Beaver Dam French Club: Something Disgusting

Nonfiction by Robert McEvily

She wasn’t the type for typical expressions of attraction. But I knew something. How could a woman resist a secret admirer?

We’d had the same job – started on the same day – and worked in adjacent cubes on the 27th floor. Jersey City. I was nuts about her from first sight. Completely nuts, hopeless case. My first day, I was right on time, but she was there at 8:30. In just that half hour, she'd managed to completely organize her desk, make some friends, and generally make it seem like she'd been working there for years. By 11:30… me? I still hadn't found a pen.

She was so cute I had an instinct to squeeze her. Her teeth were impossibly white; they matched the whites of her big green eyes. She was sexy, lick-able. Muscular calves and the shoulders of a swimmer. I had other instincts too. I repeat, lick-able.

It didn't take long. Three months after the first hello, I'd had enough. It was too much; I couldn't concentrate. Sleepless nights imagining the two of us holding hands on the beach; the torture of watching her laughing with other men; the endless, endless longing. I'd imagine us married; I’d write her first name along with my last, over and over, like a punished schoolboy.

The plan was simple. I would buy a small teddy bear and a small box of chocolates and leave them on her desk, along with a note. Naturally, "a secret admirer" would sign the note. Perfect. Lame, but perfect.

The morning receptionist didn't show until 8:45, so I used my sensor card to enter the floor. It was eight. I made my way to her desk and placed Teddy and the note just so. Again, lame, but perfect. I took a moment to stare at the arrangement and felt the lame but perfect excitement of being the only one in on a secret. Then I slipped back into an elevator and floated down to 26 and slipped into the men’s room. At five past nine, I’d stroll to my desk and say good morning and play dumb. She’d think, it’s not him, it can’t be – how could he have left this for me if he’s just arriving now? SO perfect!

Five past nine, I stroll to my desk – she’s not there. Not in yet. So I go back to the bathroom. Then I re-stroll to my desk at 9:20 and she’s still not there, so I go back to the bathroom again.

Sitting on a toilet bowl with your pants up isn’t exactly embarrassing, but it’s potentially embarrassing because if anyone notices that your pants aren’t scrunched around your ankles, it’ll look weird. There’s no reason to be sitting on a toilet bowl with your pants up. That’s my first thought. My second thought: Why didn’t I put paper towels down first? These are my fucking favorite pants! But my thoughts quickly shift to why I’m here: Her.

Most days she’d leave at five, and I’d wonder where she lived and what route she’d take to get there. She’d say goodbye mostly, but sometimes she’d be in a rush, or one of her girlfriends would grab her, or some jerk would want to say something to her and sweep her along and she’d leave without a word to me, and it would sting like a jab to the ribs. I’d look at her empty chair, the angle of it. Just moments before she was in it, she was right there – she spun and rose and left it in that position. I’d look at her top Post-it and see the imprint of a previous note. I’d look at the styrofoam cup in her garbage, the one she’d drank coffee from. I’d want to brush her keyboard, knowing her fingers were just there.

We’ve been dating now for four years and of course there’s no such thing as continuing the initial excitement. It’s a notion for teenagers and fairy tales. But it’s disgusting how I care for her, how I worship her, how it never changes, how a day never passes where I don’t either bury my face in her ass – deeply inhaling, soaking up nirvana – or imagine doing so. Her ruby boots squarely on my face – I need it. It’s disgusting how lucky I am and how necessary it was to write this. And so what if you think it’s corny. And so what if I didn’t finish the pointless details of the secret admirer narrative. So what I say! This is something disgusting!