Shree

I’m a stupid fucking idiot. I have this problem with Raina, and I need help. So what do I do? Go to a therapist? Call a doctor? No, I call Maxwell.

There’s a lot of things about Maxwell that people might not get if they just meet him. I mean, don’t get me wrong; he’s a cool guy. Smart, funny -- all that shit. But the guy just can’t relate to people. He’s about as intuitive as a piece of wood. And he’s the guy I call for advice about an emotional problem. Brilliant move.

So anyway, he comes over. Right away he begins talking in his trademark pompous-as-fuck tone. “Speak to me, my good Indian friend. What troubles you.” My good Indian friend. I hated it when he called me that.

I tried to tell him about my problem, but it’s kind of a weird thing to tell somebody, even your friend. So I was having trouble saying it. And like I said, this motherfucker is not intuitive at all. He had no idea what I was talking about.

And that’s when he came up with the idea of heading down to the Rivington.

The Rivington is a place where they hold poetry slams. Max usually performs there on open mic night. Now they call them poetry slams, but really, they’re not much more than rap shows. A bunch of rappers get up there and start rapping away. It’s actually kind of a popular, trendy place in the hip hop community. Word has it that A&R guys from record labels even go there from time to time to scout new talent.

Anyway. My point is that a guy like Maxwell should not be hanging out at the Rivington. It’s kind of a hostile place, since there’s a lot of competition going on there between rappers. And Max has a tendency to draw a lot of negative attention to himself. First off, he’s probably going to be the only pale white Jewish kid there. Secondly, he’s got this enormous afro. And then there’s the shirt he’s wearing, which he made at home. It reads, “The Hebrew Nightmare.”

That’s his stage name. The Hebrew Nightmare.

But he wants to go, so we go. I thought it might be okay; you know, get out of my apartment and try to talk to Max about my problems. This was kind of the first time I was trying to open up to Max, so I thought we might as well do it on his terms. And besides, acquiesce is my mantra.
But that would clearly end up being a mistake. We started having problems as soon as we stepped out the door. We’re just walking along, I’m smoking a stick, and all of the sudden this car flies by and nearly runs us over. Yeah, it was kind of fucked up. But Max over here decides to spit on it.
“What the fuck?” I couldn’t believe he did that. This is what I mean: the guy really has no idea what’s going on.

“We had the right of way, Shree. It’s about principle. Pedestrian rights are violated on a daily basis. Frankly, I’m sick of it.”

“Is that what they tell you at VEOSUVO?” That was the stupid pedestrian rights organization he was a part of. He had to make a big deal out of all his beliefs. It was ridiculous how far he went with this stuff. If you think pedestrian rights is a crazy thing to be in an organization for, you should hear his ideas and actions on population control. He’s the president of the Kill Baby Club, which is his full-time job. Yeah, that’s right. The Kill Baby Club. Sometimes I can’t even believe I’m friends with the guy. Fucking crazy, man. Fucking crazy.

Anyway. We reached the Rivington pretty quickly, where our problems took a turn for the worse. Everyone there started yelling at Max, even throwing shit at him. And he just kept on walking. He had no idea why they were being so hostile to him. I’m not even sure if he noticed.

So we’re sitting there watching a few acts. Some of them were pretty decent. I’m drinking a beer and smoking, still worrying about the whole Raina situation. Finally I muster up the courage to just say it, to tell Maxwell that I’m fuckin’ limp as a wet noodle.

And then he started asking about Raina, so I told him what I thought. “Babies. She wants babies. Babies babies babies. She’s got baby fever, I’m tellin’ ya.”

Now you can imagine how a guy who founded an organization called the Kill Baby Club feels about babies. It’s like he’s pro-death. It really is. He once told me that everyone up to the age of five should be killed, since they’re useless and they have “limited self-awareness,” or some shit like that. And he’s passionate about this stuff too. It ain’t just a joke. I mean, he really works his ass off on developing the Kill Baby Club, and he won’t disclose any of the private stuff about it to anyone outside of the club. He hinted that he’d be doing a televised interview soon, since they’d recently been in the press as the possible group behind all the attacks on the hospitals in the area. I don’t know what the fuck his problem is. He must’ve had some fucked up parents, I guess.

