Photo by Heather Gill on Unsplash
Andy picked up his phone with drunk fingers and drunk thoughts to guide them. His friends, Dave and Peter, were having a good time without him, but next to him. All three shared a soundtrack: the toyland jingle of slot machines.
“Who are you texting?” Peter asked. He noticed Andy’s preoccupation with his phone during a short break from his gambling, having just sunk an impactful amount of digital change.
It was none of Peter’s business and Andy had every intention of saying so, but was unable to break from the stream of messages he was getting from the girl (yes, that girl; the one you don’t talk to because it never ends well and because it gets in the way of the relationship you already, actually have).
“Let’s move,” Dave, or Peter said. They scouted for a new bank of machines that called to them, with Andy following, though experiencing this journey through his periphery, his focus still on the girl, through his phone.
Maybe, if Andy had been hypnotized by his phone all of the time, or at least all night, Dave and Peter would be less concerned/annoyed. When they arrived at the casino, Andy had been just as jubilant as they were to consume the free drinks and to probably lose, but hopefully double, the money he had been saving for this trip. His night-altering communique had been sent out of innocent, but nudging nostalgia with no intended action attached to it. However, there had been a shift in the conversation with the girl. At first it was “how have you been,” “remember when,” and other timeline niceties. Naturally, there was a suggestion, maybe even an intentional one, of an alternate and allegedly better version of their lives that could have come to be if it were not for that time that he had been a jealous wreck of a person and if she had not done the cuntiest thing. This suggestion was Andy’s, but the real shift came with her response: “if only.”
The word, “only” had special meaning to Andy, as one who finds himself feeling like the only of many things. For instance, the only one left at a bar, the only man in a room, or the only one focused on a girl through his phone at the casino. “If,” was as equally lonely, but indicated possibility. “If only” had been the perfect marriage of lonely words and possibility and had hijacked his attention, much to the displeasure of Dave and Peter, who were relying on a certain level of enthused camaraderie to keep the night going in a stellar direction. Not to mention, the casino staff were effectively wasting their complimentary liquor on a man who, though gambling in a serious way, was not gambling in any serious way that would earn the casino a profit.
Andy’s heart was beating fast and it almost drowned out the groans of Dave and Peter who kept saying things as if Andy couldn't hear them. They suggested more than once that he just go back to the hotel room and eventually, he took their advice, finding himself wandering off of the casino floor and eventually building up enough steam that he was able to actually call the girl in the midst of their texting. This was not a good idea, or so she had whispered upon answering. She also was in a current and real relationship, well under way and felt that they should stop talking until tomorrow because her attention to her phone was triggering several alarms in her home with her significant other. He sighed and was hesitant to listen, but she promised (whispered promises mean a lot more, as they are said with a desperation that makes them utterly and painfully unbreakable) to continue texting in the morning and that they would talk the next day at great lengths, she would make sure of it.
Panicking and happy, he walked the span of his hallway several times (floated, really) before he had the idea to go back to the casino floor and unapologetically join in on the fun. Reunited, there was gambling and joking, but they all knew it wasn’t as fun as it was supposed to be.
#
Waking early, due to some inconvenient strands of light and sleeping noises of his roommates, he cursed the fog of his hangover and the swollen borders of his skull. It took a few moments for his last-night-self to reunite with his present, suffering self and when it happened, he dove for his phone. There had not been any messages since their whispered and secret farewell the night before. Andy was not discouraged. In fact, he was now fully awake, nervous, and hopeful.
Freshly sober, his mind was hard at work replaying the previous night’s events against the backdrop of his (and the girl’s) failed relationship, slowly building the devices needed to properly translate the words “if only” into “reality.” This “reality” could be achievable if certain key players and their actions (wrecks with legs and cuntiest things) were adjusted, or replaced with healthy variations. Surely, one person overreacted in the midst of the other’s underreaction, or one was overly sensitive while the other was incapable of reaching any level of sensitivity that could be conducive to relating to another person at all. Interestingly, these points, from which no one could move before, were now seen as transient and insignificant, and even existing on both sides of a line, in equal measure, and not, as he had before insisted, all the product of her spoiled and impossible nature.
