【Written by Catherine Weiner】
It’s the weekend. It’s been about two months since your 24th birthday, but you haven’t left your house in a while. Go to a new bar in town, there’s a girl there that thinks you’re cute.
Put on a Hawaiian shirt. Ask your roommates how you look and change into a Pink Floyd t-shirt after they tell you you look stupid. Order pizza and drink a couple beers before you leave—not too many beers, stop after three. You know how you get after three.
Squint through the dim lighting of the bar. See Rachel wave you over to her table. Take a deep breath. It’s just Rachel. She’s just a girl. Say hello. Introduce yourself to her friends and talk to the one who thinks you’re cute—Julie. The name you would expect for a mother of three in a suburban town. Say thank you when Julie compliments your shirt. Make conversation about Pink Floyd and music and concerts—you love concerts, this is one of your strengths—play into it. Ask for Julie’s number. Watch her type it into your phone with the speed of a small mouse.
Notice Julie’s low-cut tank top and her small chest. Take your hands out of your jean pockets, she will think you are awkward or uncomfortable or creepy if you just stand there staring at her low-cut tank top, at her small chest. Buy her a drink, a vodka cranberry, the kind of drink girls in low cut tank tops with small chests like.
Stop thinking about Rachel. Stop noticing how the spaghetti strap of her tank top slips from her shoulder like it is trying to run away. Stop thinking about how she is watching you interact with Julie. Get her out of your head. You and her are over now. Ask Julie on a date.
Touch Julie’s arm faintly like the stroke of a paint brush when she walks by you. Catch her smiling at you from across the room. Hear her laugh at your jokes. Ask to see her again. Make the date soon—tomorrow. Ask to see her tomorrow.
Meet her at the science museum tomorrow at 2pm. The science museum so that you always have something to talk about—so that you aren’t left to stare at her with your hands in your pockets. Pay for her entrance ticket, split lunch. Wear your glasses so you can see all of the signs in the museum. Stop thinking about the way Rachel made fun of you whenever you wore them, telling you that you looked like Squints from The Sandlot. Thank Julie when she compliments them.
End the date at a coffee shop in Cambridge Square. Order hot chocolates for each other. Watch the rain make Julie’s bangs stick to her forehead like they have just gone through a car wash. Watch your glasses fog, and when you wipe them off on your jacket, smile at her so she remembers what you look like without them on. Walk her home in the rainy November weather—you don’t mind. Hold her hand to keep warm, and to make her like you.
Meet Julie’s roommates so they know you are not a creep. Laugh at their jokes, make eye contact, smile. Do all of the things Rachel wanted you to do with her friends—she was right—you know that now. They need to know you are over her, and that everything Rachel said about you is a lie. Watch football games with them on the weekends. Convince yourself you like them. Convince yourself you like Julie.
When her roommates whisper to themselves, “What is he doing here? Did Rachel set this up to get him off her back?” Ignore them, and smile as if you are a puppy that cannot yet understand the world.
When her roommates ask you what you do for fun, lie. Tell them you’re really into pottery, yes, ceramics, you love ceramics. Tell them you’re really into films and going to the movies with your friends. Do not tell them about the hours you spend alone, the hours you spend thinking about Rachel, pretending she is always by your side like a shadow.
Make fancy dinner reservations for next weekend with Julie—somewhere romantic—the North End. Pick her up in your own car so she knows you have an income. Glance at her at every red light. Notice how she wears a dress the color of solo cups and the way it swoops across her small chest. Order red wine—one bottle. You know what happens after more than one bottle.
After the date, kiss Julie. Put your hand through the side of her hair—get your fingers tangled in it like a fork picking up spaghetti. You don’t want to have sex with her yet. You don’t know why. You do know why—she isn’t Rachel. Just kiss her again. It will make her happy. Picture her as Rachel. Focus on her hair.
Slow down, remember your date with Julie, you had fun, she is so nice to you. Stop thinking about your dates with Rachel. Julie will replace Rachel. Julie is replacing Rachel.
Stop thinking about the first time that you met Rachel on the first day of freshman year in Biology 101. Stop thinking about how her hair was back in a clip, and how she wore the kind of dress that girls twirl around in during music videos. She wore sandals to the first day of lab—the professor yelled at her. You had an extra pair of gym shoes in your bag. She thanked you, and waddled around in your big sneakers like a ridiculous duck through the rest of class.