So he told me that I should break up with Raina, that I should “end my courtship with her.” As much of a moron as he is, it almost seemed like a good idea. I mean, he never gets emotionally involved with women; he just fucks them a few times and calls it quits. Kind of a safe policy, I guess. He sure is a hell of a lot happier than I am.

Anyway. We sat there and watched the next few poets. Some of them were pretty good. This chick Cinnamon Fingers was decent. Fucking hot as hell too.

And then shit hit the fan.

The MC got up there and announced it was freestyle time. Meaning a bunch of rappers would get up there and freestyle rhymes based off the rhymes of someone else. Since it was open mic time, the MC was looking for volunteers from the audience. Max, being the dumb fuck he is, quickly stood up and started pushing people out of the way. Somebody threw an unopened soda can at his head as he was climbing on to the stage. It missed him, though. I don’t even think he noticed.

So the little piece of shit gets up there and starts rhyming about killing people, and how we need to start dropping bombs to prevent overpopulation or some shit like that. I think his last rhyme was something like, “So I don’t care, go ahead and hate me/ I’m still gonna eat your fucking baby.” Brilliant.

So the Hebrew Nightmare hops off stage and the crowd just flips. I mean they go beserk. People are hurling all sorts of shit at him, telling him to get his white ass back to the suburbs. And he just doesn’t get it. I’m not sure if he’s that brave or if he’s that stupid. But people are fucking throwing rocks at him and he just comes back and sits down at the table with me, kinda like nothing happened. In fact, I’d go so far as to say he was happy. He had this goofy grin on his face, like his rhymes were something fantastic. I actually started getting pissed off, because people were giving me dirty looks and shit since I was with this guy.

Eventually, though, I think it finally sunk into his head that maybe people really weren’t down with his performance. I could sense him becoming more uncomfortable. But he didn’t want to admit it. No way. There’s definitely this cockiness to him. Still, though, it was obvious he wanted to get his mind onto something else. Something to distract him.

So he suggests playing chess.

Let me describe the scenario once again. We’re at a poetry slam. This Jewish kid with an afro, a.k.a. Maxwell, a.k.a. the Hebrew Nightmare, gets on stage and starts rhyming about eating babies. And now he asks me if I want to play chess.

“You mean now?” I say this, and then he looks at me like I’m the crackhead. The motherfucker really is something.

“Yes. Now.”

I’d been smoking a lot since we got here, mainly ‘cause Max wasn’t exactly playing it cool. So I fired up another one. “I don’t think we should do that, Max.”

“Reason.”

‘Cause people are throwing rocks at your head, you fucking moron. “I think we should pay respect to the performers on stage. Chess will come off as rude. And I think it’ll draw even more attention to us.”

But he wasn’t going to listen. He can be pretty fucking stubborn at times if he’s in the mood to be. So he mumbled some shit about how no one respected him so he’s not going to respect anyone. And then he started setting up the chessboard. Never mind that he carries a traveling chessboard with him at all times. That’s another problem altogether.

Now I didn’t know what to do. So I gave in and started playing chess with him, even though I really just wanted to distance myself from Max out of safety reasons if for nothing else. I was making my chess moves as fast as possible, hoping to just get this all out of the way. I knew the faster Max won the faster we could get the fuck out of here.

But Max was sitting here being all strategic and shit, taking his time with each move. So the game was dragging out, and as you might expect, the heckling began to get worse. People started yelling shit at me too, telling me I should go to a 7-11 or some shit like that. Nothing particularly clever.
And then all of a sudden, this big motherfucker comes over to our table. He must’ve been like nearly four hundred pounds or something. But you could tell he was strong. Anyway, he asks Max what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. And Max just sits there like a dumb ass, telling him we’re playing chess. This guy was scary as hell. He put the fear of god in me. I thought I was gonna shit in my pants.

Anyway, Max keeps running his mouth, and eventually a fight breaks out. Max is about a hundred and fifty pounds. On a good day. This guy was definitely twice that, at least. So he takes Max to the ground and starts kicking the shit out of him. I really thought Max was gonna die or something like that. So I had to do something. Everyone else was cheering this big fat motherfucker along. And why shouldn’t they. No one really liked Max in there. Hell I wasn’t particularly too fond of him and his baby-eating rhymes.
But I had to do something. So I gouged the big guy in the eyes and elbowed him in the nose.

