Baby Girl Read online

  “Well, I don’t think I have said anything about that yet,” I responded, not really wanting to talk or think about going to Columbia.

  “You don’t think you have? What the fuck? What do you mean?

  Either you have mentioned it, or you have not. You’re saying you don’t know?” Heather batted her eyelashes at me as she spoke, her chin in her hands.

  “I don’t think I have. I might have earlier, maybe when we first met, but I don’t think so. I really don’t want to think about that right now,” I said as I finished my drink. I waved my hand at our waiter, getting his attention.

  “I love this place, the service is so good. And we can solve all of our problems here,” Heather said as the waiter approached.

  “Another one for both of us,” Heather said, looking in my direction for conformation.

  I nodded.

  “Hey, did I see you talking to that Timmy Jonas guy the other day?” Heather asked the waiter.

  “Yeah, we’re friends. We live across the street, in the building of lofts over there,” he said, pointing to the back of the bar.

  “Is he single?” Heather asked.

  “Nope,” he responded, smiling.

  “Are you single,” Heather asked.

  “Heather!” I said, realizing that she had probably had enough to drink.

  “It’s okay,” the waiter paused, and then continued, “I’m not single. I have a girlfriend.”

  He wore a baseball cap backward on his head most of the time, was a little taller than Heather, probably 6’- 4”, and had a well-trimmed beard. He was very nice looking, and had an exceptional demeanor. He was somewhat of a fixture at the bar, and worked almost every time we were here.

  “Well, let me get your drinks, I will be back in a minute.”

  “I should have dropped my napkin, and accidentally sucked that guy’s dick,” Heather said, laughing.

  “Heather, I can’t believe you sometimes. You have no filter between your brain and your mouth when you drink,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Well, he’s cute,” she said, pointing at the waiter.

  “And I saw that Timmy Jonas guy playing here again the other night, and he’s just fucking hot. I want a boyfriend, Kelli. I am tired of being single. I want a guy that makes me feel like he can support me, love me, and care for me, whether he can or not,” she said, her voice rising a little bit as she spoke.

  I felt sorry for Heather. She was a great looking girl, and she had a great personality. She was one of those girls that had a bad track record, and because of that track record, had a bad following of men that approached her. Guys looked at her as an easy lay, and truth be told, she was. She wasn’t an easy lay because she didn’t value sex, she was an easy lay because she felt that she had nothing more valuable to give, and if she gave sex, it would be enough. She would give a guy sex on the first night, in hopes of having him fall in love with her. She had so much to offer a guy, but no one took the time to find out. After they had sex with her, there was no reason for them to stick around, and they didn’t. It was a vicious circle that fed itself. The more men she had sex with, the more the word spread. Heather is an easy lay.

  “If you guys want to come, Timmy is playing here again on Saturday,” the waiter said as he handed us our drinks.

  “Thank you,” I said. As he started to walk away, I silently mouthed the word “sorry” to him. He smiled and shook his head.

  “You want to come watch that guy sing? Single or not, he’s really got a great voice, and the band has a good time playing together,” Heather asked.

  “Well, Erik and I are supposed to do something, I will ask him if he wants to stop by. I will let you know. It does sound fun.”

  “Well, I’d also like to see this guy in person. Who you say he is, and what I have heard from everyone else is two totally different things,” Heather said as she looked into her beer bottle with one eye.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “It tastes like water,” she said, still looking inside for some form of an answer.

  “You’re freaking drunk, that’s probably part of the problem.”

  “Maybe I am drunk, but I am not stupid. I know things. I know a lot of things. I know that I want a guy to treat me right. I know that I want someone to love me. I am not a bad person. I am so tired of guys using me. What have I ever done to deserve to be treated the way I am always treated, over and over and over? I just want a guy to fuck me and keep me for once. And I know that you need to tell Mr. Suck my dick in the movie theatre that you are going to Columbia at the end of the summer. Or you’re no better to him than the assholes are to me, Kelli,” Heather said as she finished her bottle of beer-water.

  I thought about what she had said. Drunk or not, she had a point. I truly couldn’t remember if I had mentioned it to Erik or not. I realized, listening to her talk about it that I did need to tell Erik, but I didn’t really want to. Maybe I was afraid of what he may say, or that he may tell me he was done with me. I didn’t want this to end. This feeling that he gave me, this feeling of finding a home, finding someone that finally fit me. Erik and Erik’s ways of treating me made me feel that I was finally where I needed to be. I felt, for once in my life, as if I could stay somewhere forever. I liked this feeling.

  When he called me baby girl, it made my heart feel like it was in my throat. When he told me he was proud of me, I felt full. I felt like I had actually accomplished something, something big. And when he told me that he was happy with something I had said or done, I felt complete. I felt like I had solved part of the mystery of life, the part that no one ever solves, and everyone wonders. The simple statements, you make me happy baby girl, or I’m so proud of you, baby girl, those were enough to make me melt.

  And Erik didn’t say these things just to say them; he said them because he meant them. He convinced me by saying them that whatever it was that I had done or accomplished was something that he hoped that I would do, but that he wasn’t sure that I was able to do. I waited for the next time he would say them, and tried my hardest to make him happy, hoping for the next time to come. Making Erik proud of me was enough to make me conscious of everything I said or did, even if he was not in my presence. The thought of disappointing him, even a little bit, made me sick.

