Page 58 of What It's Like in Words
I told the hairdresser to do what she wanted, and she looked thrilled.
It’s going to be great, she said.
IWAITED INSOHOon the stoop of a townhouse with a black door. He was fifteen minutes late, which was unusual. I called, but he didn’t answer. I held my phone out to look at myself in the camera. My hair was dramatically different. It was angular and tilted toward my chin, and the back looked like the back of a chicken (but when I said that to the hairdresser, she looked offended). I called him again,and this time he said, Hello? with an audible question mark. There was laughter in the background. I asked if he was on his way, and he said that he was having a quick drink with the guys from work.
Oh, okay. Shall I come to the bar, then?
Sure, if you like, or look, why don’t I just meet you back at yours later on?
But I’m in Soho already.
I just don’t want you to wait, honey.
An uncomfortable silence. I gripped my bag. Why can’t I come there? I asked, uneasy. He said that Icouldcome, but that it was just the team. I snapped my elastic band. He said that the guys were getting him drunk. I said that I had been sat here for fifteen minutes. He said that it was his birthday, like I didn’t have a homemade card in my bag and a haircut like a chicken’s arse. I felt angry and stupid, but I agreed to go home. I hung up the phone and that small rebellion made me feel good, but then it made me feel the opposite. Instead of calling him back to apologize, I called Ruth. She answered like she had been waiting by the phone: Enola, are you okay?
I told her that I wanted her advice on this one thing. Please don’t say anything else though, Roo.
Okay, she said slowly.
I told her what had happened. I explained that I had a new haircut and had made him a birthday present—even though those details weren’t necessary. Ruth asked if I was afraid of his reaction. I told her that I didn’t want to talk about that. Fine, she said, he’s canceled on you last-minute for no good reason, he doesn’t get to have his cake and eat it. Birthday or not. That’s shitty behavior. Gohome, Enola, and look—
But that was all I needed to hear. I fluffed my chicken hair and headed to the bar.
ITOLD MYSELF THATI wouldn’t be me. I would be the woman with the new hair. I would be Steph. She wouldn’t wait for him on a stoop, but she wouldn’t go home either; she would demand fun.
He was alone at the bar with a half-drunk pint. I hadn’t seen where he worked before, and it only occurred to me now that that was strange. It was a small square with neon on the walls and a jukebox. It was what I imagined the bars in Nashville or Austin to look like. A seventies pop song was playing, and the air smelled like hops and urinals. I felt sick, but it was too late to change my mind, so I walked up to him and flung my arms around his neck. Happy birthday, gorgeous man!
He looked shocked. Enola, what are you doing here?
I told him that I wouldn’t let him celebrate his birthday without me. Come on, let’s get shots!
Honey, I thought we agreed that I would come to yours later?
I know, but—
I told you that I was here with the guys.
I looked around to see where “the guys” were, and when I looked back, he was frowning. Jesus. What have you done to your hair? Someone came up behind me, and it was then that I noticed the second drink: a Guinness and whiskey chaser.
Enola! I didn’t know you were joining us!
I knew that when I turned, I would see Steph, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from him. His expression was uninterpretable; then he said: Don’t start, Enola. She just came by for one. Steph laughed.
I turned around: Excuse me? She lifted her hands and said that she would leave us to it. Adrenaline flooded my body. How could you? I said. Wherearethe guys?
He told me to calm down. I don’t need this on my birthday, Enola.
I told him that it was onlythisbecause he made itthis. He said that I was the one making a scene, and he kept his voice low to ensure that was the case. I turned to wipe my nose and saw Steph pretending not to watch from outside. She thought I was as sensitive and jealous and crazy as Jessica. But Jessica didn’t seem crazy. Jessica looked nice. Jessica knitted outfits for her sausage dog.Fuck.I should have gone home like Ruth suggested. But if I had, I wouldn’t have known the real reason he canceled. I would have showered,perfumed, and made myself a concubine for him to come home to after he had fun withher. I picked up his pint glass, but he grabbed my arm.
What the fuck are you doing, Enola?
But I didn’t know what I was doing. Or what I had been planning on doing with the glass. He downed the liquid and moved the glass down the bar. Then he told me to leave. I was sobbing now.
I don’t understand, am I even your girlfriend anymore?
Sadly yes.
Yes, what a fuckingnightmareI must be for you, how fuckingawfulit must be to be with me!
