Good Pet

Just as I’m about to answer, say something along the lines of, “Of course. I know what it’s like to need love. I also know what it is like to be judged and to be overlooked because of what people see or think about you.” I’m just about to say that when my attention returns to real life and the fact that I’m behind the wheel, about to run into some guy who’s just stopped very quickly in front of a stoplight.

I hit the brakes, coming to a screeching halt in my car and in my misguided fantasies. I murmur a curse as I barely missed hitting him, and getting hit by a car behind me. “This is exactly why one shouldn’t drive distracted,” I say to myself, “and why I shouldn’t be thinking that way. God is getting back at me for thinking about anyone other than Dennis.”

As the car in front of me pulls forward with the changing of the light, and traffic gets moving again, I feel terrible. I feel dirty for the thoughts, even if that’s all they are: thoughts.

As I slowly make my way through the rest of downtown and toward a parking lot close to the restaurant, I tell myself Dennis deserves better than that. He deserves to be the focus of all of my fantasies. All of my desire. All of my hunger and interest.

“He doesn’t seem all that interested or hungry for me, though,” I whisper bitterly, turning into the parking structure. “He doesn’t seem happy or grateful that I’ve been with him for over a year and have been trying to do long distance. None of that seems to matter to him, so why should it matter to me?”

As I throw my car into park and walk the short distance from the parking lot to the Happy Alligator — a restaurant with a ridiculously quirky sign and delicious smells emanating from it no matter what time of day or night — I think, Because you’re better than that. You’re not so mercurial as that. So what if Dennis can’t be bothered to show interest or be hungry for you? Does that give you the right to have thoughts about someone else? I cross my arms, stomping down the sidewalk, still feeling rejected. No. But I have a right to want to feel appreciated, don’t I? I have the right to want to feel and be acknowledged for my efforts, don’t I?

As I jostle for a position by the door to The Happy Alligator, I remember how thankful Tommy looked this morning. For me. For my skills with his wardrobe and his hair. How honestly and legitimately touched he seemed by my words, by the effort I made for him. Tommy made me feel appreciated. He made me feel acknowledged and important. Like I have something to give that someone needs. As I step into the familiar dark and sultry entryway to The Happy Alligator, filled with spices and the buttery, greasy smell of frying sausage and crawfish, my mind is still on him, Tommy. There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s something wrong with liking or thinking about someone when they’ve shown appreciation for you, is there?

No, says the rational part of my mind. The part of my mind that is still mad and preoccupied over Dennis’s lack of interest in our video chat this morning. There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing dirty or bad.

Just as another part of my mind, a more anxious, more self-judgmental part of me is about to speak up and say I’m just rationalizing something I should — and quite obviously do —feel guilty about, given that my fears about Dennis possibly seeing another woman are just that — fears — and that I’ve actually done something worse by imagining Tommy as an object of any affection — my eyes catch a face I’m not expecting to see here. Tommy’s.

He’s sitting in a booth, to one side of the restaurant. The one closer to the games and jukebox this place is also famous for. He’s alone at the moment, but it looks like there’s a place set up for someone else.

For a second, our eyes don’t meet. He’s too busy looking somewhere else, at a menu, or at the tabletop. But the moment they do, I feel the electricity between us. It feels something like bubbling or floating or the way air bubbles in a pot of water might feel when heated. I feel excited. Like I’ve been walking around with some part of me missing, and he’s been the puzzle piece I didn’t know I needed.

There’s nothing wrong with coincidences, either. If God stopped me from thinking about another man while driving, he also brought me here. Now. Today.

Tommy waves me over, and I can’t help but smile. I feel like I’m being drawn to him like I’m a part of his soul connected to him by a gossamer string.