All of a sudden he gets up and starts screaming. He sounded like some kind of monster. He began swinging his arms wildly. He ended up punching a waiter in the face and breaking two tables. The guy was like the Incredible Hulk. Fucking scary.

Max is lying on the ground like a bloody pulp, so I gotta go and save his sorry ass. But as I reach down to try to pick him up, this monstrous motherfucker ends up clocking me.

Hard.

I’m not sure how the rest went down. Some how we got out of there alive. We start running through the parking lot, and Max is being a fucking drama queen about the whole thing. He wants to go to an army store. The guy can barely breathe and that’s what’s on his mind. A fucking army store.
So I’m getting real pissed off now at this little piece of shit. So I just drop him. Fine, go to your fucking army store. I’m going to the doctor’s office.
About a mile up the road is Dr. Kelly Lawrence. She’s one of my best friends. We used to be hot and heavy for a while, before she realized that she was into girls. But don’t get me started on that. Let’s just say she’s confused. Real fucking confused.

So I go to her office and catch her just as she’s about to exit. Fortunately, she patches me up and treats me real swell. “I think you’re okay. But you might want to go to a dentist anyway.” That’s what she tells me. She’s real swell, she really is.

Anyway. I start telling her about the whole thing down at the Rivington. “You ever meet my friend Max?” I knew she didn’t know who he was, and I knew that would bother her. She hated feeling left out.

Even though my jaw was killing me, my problem with Raina was still on my mind. I guess it showed, because Kelly knew something was up. So she asked me, and I started talking about it. Pretty frankly too.

It definitely was weird. Not only because I was talking about not being able to get a hard on – that would be weird enough. But also because Kelly used to be my girlfriend. We went out for almost a year and half – back when I was like twenty and she was twenty-four -- and I have to admit that she definitely was my first true love. I’m still not sure how or why we broke up. It just seemed like the magic sort of disappeared. Strange. I still don’t understand it, and I’ve thought about it a lot. But I guess it was a good break up, since we’re still friends. Good friends.

So I told Kelly the whole deal. I told her how we didn’t have sex for a while, and how I couldn’t even get it up anymore.

She started pacing around, digesting all the information. I was kind of worried about what she was thinking; I mean, I really had no idea. But finally she spoke. “Lots of times impotence is just psychological. The fact that you couldn’t get erections as soon as you moved in with Raina does seem like a strange coincidence. Perhaps too much of a coincidence.”
That was an interesting idea. Although I didn’t really know what she meant by it.

She walked over to her file cabinet and opened it up. She was looking for my file, I knew it. I hated it when I came in for a check up and she started taking notes on me, like I’m some sort of research project. Like I’m a toy for her mind. I know she has to keep records on me to treat me, but still. It pisses me off.

She kept talking as she looked over my file. “To tell you the truth, it might be a subconscious thing. Like deep down you’re afraid of the commitment involved with a live-in girlfriend, so you can’t get an erection.”

I hated it when Kelly did this. Bitch did one fucking rotation in a psych ward and all of a sudden she thinks she’s a regular Freud. She was always analyzing people, trying to figure them out.

Maybe she’s the one with the complex.

I finally calmed myself down enough to respond to her. “Yeah. Maybe.” Then she went off and started babbling about some new science shit and how maybe I’m just being committed to her or some fucked up bull shit like that. I don’t remember exactly what it was. All I remember is that it sounded a hell of a lot like the opposite of what she was analyzing me before with. Bitch needs to make up her fucking mind.

She knew I was upset, so she didn’t push the topic for much longer. And then I guess she started feeling guilty, because she wanted me to drive the new car she bought. She fucking dropped seventy-five grand on a set of wheels. Meanwhile I can barely scrape together enough change to get a cup of coffee in the morning. It bothered me a lot. I hate how money and social class can become an issue between friends. But it really can.

I couldn’t believe she wanted me to drive her car. I mean it really was a nice car. Classy, real classy. And she knew my driving record. I once hit a tree while driving. And I was totally sober. But that’s a different story.

So we’re driving along, and she starts bringing up her bullshit about me and Raina again. I don’t know why I ever started talking about it with her in the first place. Somewhere along the line I mentioned how I didn’t want to have kids – at least not yet -- and that was part of our problem. She’s some kind of a pro-life freak; you know, one of those morons that goes and petitions outside of abortion clinics.

