When It's Best

When she’s not there, that’s when it’s best. When she’s not there, and we’re alone and it’s me he looks at.

I take the empty seat beside him. He pats my leg in a friendly way, saying, “Hey, good lookin’.” When we’re alone, I can forget she’s ever there. I can forget the phone calls, he never dials her anyways. When she’s not there, he talks to me, and when I’m not there? He’s kissing her, he’s fucking sleeping with her. He looks at me, he jokes with me. “We’ll go to a concert together soon, ok?!” She won’t be there. He tugs on my belt loop to get my attention. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles. He’s beautiful. The unconventional kind. He’s rather ugly actually, when you look at him in pieces. His crooked teeth, his big nose. He’s beautiful as a whole. He watches me. I know he does, because I watch him. He looks at me when I laugh and as I kiss my friend goodnight. He asks me things. He asks me about who I’m with. Who I’m with, when I’m not with him, and I don’t know why he’s asking, or why he’s watching me. Because he’s with her. And when she’s there, he’s with her. I look at him, and he looks at her. He looks at her as she dances to inaudible music, laughing. I don’t know why he’s with her, really. She’s nice, I guess, just not very interesting. You can’t really have a meaningful conversation with her.

One time, when she was there, it was bad. I was sick, lying down, and she came to check on me. I hated her right then. He came, he held her waist, and he took her away. I was left alone, lying on the couch, and I could hear them. I could hear them… being together. She went home early, that night. He walked her to the bus. When he got back, he checked on me. He talked to me. I slept at his apartment that night. We ordered pizza at three in the morning. He stripped before bed, undressed in front of us until he stood in his boxers, his rejected clothes scattered on the floor beneath him. We went to bed, I in his sister’s room. He was right beside me, through a wall, so close. She wasn’t there, but there was a spot for her, beside him.

I ran into him once in the subway. Early morning; he was on his way home from her place. He changed his direction, he came with me. We went out for coffee that morning. I was late for school, but I didn’t care; I was with him.

I sit with him now, and she’s not here. His arm’s around my waist, my head is on his shoulder. It’s moments like these that I will cherish. They are precious and brief. His phone rings; an awful, shrill sound which shatters the calm brilliance of the moment. I lift my head, he removes his arm and reaches for his phone; it’s her. He winks at me, pats my leg as he stands up, and leaves the room. I’m alone again, and he’s with her.