Last night on the bus, this guy was extolling about the virtues of Florida. So, I started thinking about Florida. And Florida started me thinking about Jake. Not in a good way or in a bad way, but in a neutral, almost objective way...
Jake loved Florida. When he moved here to Washington a couple of years ago, he was cold in 75-degree weather. He hated the "cold." And the rain. I teased him that I'd make him a scarf for Christmas, and I did. It was probably stupid of me. In a small, subconscious way, it was probably my way of saying, "ah, you'll adapt!" Which is really just another way of saying, "I can change you."
Florida was the epitome of all goodness and light, to Jake. There were parties, free booze, free coke, free rent, a bunch of friends, and a dog named Frosty. Frankly, this Florida place sounded like the most miserable place on earth, to me. Besides, I went to Florida once, back in 1995. And there weren't any hills. I felt like the sky was going to cave in on me. I hated Florida when I was there. And for the life of me, I couldn't understand why parties and drugs and shit made for a good time.
It should have tipped me off.
Jake said, "I'm going back to Florida someday. When we get married, that's where we're moving."
I said: "I don't want to move to Florida."
Jake said I'd get used to it.
I said he'd get used to Washington. Or maybe Oregon. Or maybe Northern California. Or someplace... anyplace... with water and hills.
On our first date, Jake and I had a fight. A "debate," he called it. Except, in debates, both people talk. This was a fight. He gave his opinion in great, obnoxious detail, about how hippies are all a bunch of pansies and why the hell don't we bomb the fuck out of the little brown babies in Afgahnistan, and... yeah. And he didn't let me interject. So, it wasn't really much of a debate. When I got around to telling him off, he was leaning back in his chair, smugly. I thought he was the biggest dick on the planet. I am notorious for not fighting fair, but THAT just took the cake. It should have tipped me off. But I still LIKED him -- I DON'T know why -- and so I brought him home with me.
I taught Jake to have dandelion fights. At 26, this man had apparently never had one. It's a skill that shouldn't HAVE to be taught. I mean, I really thought it was a sort of instinct that all humans are born with: you pick a dandelion and you blow fluff all over somebody, aiming for their hair. Um... yeah. Jake didn't like it when it got in his hair. He evidently didn't understand that you're just supposed to yell really loudly, and then blow fluff at somebody else. He learned. And he learned to enjoy it, although to my memory, he never instigated such a fight. It should have tipped me off... I'm really just a weird kid, down deep. I should have realized that the instinct to play isn't something that can be taught. Really, only the rules of the games can be taught.
Jake had never gone sledding before. Or built a snow fort. That made sense, since it NEVER freaking snows here. One day, we woke up with six inches on the ground. So I decided that Jake and I would go sledding. Jake didn't want to go sledding. He was busy playing computer games, or talking on the phone, or some such silly crap. But six inches doesn't happen here very often. So, I insisted. But Jake didn't like sledding. Granted, we had a big piece of shitty plastic for a sled, and it didn't really work, but it was fun trying... Jake said he was too heavy. This was probably true, but it was fun anyway, I thought. Well, Jake didn't really liked sledding. So, I talked him into making a snow fort. That was fun. And then, cold and wet and exhausted, we both went inside. Now, I don't care where you're from; there is only ONE thing to do after one comes inside from playing in the snow. That is: you drink hot cocoa. Coffee is an acceptable alternative, sort of. But not really. Jake went off to change and picked up a soda. Like, a Coke or something. It should have tipped me off that Jake's world was entirely incompatible with mine. On Jake's native planet, they must not have snow. Or hot cocoa. I made him hot cocoa anyway. He drank it and seemed pleased, but...
Jake never liked people with weird hair. He distrusted teenagers and 20-somethings who sported blue hair and all-black clothing. He thought they were bums. Toward the beginning of our relationship, he urged me several times to be wary of such individuals. It was nearly useless to explain to him that I was EXACTLY such a person, except I don't think blue hair would go very well with my skin tone. I prefer dark red. Jake loosened up, remarkably quickly, to the so-called "freaks" of downtown Olympia, but he was still more likely to give rides to people who looked like they might have rifles in their pants, than to fishnetted gutterpunks. It should have tipped me off that Jake really had no idea who I was. I should have thought: yeah, well, when we get married, who the fuck am I going to invite to the wedding if I can't invite my gutterpunk friends? But I didn't think that.
Jake wanted to be a film-maker, but he had never seen a David Lynch film. He teased me mercilessly about my "French art films." (Dude, I LIKE French art films...) I made our relationship conditional upon his watching some Lynchfilms with me. He did. He actually said he liked them, too. And he didn't complain that he didn't "get" them. That was nice. But he still made fun of my French art films. The entire time I was with Jake, I did not watch a French art film. I did watch a German one, but no French ones. Jake, to the best of my knowledge, has still not seen a French art film in its entirety. And "City of Lost Children" doesn't count. It should have tipped me off.