  “Let’s drink these and go, Heather. I will talk to Erik, maybe we can meet here Saturday. I will find out and let you know.”

  “I’m done. Mine was weird. It was like a bottle of water,” Heather reminded me, as she held her bottle up by the neck, rocking it back and forth like a pendulum on a Grandfather clock.

  As I watched her belch, covering her mouth with the back her hand, I wondered. How many of Heather’s problems with men, how many of Heather’s one night stands could be attributed to alcohol consumption? I was not perfect by any means, but I had a one drink an hour limit, three drink maximum for a day. One day a week, I allowed myself to drink. Heather, on the other hand, drank almost daily.

  “Let me get this, no arguments,” I said as I reached into my purse.

  With her hand still covering her mouth, she nodded. I reached into my purse and got two twenty dollar bills and placed them on the table. We stood and began walking out together. As we walked across the floor of the bar, the waiter waved. I waved back, and pointed to the table. Heather hiccupped as we walked out the door into the parking lot.

  “You alright to drive?” I asked with mild concern.

  “Bitch, I’m fine to drive. Find me a boyfriend and let me know about Saturday.”

  “I will,” I said as I hugged her.

  Walking to the car, I checked my phone for messages. Disappointed that I had one from Erik, and had not realized it, I opened it.

  ERIK EAD: Baby girl, I have a question. Who owns you?

  I read it, and then read it again. Answering these questions was not only easy, for some reason it was extremely satisfying. As I typed my response I realized that I wasn’t simply answering a question. I smiled as I
pressed the send button.

  You do, sir. Every ounce of my being.

  KELLI. Men had always provided me with sexual satisfaction. I have had a man in my life to fulfill a sexual satisfaction, and that was it. I had no need, desire, or feeling of necessity to have a man actually be in my life. The thought of having a man be a part of my life, prior to meeting Erik, made me want to abandon any male that tried to attach himself to me.

  As I painted my nails, I wondered what Erik would say about them. He noticed things like this. He noticed everything. He not only noticed, but he commented. He commented on how I smelled, and if it was different. He commented on my skin tone, my nails, my clothes, shoes, watches, hair, hair color, attitude, the tone of my voice.

  Everything that I did, I thought of him. He had consumed me. He has crawled inside of me and become part of me, part of my day-to-day life. Even when he is not in my presence, he is part of everything that I do. He is in my mind. He has infected me.

  I paint my nails and I hope. I hope that he praises me. I hope that he smiles. I hope that when he says what he says, whatever it may be, that he ends it with those two words. Baby girl.

  I am ruined.

  ERIK. Broken People. I had completed the book, and immediately read it again. The parts about codependency and today’s youth were spot-on. I had never, however, looked at people as broken, only different. We are all different. Looking at humanity as broken was a different approach, and the attraction of broken people to broken people of a similar likeness was ingenious.

  Something in me clicked when I read it, like the flip of a switch. All my education, intelligence, people skills, training, understanding, experience, and knowledge were tossed aside. I sat, with an empty mind, and absorbed what I had read. One other part of the book made me think. It was a more difficult part to come to terms with, but an easy part to comprehend and understand.

  “Marc, you don’t give someone your love. They take it. Love is taken. And, when someone takes your love, you will know it. Do you understand?” she asked. I did not understand. I nodded. She smiled. We had this discussion often. The taking of love. Last year, she placed her hand on my shoulder. She said nothing. I looked in her eyes. I was seventeen. “Yes,” I said. “Yes what, Marc,” she responded. “Yes, I understand,” I smiled. We embraced. She smiled. It was summer. My mother. My best friend. “Yes, mother, I understand,” I said again. She smiled. Again.

  The taking of love. It made sense. We have little, if any, control over what we feel. And, according to the book, there is no wrong way to feel. I believe that. I have always believed that. How do we know when someone takes our love? I thought. I wondered. I tried to recall every woman I had ever encountered and spent any time with. I tried to decide if I had ever actually loved one of them. I decided, quickly, that I had not.

  Someone cannot take, easily, what is protected from their grasp. The taking of love--or the taking of one’s heart--could be easy, I supposed, from someone that had minimal effort in place to protect it. Someone that had erected walls to protect their heart from being taken would be less subject to the theft.

  Theft.

  The act or an instance of stealing; larceny.

  I decided as I sat and thought, after the first time I read the book, that I had erected walls to protect what I felt was in need of protection; my heart. Not because I was afraid of theft, afraid of it being taken, or afraid of love - protected because I don’t like feeling pain. Pain from the loss of what it is that we love.

  If we don’t love, we don’t feel pain. If we don’t have expectations, we never have disappointment if the expectations aren’t met. My heart was protected to protect me. Like a gladiator’s armor protecting his heart from the lance of his opponent.

  It would take a gladiator with a cunning nature, keen skills, considerable strength, ability, diversity, and endurance to have an opportunity to take my heart. To take my love. After I read the book a second time, I felt vulnerable. I felt unprotected. I felt changed. And that change, for me, was uncomfortable in many ways. My armor set aside, I was exposed to the threat of my opponent’s advances.

