Could You Be Loved: A Memoir of Scars and Guitars
By Margarita M.
Prologue
“I have a major crush on you.”
Rafael’s brown eyes glimmer with earnestness and a hefty dose of alarm. I’m surprised at his confession but not shocked.
Rafael’s girlfriend is in the main room by the bar with the rest of our friends. Meanwhile, he and I are squeezed together in the confines of this Williamsburg bar bathroom. It feels so wrong, so bad.
“I like you too,” I whisper.
He kisses me, our first kiss. His hands tangle in my hair, and the insistent touch makes my scalp tingle. Breathing goes on the backburner as I drink in the sensations of this long-awaited kiss. Our lips are eager to explore, to taste, challenging each other for more heat, more wetness, more friction. Our eager bodies take up all the space inside the bathroom surely meant for one.
Rafael and I met a year ago through my roommate Eva. In the past few weeks we’ve been spending time together at bars and coffee shops in our Brooklyn neighborhood, talking about life, politics, revolution, and relationships. Rafael is honest and a good listener. He makes me feel special and important. Also, there’s Stephanie, his girlfriend. They’ve been dating for four years. I consider that impressive. Two days ago he told me that he wasn’t looking forward to her visit. He said he’s been having doubts for the past year since she moved to Florida for school. I didn’t know how to react. My feelings for him had already swung way past platonic and into the realm of steamy romantic fantasy.
I told him that long-distance relationships are notoriously difficult to maintain. I did my best to be impartial and help him talk through his feelings. I tried to be a friend and maintain a safe distance between us.
Now here we are fervently embracing over the toilet bowl. I’m embarrassed to admit, this has happened to me before. In fact, it was less than a year ago that a slim, long-haired guitar player lured me into the bathroom at a house party to profess his affections. Jimmy also had a girlfriend. One that he lived with. One that he still lives with, in fact, despite our affair. It took almost three months for me to realize that what to me was a serious, possibly long-term relationship to him was nothing more than a charming diversion. He was bored at his office job. Jimmy worked as a producer for a porn website.
I felt betrayed and stupid for believing his bullshit, and when I broke it off with him I vowed not to get involved with unavailable men. It was too charged, and much too painful.
But here I am with Rafael.
How could I let this happen?
His body feels strong and solid against mine. He kisses the side of my jaw, then his lips move lower to the sensitive skin of my neck. I push my right hand into his chest. It’s hot in this tiny bathroom, and now my hand is stuck between us. My other hand is squeezing his arm, urging him closer. Even my two hands are in conflict.
“We should stop,” I manage to get out.
His lips move away.
Rafael backs up and leans against the door, looks down. My hands are empty. I start to adjust my outfit. My skin moans where his lips and teeth had touched it. The strained sounds of our breathing contrast with the upbeat music and laughter from the bar.
“You need to tell her,” I remind Rafael, then reach out my hand and touch his shoulder as way of reassurance. I want to say so much more. Don’t you see how good it could be between us? Don’t you realize all you need to do is end it with her and then we can be together? You want me; you don’t want her.
He reaches for me; his hands graze the sides of my torso as he helps to smooth down my tee-shirt.
“I know,” he mumbles, looking down at the neckline of my shirt. “I know.”
He kisses me again, quickly, as if he can’t help himself, then turns and shuffles out. I close and lock the door behind him, then I brace myself against the sink and stare into the mirror. The girl looking back at me is shaking her head.
“Dude, what the fuck are you doing!?” I question my flushed image in the reflection, lips wet, eyes wild, and hair sticking out at interesting angles.
It’s just that I’ve been so lonely. But I know that’s a shitty defense.
I wish I could avoid going back out to the bar. How do I face Rafael’s guilty glances, Stephanie’s questioning looks, our friends’ concern, and, worst of all, my own guilt and uncertainty?
I wrap my arms around myself and squeeze the upper arms as if holding my entire world together.
I know I can’t stay in this dingy bathroom forever. As I look into my own eyes in the mirror, I notice the music change from boring electro-rock to a soulful reggae tune, one of my absolute all-time favorite songs. I recognize it from the first few bars and gratefully begin to relax with the steady rhythm. Then the melody sweeps in, soothes my ears and swirls in my bloodstream.
Song: Natural Mystic
Performed By: Bob Marley
Lyrics By: Bob Marley
Link to Spotify Playlist: https://play.spotify.com/user/margaritam108/playlist/5Tt4QAny7KvbOwSjHZrfDh
Bob’s confidence and faith in the way things are reassures me. No matter how rotten, irritating, or untenable the situation may seem, there’s still a natural mystic, that force of Universal Love, that’s all around. I resolve to place my trust in that. So I run my fingers through my hair, open up the door, and before the song ends I’m at the bar ordering a beer to help get me through the rest of the evening.
