The Melanie Cycle

The first time I saw her, she was sitting on her feet, leaning forward into her conversation. She was talking to Michael, my friend from my old neighborhood. I was meeting him there, but my attention was on her, not him, as I took my seat next to him. She looked up at me, but her trail of words did not stop. She seemed like the type to not take a breath in between her words. She also seemed to enjoy having more of an audience to preach to, as she sat back to give me space to enter the conversation. When she ended her thought, she finished it with, "Hi, my name is Melanie," and stuck out her hand for me to shake. I shook it and introduced myself.

Michael now took a moment to recognize that I had arrived. He knocked into me slightly, almost as if bouncing a hug off me, and smiled. He turned to me apologetically, and I knew he was going to say something I didn't want to hear. "I have to leave in a half hour. I'm sorry. I know we've been planning this, but my family..." He trailed off, and gave me a look that told me I shouldn't question him further. Melanie sat back awkwardly, pretending to study the marble notebook that was open in front of her. The waitress appeared as I granted Michael absolution. I ordered a milkshake and leaned back into the comfy couch to absorb more of the situation. I wondered if he already had dibs on this girl.

What happened that night was a random intermingling of strangers. The café we were in encouraged it openly. The café was dark, the room we were in a smoky haze of people sitting on eclectic pieces of furniture that had probably been collected at garage sales. The café had no tables, only couches and armchairs; most nights you ended up sitting on the same couch with strangers and talking for hours over good coffee drinks, milkshakes, and expensive desserts. The music was a little too loud for easy conversation, but it was still one of our favorite places.

Michael politely asked Melanie if she minded before lighting a cigarette, even though we were in the smoking section. "Of course not," she replied, shaking her head, but when he offered her one, she declined. She and Michael returned to their babble about the book she was writing. I supposed that the book was the contents of the marble notebook on her lap. I could see the words "God and the Universe" at the top of one page, and doodles and drawings scattered among the words. I sat back and sipped my milkshake, studying the beautiful girl across from us. Her hair was long and red. Her curls shook as she spoke. Her hands were small and had rings on most of the fingers. Her face was heart shaped and freckled, with a sweet looking mouth and concerned eyes. She had a curvy body and was utterly feminine, despite her rugged dress. Her legs stuck out of boyish khaki pants and were covered by a light blonde fuzz, and her curves were covered by a plain black tee shirt.

I heard my name and realized I had been daydreaming when I saw Michael stand up. I stood to say goodbye to him. "I'm sorry again. I'll call you soon," he said apologetically. I smiled goodbye and sat back down to my milkshake, figuring that I would finish it and get out of there fast, so that I did not become the next victim of the lecture on God and the Universe. When I looked up, she was studying me the same way I had been studying her, and I wondered what was going through her head. Soon things started getting confusing. She slurped up the rest of her milkshake, then stood to leave. I thought she would say goodbye and walk out without me, but instead she picked up my check along with hers and walked to the cash register. I followed her curiously, and watched her pay, then walk out the door. She was confident that I would follow her, and I did. I watched her yell at a random stranger, "Do you know how badly you're abusing your body with those cancer sticks you're sucking down?"

I mused over the fact that she was a different person from when trying obviously to impress Michael. We stood on the sidewalk for a moment, then started walking. She walked close next to me, brushing my side with hers once in a while. I wondered if it was intentional. She strode into the park that we had come across. The park was a favorite of mine. My friends and I had often gone there after the café closed for the night, because the tall trees that bordered the playground made created a private area in which to hang out. She sat on one of the swings and started to sway back and forth gently. She gave me a wide smile when I stood behind her to push her. When she got high enough for her satisfaction, she jumped off and started off to the jungle gym. I strolled over to where she was sitting on the ground, and she pulled me down next to her. We hadn't spoken much until then. She quietly asked, "Do you live far from here?"

"Just a few blocks," I responded. She kissed me then, and we walked the few blocks to my apartment.

