Page 94 of Lovebug
“Can we not say ‘spurt from Bert’ again, please?” Bert blurts as he struggles.
“Sure!” I chirp. “I can stop saying ‘spurt from Bert.’”
“You just said ‘spurt from Bert again’!!” he wails. He’s getting incensed now
“Oh shoot. I did say spurt from Bert again. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you saying sorry to this guy?” Wally snarls. “No one should be saying sorry to this guy.”
“You’re right! Bert, the only thing I’m sorry about is that it took me this long to break up with you.“
“Get! Off! Of! Me!”
“You got it, bro,” Wally says nonchalantly. “I’m tired of cuddling with you. Off you go!”
With that, Wally releases him. Apparently Bert didn’t expect to actually be freed at that exact second, because he loses complete control of himself and crashes right into James’ makeshift cocktail table, splashing the seasonal brew all over you-know-who.
Me.
I’m suddenly transported back to the summer I was fifteen and worked at a retirement center as a busgirl in the cafeteria. One day while I was walking to the dishwasher with a huge tray on my shoulder, loaded with sauce-covered dishes, half empty water glasses and dirty steak knives, I tripped. Instead of letting everything fall to the ground, my good girl instincts told me to catch as much as I could so they wouldn’t break. The only thing I managed to catch was a steak knife in my arm.
I didn’t catch a steak knife this time, but I did manage to bathe in seasonal summer ale and catch a bottle of Tap Dat Asp with my tits.
That didn’t sound right did it, me saying the word tits? Even in my internal monologue it felt wrong. I guess I just liked the potential alliteration of tap and tits. But in hindsight, boobs would have been the better more “me” choice.
Anyway, I’m currently on the grass, with a bra full of syrup, crumbled honeycomb in my hair and beer... everywhere.
Two male voices say simultaneously “I’m so sorry Mabel” just as two male hands reach toward me to help me up.
I look left at Bert, the guy I thought I’d always be connected to, the boy I met in high school. The man I said I’d marry. Then I look up and to my right and see Wally, a guy who for all intents and purposes I know very little about, but with whom I already feel safer and more understood in the few days since I’ve met him than I did the entire time I was with the man on my left.
I take a deep breath and reach my hand to the right.
Wally’s large hand wraps around my small one and guides me to my feet. I take in our surroundings for the first time since Bert made his appearance and see that a small crowd has gathered. I feel my face turn ten shades of red.
“Louise?” Wally calls over his shoulder as he puts his palm on the small of my back. Can you look after Mabel’s booth for a few minutes.?
“Sure! Absolutely.” she says.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Wally whispers and turns me toward the path down the hill.
I can feel Bert’s eyes burning into my back as we walk away, but I keep my eyes straight ahead this time, far more interested in where I’m going than in where I used to be.
We walk briskly down the hill, away from festival-goers. After a bit of silence, Wally is the first one to speak.
“I’m sorry about that. Had I known he was going to barrel his way into you like a spastic bull, I would have held on to him longer. Are you okay? The cups didn’t crack, right? They didn’t hurt you?”
“No no, I’m fine. A little embarrassed maybe, but fine.”
“Okay good.” He exhales.
“Areyouokay, though?”
I can’t help but notice how aggravated he seems, how out of breath and full of angsty energy he is. He’s also walking pretty fast all of a sudden and I’m having a hard time keeping up with him. I haven’t even thought to ask him where he’s taking me.
“That guy,” he huffs. “Your ex? Know who he reminds me of?”
“No. Who?”