“Do you think she’s upset because she really wants kids now?” She knew the answer to that question. I hate it when people pull shit like that.

“Haven’t we been through this?” I started accelerating. I knew that would piss her off.

She kept being a bitch, so I kept accelerating. I could practically feel her heart beating a mile a minute. I loved it.

“Could you slow down a little?” There. I got her to say it. I loved making her swallow her pride.

I kept driving along as we got closer and closer to my home. She stopped talking about it. I guess she could tell that I was irritated. Oh well. I didn’t give a fuck.

I started looking around, just to take my mind off this weird tension Kelly and I were having about Raina, kids, and impotence. I remember seeing the big white tree that I’ve always seen, ever since I moved to this area when I was seven. It’s not just any big white tree, though; it’s the tree where Kelly and I first had sex. She’s the one I lost my virginity to, you know. I know that someone carved “Shree loves Kelly” into the tree at some point. I guess someone who knew us caught us fucking under the tree. That’s kind of funny.

Well finally we pulled up to my apartment building. It was kind of funny to see Kelly’s hot car in this place, since the neighborhood was pretty much a dump.

Anyway I was just glad this god awful car ride was going to be over. I was about to exit, and then she put her hand on my thigh. I hated it when people touched me for no reason.

“Do you know what I do every Sunday?” I knew she went to Church. Silly girl.

“Yeah. Church.”

“After that.”

I couldn’t give two shits about her little Christian plans. “I don’t know. What.”

“I go to Orland and Fifth and search all the trash cans and dumpsters. Do you know why?” Do you know why. I hated it when people talked down to me like that. She was really annoying me today. So I didn’t respond. I wanted her to know I was pissed off. Maybe then she’d start paying attention to me and being supportive rather than being a fucking bitch about the whole thing.

“I go down there to search for abandoned babies. That area has had more reports of abandoned babies than any other region in the world.”

“You do?” That was the dumbest thing I ever heard in my life. It’s good to know that I’m not the only one going haywire upstairs.

Then she said some shit about how life is precious, or something like that. When she wasn’t psycho-analyzing me she was preaching. I don’t need a fucking mother.

I went to reach for my keys, but then I realized I didn’t have them with me. Lots of times I left the apartment without taking them, since the locks didn’t work at all. But I was still in the habit of reaching for keys whenever I was about to enter my home. Old habits are hard to break, you know.

So I decided to pull out a cigarette instead. She hated it when I smoked, and I knew she’d be pissed as hell if I smoked in her car. That would make her let me get the hell out of here and into my home. Where no one would bother me.

“Alright, well I guess I’ll see you later. But call me if you ever want to talk about it.” I was right. Now she was trying to get me out of the car. So I left. I was more than happy to do so.

After lighting my cigarette.

************************************************** ****

I started crying as soon as I got home.

There was a note from Raina. On top of the microwave.

Dear Shree:

I don’t know what’s going on in our relationship.

To be completely honest with you, I’m mad. I’m mad that you don’t seem to care about this situation, and that you’re not really paying attention to me. You want to do things your way, and you don’t want to communicate with me or explain to me why you’re being this way.

So what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and accept your behavior? Is that it? Well no. I’m sorry, but I can’t do that. I have a lot invested in our relationship, and I know you do too, but it’s hard for me to keep putting in all the effort when you’re not really willing to compromise, or to even talk to me about it.

Everybody always thinks you’re a swell guy, that you’re the nicest and sweetest soul on the face of the planet. But the truth is that you can be a real fucking asshole sometimes. You’re really stubborn, but you don’t just come out and be stubborn. No, that would be too simple. So you just sit there and do whatever you want to do, without explaining yourself or your behavior to anyone.

I think you’ve got some problems, Shree, and I’m not sure if they’re problems I can help you with. You need to find out who you are. You need to find out what you want out of this world. You need to find out where you’re going, and who you want to become.

In sum, you need to find out what your message to the world is.

So I guess I’ll leave you with that question: who are you? What’s your message to the world?

Think about that. I’ll be at my sister’s. Probably until you have an answer. Call me if you ever get one.