Say yes when Julie asks you to her college formal. Do not belittle her for being in a sorority and for being four years younger than you. Buy yourself a suit. Ask your roommates how you look. Nod when they say to put a tie on and to comb through your hair. Smile when they tell you how proud of you they are, and how happy they are to see you over Rachel. Buy Julie red roses. Dance with her inside of the sorority house. Dance with her friends. Get her friends to like you, this is one of the most important steps.
Stop thinking about ordering pizza with Rachel and how you used to smoke weed with her. It was fun then, but she gave you a bad habit. Smoke it now to feel something. Smoke it now to sleep. Smoke it now to stop the panic attacks when you realize she is no longer in bed beside you.
Give Julie your suit jacket after the formal. Do not say that you are surprised when it fits her. Do not think about the way it consumed Rachel when you were with her, making her look like a kid dressed up as a football player on Halloween. Tell Julie she looks cute in your clothes, tell her what you told Rachel, when she did look adorable, when the jacket didn’t fit her.
Ask to see Julie’s bedroom. Order pizza together. Watch her drink more beers. Say no when she offers you more. Keep your head on straight. Tell her you want to wait when she asks to have sex. You do not want to have sex with her, not yet, not until Rachel stops living inside of your every move and motivation.
Smell Julie’s hair. It smells like vanilla. Rachel smelled like strawberries. Stop associating strawberries with love just because of the first time you told Rachel you loved her. She had just come out of the shower, smelling like her strawberry shampoo, body filled with goosebumps. Tell Julie you love the smell of vanilla. Smile when she says she loves you too.
When you have sex with Julie, tell her it was great, tell her that you love her. Do not compare her sex to Rachel’s. Rachel made you feel like you were floating—with her you were an astronaut stepping out of a rocketship for the first time, staring down at Earth, watching the two of you together. You can get there with Julie if you try. It will take a long time.
Do not google Julie. Do not track her. Do not text her friends asking where she is. Live your life separate from hers. See Julie every other weekend. Do not cry when she says she is going out with her friends. Do not follow her when she goes to frat parties.
Stop eating so much pizza. Stop drinking so much beer. Cheese and bubbles don’t cure a heartbreak, but Julie might, if you let her.
When you see Rachel at the bar again, thank her for introducing you to Julie. Tell her you are happy. Two months. Smile when she says she is glad you have found someone else. Do not ask her what ever happened between you two. You know that you are the reason she got a new phone. Do not tell her that dating her friend brings you one step closer to her. Do not tell her you now know where she lives and works. Do not tell her!
If you find yourself standing outside of where she lives again, call Julie.
Find yourself watching Rachel through her window at 9pm on a Saturday. Look through the trash left outside of Rachel’s apartment, find her old toothbrush and slip it subtly into the pocket of your jeans. Realize it may now be time to call Julie. When Julie doesn’t answer, text her to make plans for breakfast tomorrow—yes tomorrow you’ll see Julie and get your mind off Rachel. You’ll throw the toothbrush out the second you get home. Look busy, you tell yourself as, suddenly and out of nowhere, you see Julie’s roommate walking down the street with her boyfriend. Look busy. Look like you have a purpose in being there. Smile awkwardly, give a small hand wave. Be relieved when she passes by with a wave, but not too relieved, keep the act up in case she turns back around and says: “Wait a second, Michael?”
Say hello to Annie. Tell her that you have just gotten off the phone with Julie—yes, yes mention Julie. This will make it less weird that you’re standing outside of Rachel’s apartment, next to her trash can, with a toothbrush sticking out of your pocket. When she says, “Oh, okay cool… but what’re you doing outside of Rachel’s house?” Do not say that you are trying to get a glimpse of her changing in the dim light of the window. Instead, assure her that you were just on a walk, getting some air, passing by. Annie will ask whether Julie knows if you are there, and if Rachel does, so you must lie and say that you were just on your way to go to see her. When she says, “Oh perfect, we’re going back to the apartment, so you can just walk with us!” clench your fist, rip at your hangnails, and swallow your anxiety like it is your first shot of vodka and you are trying not to make a face.
While you are on your way, text Julie and tell her that you couldn’t possibly wait for breakfast tomorrow. Tell her that you miss her and have just ran into Annie, and you are on your way, and you just absolutely cannot wait to see her because you just love her so very much. Make awkward small talk with Annie and her boyfriend, the kind of forced conversations you have with your dental hygienist while your mouth is bleeding after you lie to them about flossing every day.
