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It wouldn't be so hard to return calls and be more genuinely modest, but it's too late for these friends. $hey wouldn't be able to see that I'm not a drag any more. I need clean new people who associate me with fun.$his is my number two problem, I am ne!er satisfied with what I ha!e. It goes hand in hand with my number one problem, rushing. Maybe they aren't so much hand in hand, as two hands of the same beast. Maybe they are my hands; I am the beast. I had a crush on e!in for thirteen years before he finally started liking me back. &e wasn't interested at first because I was a child. I was twel!e and he was twenty3fi!e.$hen after I turned eighteen it took him se!en more years to think of me as a real adult, not his student anymore. *n our first date I wore a dress that I had bought when I was se!enteen especially for this occasion. It was out of style but I'm superstitious so I wore it. *n the way to the restaurant we stopped at a gas station. I sat in the car and watched a teenage boy clean the windshield while e!in pumped the gas. $he boy used the squeegee with a kind precision that made you know that this wasn't #ust his field of interest, this was e(actly it, this was all he had e!er wanted to do. 2a. %s we pulled out of the gas station I stared through my perfect, clean window at the teenager and I thought, I should be with him. $he man on the stairs pauses for such incredibly long periods of time I almost wonder if he is ha!ing a problem. 2ike maybe he's disabled, or !ery old. *r maybe #ust really tired. Maybe he's already killed e!eryone else on the block and now he's all worn out. In moments I can almost see him, leaning against the banister, his eyes swimming in the darkness. My eyes are open too. e!in's eyes are shut, he is so far away and he always will be. $he silent pause stretches longer and longer and gradually I wonder if the man is there at all. $he only sound is e!in breathing. )hat if I spend the rest of my life in this bed, listening to e!in breathe. "ut lo. % strong and certain creak issues from the stairwell and what I feel is thrilling relief. &e is really there, he is on the stairs, and he is coming closer in his own breathtakingly slow way. If I li!ed to see daylight I would ne!er forget this lesson in care. &e was putting more care in to hunting me than I had e!er put into anything in my life. %nd it was worth it, because he had earned my admiration. I don't think anyone has e!er admired me the way I admired him. )hat if I were to spend this much time listening to Marilyn, what would happen+ Maybe she would adore me and then I would respect her and we would both become professional #azz singers or at least reckless but safe dri!ers. Maybe. Maybe the man on the stairs would come in our car with us and when he looked scared by our reckless dri!ing I would hold his head close to my lips and whisper, It's safer than walking. I opened the co!ers and stepped out of bed. I was only wearing a tee shirt and I didn't put on pants because who cares. Maybe he would be halfnaked too; maybe he would be headless and co!ered in blood. I stood in the doorway of the stairwell, on the top step. It was darker there than in the bedroom, and I could see nothing. I stood and waited to die or for my eyes to ad#ust, whiche!er came first. "efore I could see anything, I could hear him breathing. &e was right in front of me. I leaned forward into the darkness; I could feel his breath. *ur faces were almost together. I could smell his sourness. It wasn't good, he wasn't good, he did not ha!e good intentions. I stood there, and he stood there, and he breathed out the bitter air that makes women doubt e!erything, and I breathed it in.%nd I e(pelled my dust, the powder of e!erything I had destroyed with doubt, and he pulled it in to his lungs. My eyes were ad#usting and I saw a man, an ordinary man, a stranger. )e were staring into each other's eyes and suddenly I felt angry. "o awa!, I whispered. "et out. "et out of m! house. %fter we pulled out of the gas station, we dro!e to a restaurant that e!in thought I might like. "ut I was still thinking about the boy with the squeegee and I systematically did the opposite of e!erything that e!in wanted. I didn't order desert or wine, #ust a little salad, which I complained about. "ut he did not gi!e up; he made #okes, ridiculous #okes in the car on the way back to my apartment. I steeled myself against laughter; I would rather die than laugh. I didn't laugh, I did not laugh. "ut I died; I did die.