  To believe that, after 36 years of living, a simple book, written by a simple man, could change me. The thought was unnerving. Time passes and things change, yet another quote from the book. Change is as inevitable as the tide. I sat on the edge of my weight bench and thought.

  I contemplated lifting weights, as if the strength gained from the workout would provide protection. I felt like a soldier in combat, standing before the opposition, weaponless. I felt weak. I wondered if, for all of these years, I had actually been the person that I was becoming, and it had taken a book of unconventional wisdom to get me to realize it.

  My mother, unlike Marc’s mother in the book, was not a woman to discuss things like love and compassion. I suspect, in retrospect, that my mother was hurt from the loss of my father more than she ever let me know. She too was an only child, as was my father. Growing up, I always had her, and I never really took the time to think of what she did or did not have as a support system.

  I sat on my weight bench, without protection from harm, and cried. I cried for my mother. I cried because I had lost my father. I cried because I had no siblings. I never got an opportunity to run to a pomegranate tree, rub fruit on my siblings, and get yelled at when I got home. I would, in a sense, now trade anything to have had a father scream at me and call me a dumb fuck.

  Wiping a lifetime of tears from my eyes, I stood. I stretched. Although I knew that I would always be dominant in a sexual relationship, somewhat manipulative, and very slow to accept others into my life, I stood…open to the thought of loving someone. I stood sensitive to the thought of that person being Kelli.

  Kelli had proven to me that she was everything that I had ever wanted a woman to be. She was willing, able, and so far, had been open-minded enough to consider all that I had exposed her to. I certainly had not exposed her to all that I had intended to, but if her past performance was indicative of what the future held, she would do extremely well.

  Excited for what the future may hold, I went to the shower. I stood in the shower like when I was a teen, letting the water run over me until there was no more hot water left. Just standing and letting the water pelt me into a trance.

  I got out of the shower and dressed, sitting back on the edge of the weight bench. I compared my feelings to the same type of feeling I received after watching a feel-good movie, or a love story like The Notebook. You leave the theatre full of inspiration, and that feeling, in a few days, fades.

  I knew the degree of what I felt would eventually lessen. But how I felt about life, about love, and about the potential of being able to love was real. I have lived a life with walls erected around me and armor protecting my heart. These things, as I read that book, were broken. After reading the book a second time, they had truly crumbled.

  The helpless emotional child on the corner of the weight bench was proof of this. Conscious of my vulnerability, I made a decision to tell Kelli nothing. I would proceed with this relationship and see what she felt, and what she made me feel. If she, in fact, captured my heart, or stole my love, I would allow it. In the interim, we would continue a Dominant/submissive relationship of friendship and sex, she being none the wiser of my epiphany.

  The thought of any form of progress in this relationship excited and scared me both. We fear what we aren’t certain of, and I had no experience with loving, actual relationships, or commitment. The lack of experience gave me no certainty, and that lack of certainty fed my fear.

  My fire of fear fueled with thoughts of Kelli, and her willingness to provide me with whatever I wished of her, I stood from the bench. I had every intent of eventually leaving Kelli when we met. My thoughts, now, of her being in my life caused me discomfort.

  We fear the uncertain. That, if nothing else is, is certain.

  KELLI. Trying to make sense of what my mind went through on a typical weekend would probably make the be
st of psychologists go insane. I think all girls are probably the same. We get up on Saturday, and even if we have nothing planned for the day, we struggle with what to wear, what to do with our hair, and what to do for shoes. After trying on everything that I had in the closet for about five seconds, tossing it on the bed, trying something else, and tossing it, and continuing that for a half hour, I would finally settle on something. I did this for years. Only recently had I set limits for myself. If I couldn’t decide in about five minutes, I would default. My default had become shorts, a tee shirt, and Chucks. In the last two years, it had become somewhat of a staple, and my trademark weekend attire.

  What I was going to do, and where I was going to go was always a struggle. I felt, for most of my life, as if I needed someone to make decisions for me. Having someone tell me to be at a certain place at a certain time, and to be dressed a certain way was comforting. Some girls looked at it as control, but I looked at it as relief. Relief from making decisions that I normally struggle with. I’m like a duck on the pond; what you see above the water is still and calm, but what is hidden are his little feet that are paddling a hundred miles an hour. On the outside, I appeared to be a calm, intelligent, collected woman. On the inside, my entire life was a huge compressed pile of worry. Worrying what I was doing, if it was what was acceptable, and what people, primarily men, would think.

  Until I met Erik, I really did not care, long term, what a man thought about what I wore, and where I was or what I was doing, but I did. I cared about the opinion, and their feelings to a certain extent, by nature. I didn’t so much care about them. There was a part of me that I always wondered about, and never really cared to talk about - the part of me that felt that I had to do whatever I had to do within my power to make a man happy. If the man was disappointed with me, I felt that it was my fault. It literally had the ability to crush me. If a man was satisfied with me, and expressed it, it was like Christmas morning. I would be so happy that he was happy that the feeling would often carry over for weeks.