My Last Uber Ride / by Megan DiBello

I got out of the cab, at my house, and barely said thanks.

The night started off smelling like too much weed and him trying to suppress his anxiety.

Have you ever felt the feeling of, I wish he would just love me? No? Well you’re lucky. If you said yes, well, you’re in lucky, and turn to page 3 in my heart, page 4 is wondering if I really love someone else.

Perhaps you will find a mess of notes, random ideas from a poetry reading or travels on the G train.

Perhaps you will find really sad ink. Eh, when one is sad, it’s easy to anthropomorphize everything as sad, with a pulse or not.

Like telling a child that touched the oven it was hot after the fact, or telling the child I told you so, or telling the child you should have listen to mommy, this is how I felt laying in my puffer coat in the back of an UBER (clearly he didn’t delete his app).

We started it up again.

It’s like my parents car, some piece of shit they keep investing money into, when really, who are these people? They used to lease the top cars and make the dealership fix the issues or return the car for a new one.

Now, much like them, I keep investing my emotions into someone even when the gas tank is empty I fill it, if we need to go on a road trip with the car, I will tune it up, when we are happy, I will make sure the radio works or iphone hook up because the windows need to be down, and goddammit if they don’t work, well, I have the mindset that they can always be fixed.

Even the greatest relationship analogy won’t fix someone's sheer destiny to disregard their truth as the ultimate truth that everyone should deny. Like time. Like 2017 technology. Like social media, like have I taught you nothing? You know I can see the last time you were on FB right?

The saddest part is the person whose own truth is so murky like a stomach after a night of too much beer and pizza and damn, who knows what the bathroom will be like tomorrow or shit even in the middle of the night, eh, I digress, you get the point.

I tried playing the I am sorry, it was all me game, I confessed I am opinionated, I lead with my ego, I like to go out to too many events, i IT”S REALLY ABOUT US, I WILL LIVE IN A SHIT HOLE WITH YOU. And he said, it’s too late, like whattt, like are you getting married? Maybe he is? It seems only the logical of ideas.

I saw him again for drinks, and when I dropped him off in the cab I felt like waking up right when the heat comes on, warm and cozy and even the dance I do into slippers, turning on the hot shower and stepping into the shower right as it hits warm, my body will refuse to be cold… righhht. Anyway, you get what I mean.  It was a bathwater transition in realizing that even the water turns off, there is that gap in moments where you have to reach for the damn towel and thus, cold even for a moment. That cold part of me is yearning for his “somebody” to really be me, but why? I recall old childhood yearnings of wanting to be wanted and understood like hey mom, why the hell did you buy me BLUE jeans when I wanted BLACK jeans, DON’t YOU KNOW ME?!

I am not a victim.

I cause most of my own problems leading my life from emotion and not logic.

And then we got drunk. Well I guess I paid for us to get drunk.

It’s really sad I know this, but it’s the only way he tells the truth.

That Samantha Leon song of, he only loves you when he is fucked up, soooo true! Get it GURRL. Think about it, take down all walls of childhood abuse and bullshit and when do you get, ding ding ding vulnerability, thank you alcohol for being that one minute muse.

I also feel that getting angry at my ex is like getting angry at customer service. Even though I can see him it’s as if he is miles away, and I can’t understand his non-verbals, and everything he says lacks context. I never signed up to be a translator of another language especially the language of his emotions.