Arrive with Annie and her boyfriend at the apartment building. Watch Julie open the door for you carefully as if you are holding a gun behind your back. Watch her peek her small eyes around the lock, covered slightly by her bangs, like a child looking into their closet for monsters. See her stand vulnerably in her plaid pajama pants and fuzzy slippers.
When she whispers, “Hey Michael, now’s not a good time actually, I just got off of the phone with Rachel,” take a deep breath. Casually and with no wavering in your voice say: “Oh, Rachel… Rachel… wait, why Rachel? What were you guys talking about?” Watch her back away slowly from the door, saying “I’ll see you another time Michael, please… Just go home.” See her slink behind the door like a child playing hide and seek.
Notice Annie’s boyfriend suddenly stare you down. He looks like he would love nothing more than squish you into the ground with the sole of his shoe. Watch them close the door behind them together, glaring. Sulk away from the door like Igor with his tail between his legs. Accept the defeat of tonight, it is going to be okay and you can sort everything else out tomorrow. You know this, you’ve been through this before, you’ve got this.
Crack open a few beers when you get home. It’s late now, and your roommates are out playing pool. Put random cartoons on the television, drink until you begin to burp, and then eventually start to hiccup, like a small baby. Do not blink an eye when you finish the six pack. Collect yourself and get up to get another one. After that one is gone, put your pants on, one leg at a time—there’s a liquor store down the street from your apartment.
On your walk, watch headlights bob up and down and get bigger and smaller like buoys in the middle of an ocean. Run into your roommates blurrily as you leave the store. Accept defeat again when they lug your arms over their shoulders and walk you back home like you are a grandmother with dementia who has just misplaced her keys and forgotten where she was.
Wake up in the morning with a headache that could split wood in half like a child during a karate lesson. Don’t move too quickly, you can feel cheese and bubbles working their way up your esophagus. Feel your head spin as if you have just stepped off of a Six Flags roller coaster in the middle of July. Stare at one point on your ceiling, any point, just pick one, to try to steady your dizziness. Eyes open feels better than eyes closed. Lay in bed trying to remember what happened until 1 pm, then lazily make your way to the kitchen for a glass of water and some Advil.
“Hey man, how’re you feeling?” Your roommate asks you this in a tone that sounds like an intervention is about to come. You feel like you have missed yet another shift at work when you had the possibility of getting a promotion, but your boss just called you into their office to give you the bad news. They were gonna give it to you—the money, the new office, the pride in working your way up in the company—but you fucked up, and now they’re letting you go.
When your roommate says, “Hey so I know that it’s taken you a while to, you know, like move on from Rachel or whatever, but dudeeee you cannot be standing outside of her house at night like a creep, that’s just not who you are and you know it!” notice how he will not make eye contact with you. Instead, he stares at the news on the television eating a salad after he has come back from the gym. Look down at your own body—see your bulging gut. Feel the sides of your unshaven face. Notice the grease stains on your sweatpants.
Nod solemnly. Tell him he’s right.
He keeps talking. “And another thing Michael, this fell out of your pocket last night when we were walking you home… I’m not gonna ask any questions because I don’t want to assume the worst in you but man, is this her fucking toothbrush? Did you keep it in your pocket all night? That’s really fucking creepy dude, cut it out.” He throws her toothbrush in your direction, expecting you to catch it. Instead, it bounces off of your bloated body and hits the floor next to your feet. You can do it—pick it up, and throw it out. Throw it out so he can see that this means nothing to you; pretend you haven’t imagined Rachel brushing her teeth with it every morning and night, yearning to be as close to her as this object ever was.
When you start to feel the water you made yourself drink coming back up, just go back to bed. You can’t explain yourself, you’re pathetic and your roommate thinks you’re the new Ted Bundy. Catch a glimpse of yourself in your full-length mirror and groan. Why does she have so much control over you? Why couldn’t you have just settled with Julie, and been fucking normal for once? Just forget today, give up on it, you can think about it tomorrow. Fall back asleep without your covers on—you don’t deserve them right now.
Wake up around 3 am, wide awake, and starving. The headache and spinning have finally passed. Head back into the kitchen, tip toeing like a child getting up for a glass of milk after their parents have just put them to sleep. Do not let your roommates hear you—especially not after the day you’ve had. Make yourself some microwave mac & cheese, and stop thinking at the beer in the bottom of the fridge. Stop looking at the beer at the bottom of the fridge. Take a beer from the bottom of the fridge. Crack it open for a sense of relief—exhale.