-- Raina

And she didn’t even sign it with a nice closing. No “love”, no “your girlfriend”, no “the woman you live with and love”. Hell, even a “sincerely” would’ve been something.

What a fucking bitch.

I’m stubborn? I’m the asshole? I did everything for this fat, unshaven bitch. I moved into this awful apartment, I put up with all this shit from my family.

And this was the thanks I got.

But I still didn’t know what to do. To tell you the truth, I had no idea how I even felt.

I thought of calling up Max again for some advice, but in light of the whole chess incident, that didn’t seem like the wisest idea. And besides, I already knew what he’d say. Leave her, she wants babies, babies are the source of all evil. It’s all so cut and dry in his world.

So I called Kelly on her cell. It went to her voicemail. I knew she didn’t pick up the call on purpose, probably because she was mad at me for lighting a cigarette in her car and all. Whatever.

So I left a message. “Kelly it’s Shree. Sorry for bein’ a dick tonight, just got a lotta shit on my mind. Anyway call me back whenever you get this I need some advice. Peace.”
“Hello.”

“Boy, you sound groggy. Wake up sleepyhead!”

Kelly did have a way of making me laugh. That always makes anybody seem better than they might actually be. “Yeah, I just had a rough night.”

“What happened? I’m afraid to ask.”

I paused as I fumbled around for my cigarettes. “She’s gone.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Raina. Gone. Just left a note on the microwave and left.”
I could feel Kelly getting emotional on the other end. She cared for me a lot, she really did. “I’m coming over. It’s a nice day outside, we can spend some time outside and you can figure out what needs to be done.”

“Cool. So come over in your new wheels.”

“You got it.” And with that she hung up the phone.

Less than half an hour later she arrived at my apartment and barged
through the front door. She was carrying this huge bag with her. It was bigger than her. The whole sight was pretty funny.

She dropped the bag on the floor as soon as she entered. “Phew.” She was breathing heavily as she rested her hands on her knees.

I smiled at her struggling. “What’s up with the bag?”

“Uniforms. Martial arts uniforms. We’re going to practice.”

Kelly was always trying to boss me around about stuff like this. Always trying to get me to go to Church, to study her martial arts shit, to stop smoking. When we were going out it was even worse.

I figured I’d been stalling enough with the martial arts stuff. Who knows, maybe I’d actually like it. So I was down. “Alright. I’ll give it a try.” I smiled and punched her in the arm.

She gave me this strange look – at least I think it was a strange look – and then began opening up the bag. “Great. I brought an extra uniform that I think should fit you. We can go to Brickman Park and practice in the grass. It’s a beautiful day.”

So we started heading towards Brickman. It really was a beautiful day – the sun was out, and there was a nice cool breeze. I suggested we walk, since it was so nice outside. I offered to carry the bag.

We didn’t talk much on the way to the park. I remember having some trouble with the bag, and regretting the decision to walk. I was pretty out of shape, since I’d been smoking a lot over the past month. Kelly noticed my difficulty, but was nice enough to keep her mouth shut.

Finally we got to the park. It’s a really nice park. It has a bunch of facilities, including changing rooms. “You go to the changing room and try to put the uniform on as best you can. The top is kind of hard, and so is the belt, so I’ll help you with those when you get out.” Kelly went into the women’s changing room and I went into the men’s. Moments later I emerged, looking like an idiot who couldn’t dress himself.

She started laughing. “Here, I’ll help you.” She wrapped her hands around my waist and began tying my belt. “So, how you doing? You feeling okay?”
“I don’t know. This whole situation has got me entirely confused. I don’t know if I should be pissed off at her or what. I came home and she’d left. Just up and gone. All she left was a note. I think that’s kind of a shitty thing to do.”

“She just left a note?” Kelly was tying the belt pretty hard around my waist. It was kind of uncomfortable.

“Yeah. Here, let me show it to you.” She finished tying the belt, and I walked over to my pants and pulled out the letter Raina had left. I handed it to her.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” She handed the note back to me. I couldn’t figure out what she thought of the whole thing.

“Here let me help you with the top.” The top smelled really bad, like the smell of old sweat. There were these really nasty yellow sweat stains in the armpits of the uniform, which really clashed against the bleached white fabric. On top of that, the fabric was really thick and coarse. It was some pretty heavy stuff, which didn’t make sense to me, since you were supposed to run around kicking and screaming in this thing.