His phone buzzed, pausing his heart. It was an e-mail he felt comfortable ignoring until Monday, not her. He wondered if eight o’clock was too early to expect a message, or a call. A half-hour later, he thought that it was too early, but by nine he felt that even if eight had been too early, nine o’clock seemed like an eternity’s difference and began to grow doubtful. A freezing, invasive thought creeped into action: “Maybe, you should text the girlfriend you already actually have.”
He cleaned and dressed himself while texting his current, actual girlfriend and saying things about how much fun they had the night before, about the weird swirling texture of his stomach, and the sticky feeling of dough rising in the center of his head. Conscious of how Dave and Peter saw his inattentiveness, he didn’t want to get food without them and instead adopted an appropriately playful persona in which he woke them up with a series of shoves and laughs. Hilarious groaning and curse words followed.
#
“Have some self-respect,” Andy said, not out loud, but loudly in his head. He put his phone face down on the table and tried asking Peter a question which indicated he had been paying attention to his complaining about work.
“I’m just sad we are only here for the weekend,” Peter said. “I bet if we were here for a week, I still wouldn’t be ready to go back to work when it was done.” Dave and Andy agreed.
#
The call came as they were leaving the pool. It was three o’clock, but Andy immediately shed all the resentment and humiliation that he had been carrying for the previous seven hours, and was just excited to see her name pop up on the screen.
“Hello,” he exhaled into the phone. His breathing was becoming a juggling act while he listened. It was just small talk. “Oh, you know: work stuff.” “Yeah, man. This place is great.” There was no mention of their future, or the “if only” that had started all of this. In an act, a really unprecedented act, of courage for someone who finds himself as an “only” so often, (for instance, the only one sitting alone at the bar because he is too scared to talk to anyone, or the only person he knows who is afraid to tell their waiter that they did not order the food that was delivered, and so he just lives with the disappointment) he got to the point.
“Did you mean it?” He asked. He felt brave.
“Mean what?”
The if only! Did you mean that our lives would be together if one, or both of us would have just shut up for a while and really listened to the other person? Did you mean it when you said you thought about me often and often wished we were together? Because, I have been thinking about it ever since and I think we can make it work. Consequences be fucked, I think we can make this work.
“What we talked about,” He replied.
“Oh.”
She did mean it. She said she meant it. Andy reeled, in a good way. The girl had to go, but they would talk more, if not tonight, tomorrow.
He went upstairs. Dave and Peter were already dry and dressed in different clothes.
“Where were you?” Dave or Peter asked.
He jumped into the shower and got dressed. Dave and Peter were gone, but Andy found them in one of the two restaurants (the good one) built into the casino. He had to talk to them. How does one end a relationship where everything is going well, except for the boyfriend reconnecting with ex-girlfriends? Do you tell them? He decided that there was no context in which he could bring this up without sounding like an asshole to Dave and Peter, who were not his biggest fans at the moment, seeing as how he had neglected and abandoned them more than once on this supposedly fun adventure they had all agreed to go on and participate in. He was not participating. He knew that, felt bad about it, and tried to reconcile over dinner.
Andy bought drinks and made comments about their waitress and her black skirt. The guys laughed, but Andy felt bad the whole time. He was caring less about his obligations to Dave and Peter, but was suddenly being struck with the image of his current, actual girlfriend crying, screaming, hurting, and reeling (in the bad way) over the news that Andy did not want to be with her anymore.
#
Andy gambled. He did so in a serious way, contributing greatly to the casino’s coffers. Tickets and chips colored his path through and around the floor. Dave and Peter were impressed by his haphazardness and lack of concern for his own money. Realistically, Andy was trying to change a conversation he was having with himself. The idea that gave him so much joy was now torturing him, though not enough to change is mind. He thought that what was done was irreversible, though really nothing had happened yet. Eventually, Andy had a bright idea: to record his losing and account balance for the sake of sending to his current, actual girlfriend. She got mad and sent some angry texts and called him. Andy had the luxury of not answering, supposedly out of indignation. He was a man capable of making his own decisions regarding his own money and now was able to say things to Dave and Peter about how mean and judgmental his current, actual girlfriend is. Even with her as the villain, Andy was very aware of what he was doing, and so he was also grateful for the gambling as some kind of consistent distraction from his inner conversation.
