Amber Night

You're gonna break another heart, you're gonna tell another lie.

And I'd have gotten away with it, if it hadn't been for those meddling kids.

We'll call my friend at the burger joint "Alice." After jumping off the phone with me, she did what anyone in her position would do. She notified her co-workers of the forthcoming show. Here's how she expected it to go down: Amber walks into the restaurant and confronts the cheating bastard Trevor. Trevor starts blubbering that it's not how it looks. Alice backs me up and reminds Trevor of all the kissy-facing he's been doing in the booth for the last half hour. Amber perhaps makes a small scene and stomps out of the restaurant. Trevor is booed by the employees and customers as he scuttles away, roach-like.

Here's how it went down. Amber walks up to the happy couple and starts wanging on Trevor's head with a tennis racket. Carolyn has the good sense to jump the fuck out of the way. Alice pulls Amber away, but not before Amber gets a couple really solid connections. There is a cacophony of what can only be described as guttural "words" coming from Amber's mouth that makes sailors, if indeed there are any in the restaurant at the time, blush.  There is a campus policeman in the dining room. We're off-campus, so he doesn't really have jurisdiction here, but he apparently feels like he should do something. It takes campus cop and Alice a full five minutes or so to calm Amber the fuck down, and in the meantime Trevor and Carolyn have quietly left the scene. The campus cop eventually decides that since the "victim" (hahaha!) has left the scene, there is no reason to call the real cops. Meh, sometimes these guys are cool. Alice walks Amber home where they both consume mass quantities of Cuervo Gold, Cherry Garcia, and Biography Channel.

The tennis racket remains MIA to this day. I'm pretty sure the cop took it from me. It's all a blur, but I imagine that it probably involved the campus SWAT team mobilizing and surrounding the burger joint. I stood in a campus helicopter's spot light, dazed and confused, coming down off my estrogen rage high. Some disheveled detective with a loudspeaker is saying "Come on Amber, drop the racket. Nobody needs to die here today. Your parents are very worried." Somewhere in the growing crowd a policeman is holding my mother back as she sobs "what did we do wrong?" Some guy in a black ballcap and racket-proof vest is on a radio muttering "Raptor 4, do you have the shot? Take the shot Raptor 4. Take the shot!" Fortunately for me, there is a baby who keeps walking in Raptor 4's line of fire. Eventually I drop the racket, where it is carried off by a robot and exploded in some kind of canister. Someone else drapes a blanket over my shoulders, and Alice and I go do shots of tequila while the detective and his black partner banter about how they're getting too old.

I'm not saying that's exactly how it went down, just a possibility. Trevor, I learned later, made his way to an emergency room where he required 2 staples in his melon. I derive only a very small amount of satisfaction from this knowledge. I really had been going for the "requires a soup ladle to pour the liquid mass of what had once served as his simian brain back into his skull." But you take what you can get. Silver lining and all that.

Okay, so without further ado here's the email that kicked this whole thing off. Keep in mind that I haven't heard from Trevor in about 3 years. There are a few things I removed for brevity and to keep my friendly little stalkers guessing, but all the important bits are here. And it wouldn't be complete without commentary from yours truly.

From: Trevor
To: MeSubject: Hello

Hey hun, how ya been?

Ah, start off by comparing your ex-girlfriend to ancient tribal steppe warriors with a penchant for fiery destruction and pillaging. Flattery will get you nowhere, mister.

Hope you don't mind, [a mutual friend] gave me youremail address.  It's been a long time since we chatted

Yeah, funny that. As I recall, the last time we "chatted" was roughly 24 hours before you bagged the trash with Carolyn.

and I wanted to see how you were doing.  I knowthere's a lot of water under our bridges and Icould have handled things a lot better than I did.

No no no no no. The Kerry/Edwards campaign could have handled things a lot better. The guys that designed the O-rings for the Challenger could have handled things a lot better. Musso-fucking-lini could have handled things a lot better. Okay, okay, okay. You know the guy that built the Titanic, and then bragged that it was unsinkable? Even took a bunch of life boats off because they were blocking the awesome view? Yeah, that guy. Trevor (I'm speaking to Trevor now), that guy would be like "Dude. You are a complete and utter fuck-up. I mean I've done some stupid things in my life, but damn Trevor. You um…you really could have handled that a lot better. Douche bag."

I've been thinking of you a lot lately.  I've said sorry before, but I really mean it.  I'm just so sorry that I hurt you.

I have to admit, my heart softened a little here. The guy got mauled with a tennis racket, 2 staples to the head, and he's sorry that he hurt me. Hell, I was fine. Just a raging hangover and a slight case of tennis elbow, really. Oh yeah, and a gigantic fucking broken heart, Trevor.

[Some gag-me-with-a-spoon prose about how Carolyn was a bad choice and they broke up soon after]

Precious. Simply…precious. Oh please let it be because he caught Carolyn doing the rumpy-pumpy with the starting lineup for the Denver Broncos. And the practice squad. And the guys that sell the beer and nachos. And the Colorado Rockies, who really deserve to score once in awhile anyway. Oh…pleeeeaaaasseee…

It didn't work out, and I know now that I was stupid to have thought the grass was somehow greener on the other side.  If it's any consolation, it was all as you said.

So now I'm a cow? A fortune-telling cow? That pretty much negates any points gained on the whole "sorry I hurt you" thing.

Not asking for you to take me back or anything. But I am
hoping we can be friends again.

Oh yes. Friends. Like, haha remember oh buddy of mine that time I caught you sucking Carolyn's face so hard I thought the skin was going to peel from her perfect little face? Ahhh…good times. Good times.

Maybe get together and have dinner or something forold times sake.  Definitely not tennis (lol) but itwould be nice to see you again.

Yes…(lol) indeed, I say, stroking my fluffy white cat and adjusting my monocle. Oh no Trevor, dinner is too good for you. Perhaps…a movie. Doom or Blood Rayne, or whatever the fuck that Steve Martin water-skiing with the family thing was. Holy shit, what the hell was up with that? Did Steve Martin lose a bet where the loser has to destroy their career? And did he lose that bet like 5 movies ago? That's just embarrassing.

Something I didn't talk about in this story is Trevor's good points. That's on purpose really. See, I have to be the hero of the story. It's my story, and that's just the way it is. But to be fair, Trevor really is so much more than the wanker I make him out to be, and certainly we are more than just the sum of a single bad decision. And by we I don't mean Carolyn. I mean, there's a reason I started going out with the idiot in the first place. So how about this. Trevor, I hearby sentence you to pur
chasing the Dungeons & Dragons movie on DVD, and sitting through a complete showing. There will be a quiz, because for some reason I seem to remember a few details from that abortion gone horribly wrong. Then maybe next time I'm in Denver we can have coffee and laugh about what a slut Carolyn is. I do hope the staples didn't leave hideous hair-pattern-deforming scars. You always did have nice hair Trevor. Have a great weekend. Peace out.

This entry was posted on Friday, May 12th, 2006 at 11:23 am and is filed under Amber's Brain, It's all about me, Main Page. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.