There were these loose strings that were attached to the top of the uniform, and Kelly grabbed them and began tying the sides together in this weird way. After she tied them together she stepped back, smiling. I guess I had the uniform on the right way now. Boy, martial arts uniforms really are weird. I don’t know who’s the fashion Einstein that decided to make ‘em this way.

“So are you going to call her?”

“That’s the thing. I mean, I’m kind of pissed at her. The way I see it, she’s the one that’s not making the effort to see where I’m coming from. She’s the one being stubborn. I mean, does she think I enjoy being limp? I just –

“Loosen up, Shree. I’m having trouble tying your uniform with you being so stiff.” She smiled at me. She always said I had trouble relaxing.

Finally she finished tying up my uniform. “Alright, let’s start off with some partner stretching.” She sat down on the grass and spread her legs as wide apart as she could. She really had a great stretch.

“Here, put your feet up against my ankles and push them as wide as you can.” I followed her instructions. I’d seen her do this partner stretching thing before, and I hated it. It’s so uncomfortable. And I don’t just mean the stretching part; I can handle that pain. It’s just that the configurations you get into, well, they’re kind of weird.

She reached her hands out, and I grabbed them and pulled them towards me. She began speaking to me with her head down while I was pulling her to me. “You know how long I’ve been practicing martial arts?”

Great, another one of her lectures. They always begin with questions. I hate that. Makes me feel like I’m an eight year old in third grade. “I don’t know. How long?”

“Eight years,” she said as she tapped my wrists. I assumed that was my signal to stop pulling and to hold the current position we were in.
We switched our grips on each other so that she would begin pulling me. “That’s a long time, my friend. A lot of work.”

I tapped her wrists pretty soon after she started pulling me. I wasn’t exactly Stretch Armstrong.

She held the position and kept talking. “A lot of sacrifice. A hell of a lot of sacrifice.”

Next she said she wanted to stretch our hips and hamstrings. So we stood up and went over by this tree. She leaned up against the tree with one shoulder and leg, while I lifted her other leg as high as I could. Damn her stretch was good. She was in really good shape.

She continued with her lecturing. “But all my martial arts training has definitely been worth it. All the sacrifices and dedication are definitely worth it. Pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin, you know.”

Thanks, Socrates.

We switched positions and she lifted my leg up. My stretch was real bad, and I was actually kind of embarrassed by it. Oh well. We moved on soon enough, as we began working some kind of a strange hand coordination drill.

I kept fucking it up.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “You’ll get the hang of the drill soon enough. It is kind of tricky.”

“There’s an old Asian saying,” she continued, apparently incorrectly thinking I was genuinely interested what she was saying. “If you wish to see the view, you must first climb the mountain.”

“Uh huh.”

She began speeding up the hand coordination drill. “The reason I’m telling you this, Shree, is because if you wish to experience the true joys of a great relationship, I think you need to be willing to make some sacrifices. You need to be willing to invest everything yourself fully.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t help but think she was in some way criticizing the way I dealt with my relationship to her when we went out several years ago.

She stopped the drill. “Here’s let’s try some self-defense techniques that should be able to put that drill to work.” She began explaining some strategy behind self-defense. “The beautiful thing about self-defense is that it really doesn’t require you to be super strong or fast or anything like that. It’s all about knowing your body and working the energy that comes your way.”

She sized herself up against me and began demonstrating with her hands. “The first thing you want to consider are a person’s weak spots. There are some parts that are going to be weak for everyone. Like the neck and collarbone are great examples. You know it only takes two pounds of pressure to break someone’s collarbone. And as for the neck, just a light tap to the right spot can knock them out like that.” She gently chopped the side of my neck to illustrate her point. My vision went black for a second after she struck me. I felt like she did it because she didn’t like my attitude towards her advice.

“Now you try it on me. Just be careful though. I don’t want to end up in the hospital.” I thought about revenge, but opted for the high road. The “high road.” Another term for chickening out, I suppose.

So I practiced the drill on her, gently working some strikes against her body. She was running her mouth the whole time. “Anyway, back to what I was saying earlier. Do you know what Raina wants?”

“What?” She never just came out and said anything. She had to drop a million hints first. Fucking annoying as hell.