We were fairly giddy by this point. I was tickled by the fact that she had known that I liked her, that she liked me back, and we were giggly the whole way there. My apartment is on the 5th floor, and instead of waiting for the elevator, we chased each other up the stairs, laughing the entire way. When we got up to my place, I opened the door, and we collapsed onto the floor in the front hallway, our sides heaving. She pulled me in towards her and kissed me deeply. I pushed the door shut with my foot, and led her towards my bedroom.

I heard her leave during the night. I didn't try to stop her, or ask her why.

I started hanging out around the café more often, in hopes that I'd see her again. One night, a few weeks later, I was in my apartment when I heard a knock. I knew it was her. She stood smiling in my doorway, and we went down the street to the café. We were seated on one of the couches, and she practically sat in my lap the entire time. Her body was curled against mine, and my arms were around her. We didn't infringe heavily on the "No love making during peak hours" request that graces the front page of the menu, but we did get a few curious side-glances from others in the room. I couldn't stop touching her. I ran my hands up and down her legs and couldn't keep my fingers out of those crazy curls of hers. She tried to pull her hair back into a ponytail a few times, but I kept pulling the scrunchie out to leave it loose. That's almost a perfect analysis of how most of our time was spent together after that. She constrained things; I left them uninhibited.

She called me sometimes, just to talk, or to tell me that she'd be coming over or going to the café. I never called her. It was something that wasn't supposed to happen, some kind of unspoken rule between us. Once, when she called me early on a Saturday, I knew it was on a whim. I could sense her upset when she asked me to go to the mall with her. She picked me up and we left silently, but when we got to the mall, we just sat in the car, not moving. When she finally spoke, she told me her dramatically troubled tale of her friends and how they couldn't understand her.

"You understand me like no one else," she said, looking up at me. I kissed her, then dabbed the tears from her eyes with the corner of my sleeve.

When we went into the mall, nothing was the same. We were in different territory. I held her hand, but she would drop it every few seconds. When I put my hand at her back, she walked faster, so that I was not touching her. We went around the mall this way, until I gave up and left her alone. She seemed to sigh sadly on the inside when it happened, but also gave an audible sigh of relief.

Within that hour at the mall, she had ruined everything perfect about her. I took it personally. She was ashamed of being with me; she regretted ever asking me to come to the mall with her. She regretted buying me a milkshake at the café and kissing me in the park. She was ashamed of making love to me and sleeping in my arms afterwards. She was happy she had left without saying goodbye.

We sat in the Panera in the mall, eating bagels and cream cheese, and she told me about her exciting plans for the weekend. I didn't care what she was doing that weekend. No, I cared; I cared that she wasn't spending it with me, even if it was in the secret world of our café. She was going to a concert with some friends, and she explained that the situation was awkward, because there were three different friends, plus the older brother of a friend, and she was going to make it her goal to hook up with each of them. I closed my eyes and wondered why she was telling me this. Was it was a message that she didn't want to be with me, or if it was just another fun part of her game of impressing people?

When we were back in the café a few weeks later, she acted like the trip to the mall had never happened. Then, in no time, it was months and months down the road, and still, nothing had changed between us. After thoroughly scoping out the place to see if there was anyone she could possibly know, she snuggled into me, whispered sweet things to me, and relaxed. I absently played with her hair, but I didn't know what I could say to her. I had never asked her about that weekend that she went to the concert. I just watched her drink her milkshake, that I knew she would feel guilty for later, then spend time working out at the gym to make up for it. I knew she'd tell everyone that she was going to go do a major workout, because she wanted them to be in awe of her for one more reason.

She had been talking and talking, while I was just thinking, and she stopped to poke at me because I was not listening. She turned to face me questioningly, and I imagined the words coming out of my mouth. I imagined saying to her, "You can't make me miserable to compensate for the loneliness that you bring upon yourself. You can't pretend that you know what you want, and ask for it, then change when someone else has their heart set on it. You can't drag me along on your emotional rollercoaster, and you can't mess with my emotions the way you have been for the last year. You need to think of other people, stop being selfish and shallow, and stop pretending you're something you're not."

I watched it all play through; the way she would yell back at me for a while, and then promise to change, if I didn't first leave without saying goodbye. I couldn't force myself to say those words to her. She was too predictable. Nothing would ever change, nothing could ever change. I was stuck in the Melanie cycle.