#
“We should get a dog,” Andy typed into his phone, happy with his forthrightness and his clear demonstration that he was now serious about his future, something the girl accused him of not being in the past. He was drunk.
“It’s Blair, isn’t it?” Peter asked.
To Andy’s surprise, his initial impulse was to hug Peter. All of the guilt and fear around his new life and the plans that went with it (buying a dog, telling his current, actual girlfriend, having to make arrangements to get his things when she was out of the house, etc.) had made Andy feel overwhelmingly only-ish, and while he knew this feeling well (like the only one of his friends who was planning a new life through his phone), it was becoming tiresome and itchy. Instead, he denied it, as it was none of Peter’s business.
“What are you talking about?” Andy asked with a stunning level of feigned confusion.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Peter asked. “You came out here to what, have some space to talk to Blair all weekend?”
Andy took in a lung-full of the casino air, lightly tinged with cigarette smoke, but somehow refreshing. He exhaled, letting his posture droop to something more honest. “How did you know it was Blair?”
“Because,” Peter said. “You’re an idiot. You both are. This picture isn’t unfamiliar. You guys have tried dancing around the idea of getting back together and each time, it’s just nauseating.”
“What...What are you talking about? We keep coming back to it because...Well, maybe that just means we are meant to be together.”
“No, Andy.” Peter’s breath changed temperature and his shoulders swelled with righteousness. “You don’t learn lessons. They assault you. She is the same way. Most people make mistakes and figure out how to avoid them in the future, but I’ve seen you both do this, and I’ve been there to carry you out of random bars [of which he was the only patron at such a late hour] and out of bathrooms [in the bars] because you ran with a dumb idea and got lost. People change, yes. You, unfortunately, have not. Although, it is a surprising development that you are doing this now, so maybe I’m wrong there.”
“What do you mean?”
“You have a [current, actual] girlfriend, Andy.”
#
The casino floor has a station with a soda machine and a coffee dispenser. The cups are comically small, but are in great abundance. All is free for the taking.
Andy found himself there, surprisingly bringing his anger to the redemptive properties of caffeine. He needed to be sober, at least a little, to properly communicate to his current, actual girlfriend that she was being replaced. It was by the coffee and soda station that his phone buzzed and swung to the tune of a message. It was in that message that [Blair] said, “You can’t talk to me anymore.” Immediately after receiving that message, Andy texted, called, and did the things that Blair had just told him not to do.
#
Andy was drunk and energized when Dave or Peter found him crying by the coffee station. They escorted him back to his room as he wept and he tried to ask what to do, why life was unfair, if he was a bad person, and if he had been the only one who had been crying in the casino.
#
The drive back home was long and filled with “what ifs,” which were much less hopeful than the “if onlys” that Andy had become accustomed to over the weekend. The “if” was just as strong and steeped in just as much possibility, but unlike the “only,” the word “what” linked the possibilities to nothing in particular, making way for an undefeatable onslaught of possible scenarios that could have happened, “if” Andy had not done something and instead had done something else. For instance, he could have just sent the same messages rife with affection and ideas about the future (like buying dogs) to his current, actual girlfriend instead of Blair (the one you don’t talk to because it never ends well and because it gets in the way of the relationship you already, actually have).
Dave and Peter were especially alive with silent tension and nothing helpful to say. Andy moped, thought they did not – could not – understand why. Hearts had been broken before and Andy was no exception. To them, his hurricane of pity and “what ifs” was unproductive and probably undeserved. For the millionth time, Andy felt like an “only” again (like the only person who is upset for being dumped even though he had a current, actual girlfriend waiting for him at home).
Timothy Tarkelly's work has appeared in Back Pario Press, Unstamatic, TinyEssays.com, and others. He has two full length collections of poetry published by Spartan Press: Luckhound (2020) and Gently in Manner, Strongly in Deed: Poems on Eisenhower (2019). When he's not writing he teaches in Southeast Kansas.