Jake didn't like my book because it sounded like I was in love with somebody else. This should have tipped me off to two things. One, I was in love with somebody else. And two... fuck, if you don't like my book, you don't like ME. Jake did come around eventually and say he liked the way I described things. That was nice.
One night, Jake and I went to Denny's. I think he was going to meet some friends, and I was tagging along for some fries. On this particular night, there were lots of different people around our table. One was the manager of the place. Another was Jake's "business partner." The business partner had bought Jake an expensive camera because Jake had lied and said he'd wanted to start a wedding-video business, or some crap like that. Jake was busy explaining to the "partner" that he was making great strides toward success, and... oh, gahd, it was such a load of crap. His voice even changed a little bit; he sounded like a nervous wreck who was overcompensating by trying to be all rico suave or some shit. Why? Well, because Jake hadn't done shit for his "business." He had plans, sure, but he still hadn't done shit. It was sort of making me nauseous to watch this little interaction, so I amused myself by playing the spoons. The manager of Denny's demonstrated the proper grip on the spoons, and encouraged me to try it. So, gleefully, I played the spoons. On the table. On the booth. On some napkins. On Jake's shoulder. I wasn't too bad for somebody with no rhythm. I had worked out this really bad-ass drum-and-spoons duet to this one Coltrane tune, when I realized Jake was giving me one of the most evil glares I've ever seen anybody give me... What the fuck? I LIKED the spoons. What the FUCK? I was just PLAYING, for gahd's sake!
That was what tipped me off.
I saw that Jake and I really didn't love each other. Maybe we liked each other. Maybe we needed each other. Maybe the fates had seen fit to stick us in one another's lives for awhile. And maybe a lot of that time was really good. But we didn't really love each other. I didn't love Jake for his "business meetings" and his stupid-assed role-playing game every week. I didn't love his action movies and his gahd-awful Linkin Park songs. ("I wanna feel... I wanna steal... I wanna big McDonald's meal..." Please!) I didn't love his politics, his philosophy (generally, that it's better to be a savior with no moral code than to actually develop a moral code...), or most of his friends (although there were a couple of nice exceptions). I didn't want to move to Florida and I didn't want to stop talking to funny-looking people. Oh yeah, and I wasn't actually particularly impressed that Jake had been a fireman, which he apparently considered one of his better attributes as far as getting cute girls to like him.
And Jake... Jake didn't love me... If he'd loved me, he wouldn't have been pissed off about the spoon thing. If he'd loved me, he would have PLAYED with me without me having to bug him, or beg him, or show him... If he'd loved me, he would have given a damn about the stuff I was studying in school, and not just said, "whoa." If he'd loved me, he would have understood that TV dinners are NOT food in my world, and that elbow noodles with butter and parmesan cheese is NOT Italian cooking. If he'd loved me, he would have known that my speech habits do not include nervous twitches. And he would have seen how hills and rain are necessary for my ongoing survival and mental wellness.
But Jake and I didn't love each other. I loved some weird perception I had of him. And he loved some weird perception he had of me. And in that way, we did love each other. And we thought we could change each other. I thought I'd get him to play in thunderstorms with me, on those rare occasions when Olympia gets thunderstorms. I thought one day I'd really persuade him that Washington doesn't really suck, that it's actually really great. I thought that one day, I'd make him a huge meal, all from scratch, and that he'd figure out that Marie Callendar should be thrown in a federal penitentiary for culinary evil-doers. I thought he'd learn to be this person I kind of supposed he was. And I'm sure he had his expectations of me, too. For one, I think he figured I'd eventually find something better to write about than troubled teens, vampires, and love polygons. That I'd learn to trust this whole notion of Florida being great. That I'd eventually be able to change my body-clock so that I could stay up all night, gabbing with friends at Denny's. That I'd start liking Star Trek. (I TRIED to like Star Trek... But I mostly just liked it for the green robotic guy. And yeah, he IS green, and I don't care what ANY of you say...) He thought I'd learn to like his music and his movies and his atrocious taste in wall-decor. Gahd, I hated that stupid fucking hockey-player print! HATED it.
It took me such a damned long time to figure all of that out.
I always said I had no interest in "changing" Jake. And he said he had no interest in "changing" me. But I think we were both kidding ourselves, and each other. Jake and I never got to know each other. We loved who we thought we saw.
On one hand, it's a little bit depressing that we wasted so much time together. But on the other hand, it wasn't really time wasted. There were lessons learned. And there was fun. There was a LOT of fun, sometimes.
I hope Jake finds his way back to Florida someday. Probably that would be good for him. But I hope he gives the scarf I made him to some kid with pink hair and lots of tattoos.
~H.T.*