her glass with more Amaretto.

"How long will you stay with her for?"
"The usual I guess."
I laughed. "So you’re at least aware of your lifestyle. I’m not judging you."
"Yeah, I guess. I’m starting to feel old and tired. Maybe I’ll stay for a while. You sound a little bitter."
"Come on. Actually, I think I’ll miss you."
"Will you?"
"Yeah. I would."
"That’s nice to know."
"What about Ab?"
"He’s busy with his work. He’ll be fine I guess. I’m just another girl. You know."
"Poor guy."
"It’s nothing new."
"Nothing’s ever new."

Tomorrow will be August. According to fables, the coldest month in San Francisco.

"Can I ask you something?" Christina said.
"Sure."
"Did you ever want to sleep with me?"
"Sometimes."
"It would have been easy with the two of us living here. But I could never tell if you were interested"
“You’re asking me something I don’t know the answer to."

I poured myself some more Amaretto too.

"Anyway, I’ll miss you too. I’m use to everyone turning salty on me. When I was with Ursula, she couldn’t wait to get rid of me." Christina laughed. "It’s one reason why I went to Miami and then, ended up here. But you were good to me."
"Maybe it’s because I barely existed. Or I barely acknowledge your existence"
“You become philosophical when you’re drunk I noticed,” she said.

We laid on the sofa and watched TV until we feel asleep. Only for a few hours before we were suppose wake up and go to the airport. It was the only time I held her. It had been so long. I feel that we were suddenly in the center of something vast and unknowable. Just for a few hours until I feel asleep after her.

In the morning, we left for the airport. Besides her clothes, she left everything back at my apartment. She said she’d write to me. Before she self, she gave me one long kiss. It was friendly. “Thanks for everything,” she said.

She turned around waved back before she went into the customs screening area. Come and go. The past few months had been fast. That was a good sign.

When I got home, I set Danielle’s desk, mirror and bed on the sidewalk. I wrote with a Sharpie in big bold letters, "FREE", and hoped they would find a good home.

Oooh Yeeeeeeaaaaah…


Image by Ben Templesmith
I made it back from NYCC alive. Had a grand time. Will talk about it in a bit. So much work to do. Am so behind. Cannot apologise enough.

HOWEVER.


I just got shown this:

I had a good chuckle.

I have to address the author of this fine piece of literature. Alex, I am the guy in the top picture you chose. I’m guessing you got it from a comic book related website, since that’s what I generally do. So you’re probably a geek. And a girl. I admire that. Geekdom needs more ladies. Embrace the geek. Even if you have no idea who the hell I am. ( I don’t really know some times myself, ).

I am Australian. I have no idea about American frat boy culture, douchey or otherwise, apart from what I see on TV and movies. To me it’s quintessentially American and rather cro-magnon.  The most I did in university was stay at the bar too long when I should have been attending a lecture. No frat parties or these clubs men all go and rub their half naked bodies over each other while consuming kegs of cheap nasty toilet water ( What Australians call American beer ) Frat boys and their little clubs always came off as rather homosexual to me. Not that there’s *anything* wrong with being homosexual, I might add. It’s all a bit US military contractor for me really. Since that’s what they actually do with US taxpayer dollars, over at Xe ( Blackwater ). Not really my style. Just give me a few tequila shots and I’m likely to leave amusing messages on other people’s phones because they think my accent is funny.

So, to address some of the finer points up for discussion in your article:

I wear suits. ( As in that image you’ve used. ) They are custom made for me, by a tailor. I also have cobra skin shoes custom made from a cobbler, if you’re interested. I’ve even appeared on a fashion blog. Go figure. Life is strange that way.

I drink GUINNESS. This is not Coors Light, or Bud, or any of that pissant crap "macho" dudes can actually get drunk on. I mean, I drank shit beer at Uni but at least it wasn’t that filth.

I DO smoke cigars. With guys. ALSO, with women. Women smoking cigars is AWESOME by the way. Sometimes Most of the time, they are also CUBAN. ( The cigars, not the women ) and yes, I do slightly consider myself of a little more class and means than the average young pup American frat boy who likes to get blind drunk and poke anything that moves with his probably less than average flacid man-meat in the brief period between drinking too much light beer and passing out with his shirtless, probably pantless piece of pudge lying on the floor ready for his friends to shave the eyebrows off of.

In short, you picked the perfect person to headline your article. Great job! I’ll be posting this, or some other snarky type of rant, over on my blog. Because this has amused me no end. I apologise for all the traffic this article may get. It’s not because it was particularly popular or anything. Obviously, it’s because of the photo of me. I tweeted it because I think it’s awesome. Which it is. And now I’m blogging about it because, well, I never in my life thought I’d wind up on a site like "College Candy" which already sounds soft porn enough to me. Please feel free to use any other pictures of me you may find. Many are taken by fans. And yes, I am in bars a lot, so there’s plenty of fodder if you want to write anything on drunken artsy Aussies who draw comics and such.

But, you see, that picture was taken by my friend, Aaron Munter. He’d love a credit. Maybe you got it from his flickr even?  Cheers. I’m kind of miffed you couldn’t find an image of me for every single catagory you wrote about. The sad thing is, you probably COULD. I’ve stood on top of school buses while flipping off passers by. I’ve danced in front of "God Hates Fags" types in a suit & I’ve had my arse painted on in front of a large group of people.

Mucho love, please make me your frat boy mascot or something. It’d be a lot of fun. Maybe I can even tour South Carolina, riding a giant keg? think of the possibilities. You’ll have created a monster, Alex.

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