Why

Every now and then I find myself curled in a ball, asking why it seems like I have nothing I want. I wonder what I did to deserve this life, and generally feel sorry for myself. Sometimes I remember things like the way I treated Harvey. Then I don't really question why any more.

I knew he was in trouble as soon as his jaw dropped as I entered his freshman dorm room one hot August night. One of my co-workers started attending the college where I had been partying, so I stopped by to visit him during his freshmen orientation week. I hadn't really felt like changing after my shift at the movie theatre, so I left my grandfather's white button down shirt where it was, and exchanged my baggy pants for a holey old pair of jean shorts I had borrowed from a male friend and never returned. Since the shorts were so full of holes, I wore paisley boxers underneath them. To top off my oh-so-stylish look, I was sporting steel toed black combat boots. Uh huh. Poor Harvey had never seen anything quite like me up close.

Within five minutes, I realized that their next door neighbor, and RA, was the only ex I had on campus. Awesome. Harvey's jaw dropped a little further when the guy who was supposed to be helping them adjust walked in, and I ripped him apart, in their room. I stuck around for an hour or two, then clomped off to the fraternity basement where I spent a lot of time. Harvey came to a few parties with my friend, but it wasn't really his scene.

He mostly came to see me. His frank confusion in my presence amused the hell out of me, so I suppose I encouraged him in his very mild mannered pursuit of me. Eventually, he grabbed me and kissed me. We made out for a liitle while. His clumsy kisses did nothing to endear him to me. Finding out that he had never made out with anyone before did though. Actually, it endeared him to me, and put an instant block in my head at the same time, for I had a three year old daughter. It was she who named him Harvey, after repeatedly pretending she couldn't remember his real name.

Throughout the next year to year and a half, Harvey was around the periphery of my life. Quite frankly, I treated him like shit. I made out with him sporadically, while wishing he'd go away, or be more fun, or stand up to me, or something, anything but putting up with my rude bullshit. He'd buy us concert tickets, I'd make plans to meet other guys there and ignore him. I'd stand with him at parties, pondering out loud the best way to approach a hot guy. He was never rude, or mean, or even snotty.

Every now and then he'd find a way to quietly and respectfully call me out. That was enough to make me give in and be nicer for a short time. While all this was happening, the rest of my life was spiraling out of control. I attended, and failed out of his college. I descended into the bottom of a drink cup, puking or blacking out every night. Through it all, Harvey was my calm in the middle of the storm. Whenever I needed to just be, no drinking or entertaining, or trying, I'd go to him.

One night I had puked three or four times by 6PM. Everyone around passed out. I had plans for some friends to pick me up to go to the bar in a few hours, and knew that if I fell asleep, I was done for the night. I went to Harvey's. He lost his virginity. Afterward, I got up and puked all over his bathroom. The thing was, Harvey was good. We clicked there, even though I had spent a long time avoiding it.

Unfortunately, his lean, muscular body above my own pudgy, abused body created an even bigger rift in my head. Seeing him like that reminded me that he was too good for me. Instead of approaching that properly, I continued things as they had been, with the addition of sex followed by puking. I can only hope he never had to resolve a sex = her puking issue later. For a few months, I knocked on his door when I wanted to be sober and watch cartoons, or when I was drunk and lonely.

One night the guilt hit me after my wave of nausea. I looked up at him and slurred, "I hope you're not in love with me or anything cuz I've been fucking a few other guys." The look on his face cut through my drunken stupor. I left. A few days later, he asked if I remembered saying that. I told him that I did, and that it was true, but I didn't apologize. Within a few weeks, he had dropped out, and left for good.