“C’mon, I’m sure you can guess it. Here, I’ll give you a hint: begins with a ‘C’ and ends with a ‘T.’”

Cunt? Is that what Raina wants? I hope she doesn’t want that too. It’s bad enough that I had to deal with the embarrassment of having Kelly as my ex-girlfriend-turned-dyke after our relationship ended. One is a fluke. Two would practically certify me as a Dyke Maker.

“I don’t know.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that! Just take a guess.” She was acting all playful and cutesy now. I hate how women play with your emotions like that. I never want to hear another complaint about a guy again.

“I don’t know. Court. She wants to go to court and get married.”

“Actually that’s close to what I was thinking. But my idea is that she wants commitment.”

I was about to interrupt here when she started grabbed my hand. “Try doing it this way,” she said as she gently guided my hand into her upper mid-section in a piercing motion. It’s all about finding the pressure points and hitting them from the right angle. Some people say you can kill someone if you just hit the right spot in the right way.”

I chuckled skeptically. “You gonna kill me by poking me?”

She looked at me seriously, like I had just deeply insulted her. “There’s an ancient Asian text known as the Bubishi. It talks about how even the smallest, least forceful strike can kill someone if executed perfectly. It mentions how the movement of the Sun in the sky correlates to our personal movement as humans, and how that can inform us of where to strike a person depending on the time. You should learn to be more open-minded. I think it’s at the core of your problems with Raina.”
Apparently she couldn’t take a joke about how ridiculous it at least seems that poking someone can kill them. I don’t know, I guess there might be some truth to it. But there was no need for her to snap at me like that.
She demonstrated a few more techniques on me, being sure to poke me extra hard. It did hurt quite a bit. But probably because I was trying so hard to contain my laughter.

“Anyway,” she said while poking me, “Commitment is at the heart of any relationship. That’s what she wants. Are you ready to give it?” She stopped poking me and nodded her head, signaling that I should begin poking her.

“I made the commitment of living with her.”

“Don’t gimme that. That’s a cop out.” How the fuck is that a cop out?

“She wants a real commitment. Bringing a life into this world is something beautiful, and I’m sure she knows that. She wants to have that joy, and she wants to have it with you. You should feel honored.”

She kept trying to adjust the way I was poking her. Apparently I wasn’t poking the right way. “Well, here’s what I want to do,” I said. “Can you just give me a prescription for Viagara or some shit like that so we can start having sex again? I think that’s a step in the right direction.”

She backed away, indicating that she wanted to change the drill. She was running through this whole thing like I was a veteran martial artist, familiar with all the stops and starts and shit. Kind of annoying.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.” She grabbed my uniform at my shoulder and underneath my elbow, and then started unbalancing me by stepping forward and pushing with one arm while pulling with the other arm. It was surprisingly effective. “This is a judo drill we’re working now. It’s all about working with a person’s energy and using it against them. You know, going with the flow of things. Compromising to get what you want. You’d be surprised how much you can accomplish that way.” She pushed me back and forth -- totally distorting my sense of balance -- a few more times before letting go. “Here, you try,” she said.

I tried getting her grip and mimicking her moves, but I wasn’t nearly as successful. I thought she was going to avoid explaining why didn’t want to give me a prescription, but then she spoke. “I just don’t think it’s best for the two of you to have sex if you’re not in the right place in this relationship. From my experience, both as a practicing doctor and as a person, I don’t think you can use sex to heal a relationship that’s troubled.”
I was starting to get pissed off now, so I was pushing her and trying to unbalance her with sheer force. It wasn’t working. She caught on to my game and was holding her ground. She could be really savvy like that. “I know your sex life is none of my business. But as a doctor, I can’t prescribe drugs unless I honestly believe it’s the appropriate course of action.”
I kept trying to force her down with my strength instead of using judo I was really pushing her around pretty hard. She still wasn’t moving, though. She had a rock solid body. Tight. Real tight.

The next thing I knew I was on the ground. My head hit the ground hard, and my vision was blurred. She was standing over me, her face red, with a grimace across it. “Don’t play fucking games with me, Shree. I’m trying to help you out here. Trying to do what’s best for you.”

Fuck her. I got up and left. This was not the kind of help I was looking for.