Wake up the next morning on the couch in your living room, with all three of your roommates staring down at you. They look like mothers who have just found out their perfect sons have been secretly drinking and partying and having sex. Close your eyes. Open them again—they are still there. Feel exposed like you have just changed out of your clothes and you are waiting for the doctor to come back into your room for a physical.
“Dude. Get the fuck up. You drank all of our beers.”
Move your arm and hear the clanging of empty cans. Notice how the empties surround you like you are trying to drown yourself in them. Close your eyes and shake your head.
Watch them roll their eyes, moving away from your body. One of them says, “God man, have you even talked to Julie lately? She seemed to be keeping you pretty steady, what the hell happened these past few days?” and looks at you with wide eyes. Feel as though you are in class, daydreaming out of the window, and your professor calls on you, expecting an answer—expecting the right answer—but you are not even sure of the question.
Hear the pounding in your head and rub your temples with your fists clenched. Say, “I know, I know, you guys are right. Back to Julie, let me call her.” Swing your legs off of the couch and collect your cans. Start to count them, loose track. Notice how your clothes have stayed the same since Saturday. It is like they are stuck to you now, with stains and grime to remind you of your sins.
Charge your phone for the first time in a few days. When the screen finally lights up, click on Julie’s contact to call her. Press the phone into your ear—she’ll answer, she has to, she loves you, right? After one ring, hear the robotic voice that you’ve heard before tell you that this number no longer exists. Sink into your unmade bed. God, you should’ve seen this coming. Why on earth would she want to talk to you?
Get yourself to the shower. Feel as though you are being called to the principal’s office when you walk through the living room by your roommates. Turn the water high enough to redden your skin, and sit on the floor of the bathtub, letting the tiny flames prick your back. Stay there and think about the number that no longer exists. Stay there and think about her. Stay there until you feel numb from thinking about her.
When you are sitting on the couch, watching television with your roommates a few days later, notice the pile of mail on the coffee table. Thumb through the envelopes and see one stick out from the rest of the bills. Hear your roommate say, “Oh yeah Michael, that one’s for you, I saw it earlier.” Notice your name written in the handwriting you used to stare at during lab freshman year of college. Feel the walls suddenly start to get closer. See your vision start to blur. Feel your hands shake. Walk to your room to open it alone.
Michael,
I hope you’re doing well, though I know you aren’t. I can’t really take this anymore, I thought that when I introduced you to Julie you’d stop thinking about me, and doing weird shit, but I guess that’s not the case. Now I feel like I put Julie in a place where she may be in danger or something, and I just feel like a huge bitch for putting her through what you put me through. I saw you outside of my window the other night and immediately called her. It was fucked up of me to introduce you guys and honestly I should have just filed a restraining order or something. But I know deep down the kind of guy you are, and I know you mean the best… God I need to stop myself from thinking like that. I thought I was doing a good thing by playing matchmaker—she needed someone to cure her loneliness, and I guess I thought you needed someone to distract you from us. Anyways, this note is just to tell you that I am moving, well, at the time you’re reading this I will have moved, and I am not telling you where, because I hope me leaving Boston helps you in the long run. You can do better than Julie anyways, she’s too bland for a guy like you.
Have a nice life,
Rachel
Take out a highlighter. Highlight: “I know deep down the kind of guy you are,” “the best” and “a guy like you.” Get a sharpie. Cross-out: the rest of the letter. Circle: “Rachel.” Feel a smile creep onto your face for the first time in a long time.
Get yourself a couple of six packs, close your bedroom door tightly. Sit cross-legged on your floor and go through the photos on your phone and your laptop. Delete all evidence of Julie—she could never replace her—how naive of you to even try.
Here is the plan, you’re going to have to wait a little bit, let things cool down. Then you’re going to start with LinkedIn. See where the new job that made her move was—it had to have been a job right? Or did she move because of you… stop feeling proud of the fact that you’ve had this much of an impact on her life. Feel your mind race like it is running the 100-meter dash at a track meet. Stop thinking you still have a chance.
When you lay your head back onto your unmade bed that night, feel as though you have just cracked a code. It is as if you were working on a Rubix cube for weeks—testing different patterns, forcing cubes to fit next to each other when you knew they didn’t—and you have finally hit a row of red. Now you have a reason to keep working on it, a reason to solve it. Now you can stop forcing plastic cubes together. Now you can let the cubes work themselves out—now you can get closer to her.