October 29
The NBA is back! Watching the opening night doubleheader — what a pleasure. The apartment… working on it. Painting… bah. Still no heat — which is really crampin my style and my back. A little project I’m working on: a collection of my poetic stylings called “Sex - 23 meditations”. Feeling a bit blue — but blue for no reason, really.
I saw Tariq at the office. He is still a sadly closed door of emotion. I guess I kind of understand… he was friendly with me cuz he wanted to screw around. And now he’s decided that he can’t date me. He says it’s because I’m white. But… whatever. I’m not really white. I told him, I’m a minority, too, an immigrant. He just shook his head.
Rafael called today — I might see him tomorrow. I feel nervous. Wonder if it’s good news or bad news he has to tell me.
November 5
There’s a bump on my leg again. Arg, it’s so annoying.
Record-making two dates in one night — and NO action. Jane, my sister, the embodiment of wisdom, asked: But did u want any action from either of them?
Answer: I want aggressiveness. I always want action. I wouldn’t have minded some kissing at least — fuckall.
First was a wholly unremarkable get-together with Ben, a friend of a friend. I gave it a shot but he’s just such a quiet, nerdy guy. I couldn’t make any connection. Later I met up with Rafael… I don’t know — Che Guevara revolutionary dealing with the posthumous effects of his break-up. At least he did finally break up with his Florida girlfriend, though not until she was back in Florida after her visit. What bizarre timing. And now, of course, he’s all distraught and confused. Ack! Do I want to date him? He’s… well, a bit of a wussy, too soft for my taste. Although hooking up with him in the bar bathroom that one night was hella hot. I liked his scratchy stubble. I miss hanging out with Tariq… always trying to stick his hand down my pants. I feel like that’s what a real date SHOULD be.
Chapter 1
When the paramedics arrive it’s 4:15 a.m. I’ve been running a high fever for hours, and there is a volcanic eruption on the surface of my right shin.
“What seems to be the problem, miss?” asks the white guy, the older of the two EMTs.
By Margarita M.
Prologue
“I have a major crush on you.”
Rafael’s brown eyes glimmer with earnestness and a hefty dose of alarm. I’m surprised at his confession but not shocked.
Rafael’s girlfriend is in the main room by the bar with the rest of our friends. Meanwhile, he and I are squeezed together in the confines of this Williamsburg bar bathroom. It feels so wrong, so bad.
“I like you too,” I whisper.
He kisses me, our first kiss. His hands tangle in my hair, and the insistent touch makes my scalp tingle. Breathing goes on the backburner as I drink in the sensations of this long-awaited kiss. Our lips are eager to explore, to taste, challenging each other for more heat, more wetness, more friction. Our eager bodies take up all the space inside the bathroom surely meant for one.
Rafael and I met a year ago through my roommate Eva. In the past few weeks we’ve been spending time together at bars and coffee shops in our Brooklyn neighborhood, talking about life, politics, revolution, and relationships. Rafael is honest and a good listener. He makes me feel special and important. Also, there’s Stephanie, his girlfriend. They’ve been dating for four years. I consider that impressive. Two days ago he told me that he wasn’t looking forward to her visit. He said he’s been having doubts for the past year since she moved to Florida for school. I didn’t know how to react. My feelings for him had already swung way past platonic and into the realm of steamy romantic fantasy.
I told him that long-distance relationships are notoriously difficult to maintain. I did my best to be impartial and help him talk through his feelings. I tried to be a friend and maintain a safe distance between us.
Now here we are fervently embracing over the toilet bowl. I’m embarrassed to admit, this has happened to me before. In fact, it was less than a year ago that a slim, long-haired guitar player lured me into the bathroom at a house party to profess his affections. Jimmy also had a girlfriend. One that he lived with. One that he still lives with, in fact, despite our affair. It took almost three months for me to realize that what to me was a serious, possibly long-term relationship to him was nothing more than a charming diversion. He was bored at his office job. Jimmy worked as a producer for a porn website.
I felt betrayed and stupid for believing his bullshit, and when I broke it off with him I vowed not to get involved with unavailable men. It was too charged, and much too painful.
But here I am with Rafael.
How could I let this happen?
