Moose Lodge
a what if
I thought I lied. The last time we were here I had signed the letter to the kind Moose Lodge lady “See you soon”, punctuated with a smiley face through my tears. I didn’t see us ever coming back. You told me that you’d miss how thoughtful I am; the kind of person to consistently write a thank you note to this Airbnb host who, at most, we had only ever waved to. I’m still not sure why or how this shed-converted lodge became our tradition, but it was quaint and wooded, and none of the windows faced the Moose Lodge lady’s home, so we could break the no-smoking rule in peace. Why would you bring me here again so pointlessly? I know that we had fantasized about what it might look like in the summer, but I think I liked it better when I could immortalize our initials in the snow. Moose Lodge sounds like February to me still, anyway. I think it always will. Why did we have to taint it with July?
I’ve just broken up with someone else a week before coming here, but I’m not going to tell you that. Not until I can position it perfectly through my scope to your heart. Jasper is a weapon at this point. He’s immortalized on my arm. I know it will hurt to hear a man has loved me after you. You don’t need to know we ended because I couldn’t say it back. I couldn’t even call him my boyfriend. Maybe that’s why I’m here. We exchange pleasantries. You look good… Yeah, you too. Shit like that. I keep the bullet that is Jasper loaded in the back of my mind, for now. You study me across the yellow wood two-leaf table, your Eagles hat blocking the moose-themed bottle-opener magnet I had used to pin that last thank-you note on. I can feel myself return the gaze, hoping for those same words from you, just so I can not reciprocate again. Maybe it’ll hurt the way you hurt me last February. I’m probably still resentful that you had to end things on my birthday.
I made the mistake of looking at your Instagram, you confess. Is that why I’m here? Fuck. Couldn’t we do this over coffee? I think I should have identified the objective before coming here. I just liked the nostalgia and romanticism of it all. Why the fuck did Alexa let me come? I don’t want to get back together, but I like the idea that you might. My leg shudders, restless with the premonition of your next inquiry. I crack each knuckle meticulously, ready for the ring.
Who the hell did you go to Costa Rica with? You swing, disguising your displeasure with a tone of jest. I have been so drunk with the afterglow of our breakup I forgot you can unblock me to check in at any point. Frankly, I’ve been whoring around on Instagram. The modest version of myself you once knew flew out the window the second your ever-comparing eyes were taken off me. I am no longer burdened with your thoughts of an impossible ranking or the imposition of another. Yet here I am again—I’ve placed myself under the scrutiny of your gaze ready to go another round. Haven’t you had enough? Isn’t that why we called it quits after a few years and faltering talks of marriage? Why the fuck did you bring me here?
His name is Sasha. It was our first date, he flew me there to meet him. He lives in London… it’s not like we’re together. As if that makes it any easier for you to digest. Jasper is no longer the weapon, but I still go right for the heart. I know what post you are talking about. Manically captioned ‘don’t fuck w me right now i’m too magnetic xoxoxo’, it was a photo dump of me in a bikini trifling around Costa Rica, sprinkled with the idea of a new mysterious man. The hint of a foot that isn’t yours on a bed you aren’t in, the chest of a man that isn’t you, flexing as he polishes his new surfboard. I keep him faceless and untagged on purpose. I love the frustration at your fingertips. I can taste the salt on your tongue from across the table, the distance between us growing more with every question you launch. The interrogation of my five months without you continues. I thought I was here because you miss me. At least that’s what you lured me here with. The stupid moose clock keeps track of the seconds that pass, I swear it’s taunting me with each tick taking longer than the last. Are we going to hate fuck or not?
written july 10, 2023