“I thought we had a good time, but I felt really let down by him last night. I don’t know.”
“Seems like you have a choice to make, then,” I say.
“But what if it’s not the right choice?” she calls out.
“I’m sure it’ll be a better choice than the one you made last night,” I answer before shutting the door to my room and flopping onto my bed.
Hollow.
That’s how I feel, absolutely hollow.
For a brief moment last night, when Kelsey’s eyes were on me and she was coming, and then earlier when I had her in my arms, everything felt right.Ifelt right.Ready.But now, lying here alone on my bed, knowing that once again what I had with her was a brief intermission during her quest to find Mr. Right, I just feel... hollow.
* * *
“Dude,how many drinks have you had?” Breaker asks.
“Not enough,” I answer as I tip back another glass of Scotch.
When I caught sight of Kelsey dressed in a light blue sundress, hair and makeup all done, her decision was clear—she was giving Derek another shot, and this time, he’ll fucking kiss her. So, I went to my phone, asked the concierge to bring up a bottle of Scotch and some of those fancy balls of ice, and that’s what I’ve been doing ever since she left.
Drinking.
In my shorts.
I showered because I didn’t want to sit in my filth all day, but I did nothing with my hair. I’ve spent the day so far drinking and watchingPlanet Earthdocumentaries, letting David Attenborough soothe my massacred soul.
If you’re wondering if it’s worked...
It has not.
But at least I haven’t been entirely alone.
Nope, Scotch and the threat of polar bears losing their homes has lived with me through this moment.
That, and my thousands of text messages to Breaker about how we need to do more for the polar bears, which resulted in me donating to the World Wildlife Fund, earmarked to Save the Polar Bear, which of course made me feel guilty that I was cheating on the pigeons. So, I ended up donating another ten thousand to the pigeons.
After I sent him five pictures of pigeons that need to be fostered or adopted, he called me.
“And what’s with the pigeon pictures? Should I be worried? Those things shit all over the place, so do you really want to adopt one?”
“Youshit all over the place,” I say. “Don’t talk about the pigeons like that. There are thousands of pigeons being euthanized because no one wants to adopt them. No one wants to take care of their vet bills. Everyone wants to be the person who saves the cute kitten with one eye, the dog in a wheelchair, or the rabbit with no teeth. But what about the flightless pigeons? For fuck’s sake, who’s taking care of them?”
“Hey, JP, dude... are you having a mental health crisis?”
“No,” I shout and stand. “I’m not. I’m just a concerned citizen. You walk around these streets, never noticing pigeons, thinking they’re just an accessory to a Bob Ross landscape, and then,bam, you hear pigeons are being euthanized and the world comes tumbling down around you. Sure, I saved the polar bears today because looking at those emaciated motherfuckers made me physically ill but, dude, I’m going to start a goddamn campaign, and the logo will be a pigeon in flight. And the money will go to saving all the pigeons because no one cares about them. No one thinks they’re worth their time. Just because a pigeon might have a fucked-up childhood and can’t fly like the rest of the birds, that doesn’t mean that the pigeon should be isolated.”
“Uh... JP, are you... are you a pigeon?”
“I’m a fuckingman, you nimrod! Jesus Christ, are you even listening to me?”
“Are you listening toyourself?”
“I am. I am listening, and I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who fucking cares about those angelic, stout-bodied birds.”
“So, are you going to adopt one?”
“What? God, no. Fuck, imagine me with a goddamn pigeon. What the hell would I do with it?”