His body feels strong and solid against mine. He kisses the side of my jaw, then his lips move lower to the sensitive skin of my neck. I push my right hand into his chest. It’s hot in this tiny bathroom, and now my hand is stuck between us. My other hand is squeezing his arm, urging him closer. Even my two hands are in conflict.
“We should stop,” I manage to get out.
His lips move away.
Rafael backs up and leans against the door, looks down. My hands are empty. I start to adjust my outfit. My skin moans where his lips and teeth had touched it. The strained sounds of our breathing contrast with the upbeat music and laughter from the bar.
“You need to tell her,” I remind Rafael, then reach out my hand and touch his shoulder as way of reassurance. I want to say so much more. Don’t you see how good it could be between us? Don’t you realize all you need to do is end it with her and then we can be together? You want me; you don’t want her.
He reaches for me; his hands graze the sides of my torso as he helps to smooth down my tee-shirt.
“I know,” he mumbles, looking down at the neckline of my shirt. “I know.”
He kisses me again, quickly, as if he can’t help himself, then turns and shuffles out. I close and lock the door behind him, then I brace myself against the sink and stare into the mirror. The girl looking back at me is shaking her head.
“Dude, what the fuck are you doing!?” I question my flushed image in the reflection, lips wet, eyes wild, and hair sticking out at interesting angles.
It’s just that I’ve been so lonely. But I know that’s a shitty defense.
I wish I could avoid going back out to the bar. How do I face Rafael’s guilty glances, Stephanie’s questioning looks, our friends’ concern, and, worst of all, my own guilt and uncertainty?
I wrap my arms around myself and squeeze the upper arms as if holding my entire world together.
I know I can’t stay in this dingy bathroom forever. As I look into my own eyes in the mirror, I notice the music change from boring electro-rock to a soulful reggae tune, one of my absolute all-time favorite songs. I recognize it from the first few bars and gratefully begin to relax with the steady rhythm. Then the melody sweeps in, soothes my ears and swirls in my bloodstream.
Song: Natural Mystic
Performed By: Bob Marley
Lyrics By: Bob Marley
Link to Spotify Playlist: https://play.spotify.com/user/margaritam108/playlist/5Tt4QAny7KvbOwSjHZrfDh
Bob’s confidence and faith in the way things are reassures me. No matter how rotten, irritating, or untenable the situation may seem, there’s still a natural mystic, that force of Universal Love, that’s all around. I resolve to place my trust in that. So I run my fingers through my hair, open up the door, and before the song ends I’m at the bar ordering a beer to help get me through the rest of the evening.
October 29
The NBA is back! Watching the opening night doubleheader — what a pleasure. The apartment… working on it. Painting… bah. Still no heat — which is really crampin my style and my back. A little project I’m working on: a collection of my poetic stylings called “Sex - 23 meditations”. Feeling a bit blue — but blue for no reason, really.
I saw Tariq at the office. He is still a sadly closed door of emotion. I guess I kind of understand… he was friendly with me cuz he wanted to screw around. And now he’s decided that he can’t date me. He says it’s because I’m white. But… whatever. I’m not really white. I told him, I’m a minority, too, an immigrant. He just shook his head.
Rafael called today — I might see him tomorrow. I feel nervous. Wonder if it’s good news or bad news he has to tell me.
November 5
There’s a bump on my leg again. Arg, it’s so annoying.
Record-making two dates in one night — and NO action. Jane, my sister, the embodiment of wisdom, asked: But did u want any action from either of them?
Answer: I want aggressiveness. I always want action. I wouldn’t have minded some kissing at least — fuckall.
First was a wholly unremarkable get-together with Ben, a friend of a friend. I gave it a shot but he’s just such a quiet, nerdy guy. I couldn’t make any connection. Later I met up with Rafael… I don’t know — Che Guevara revolutionary dealing with the posthumous effects of his break-up. At least he did finally break up with his Florida girlfriend, though not until she was back in Florida after her visit. What bizarre timing. And now, of course, he’s all distraught and confused. Ack! Do I want to date him? He’s… well, a bit of a wussy, too soft for my taste. Although hooking up with him in the bar bathroom that one night was hella hot. I liked his scratchy stubble. I miss hanging out with Tariq… always trying to stick his hand down my pants. I feel like that’s what a real date SHOULD be.
Chapter 1
When the paramedics arrive it’s 4:15 a.m. I’ve been running a high fever for hours, and there is a volcanic eruption on the surface of my right shin.
“What seems to be the problem, miss?” asks the white guy, the older of the two EMTs.
Available for purchase as of January 2014
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