Choose My Own Adventure

As I was leaving after my class on Tuesday, I saw T sitting on the couch by reception waiting for Artichoke. She was wearing cropped black pants with a bit of a shine, a ruffly maroon top, and (yet another) matching pair of heels with an intricate bead-pattern. Her makeup was subtle and flattering, and not one of her long, black hairs was out of place. In other words, she looked about like she did every day in my class a couple months ago. (The advantage of being an American girl and not giving a shit 95% of the time is that, during that other 5%, people notice...right?)

We chatted for a while until 'Choke showed up, then the three of us went to meet Celery, his girlfriend K, and another friend for a drink (jasmine tea for me--I'm regressing to college, when beer grossed me out).

T spent the entire evening, on and off, half-playfully grilling me about 'Choke and other women. I kept trying to think of bland, light responses, while 'Choke just sat there like a doofus. Didn't help when he randomly reached over her and touched my thigh. Idiot. T, with half-mock incredulousness, asked me how often he did that. I froze a little, and Celery, to defuse the situation (I guess), touched my other thigh. Thanks...

What (barely) happened between me and Artichoke a few weeks ago is the tip of the iceberg, in terms of what he's keeping from her. He has another girlfriend in England, and thinks of T as a fun affair to have before he moves back home and starts his serious life (a decision I've seen him make and postpone twice since I've been here). The two know nothing of each other. Celery's Russian relationship is similar, in a way--there's no English girlfriend, but there's an equal sense, on his part, that he'll leave when he feels like it, and it'll have been nice knowing K. I'm almost sure K and T are optimistic that they've roped themselves husbands. And who knows, maybe they have--this city doesn't attract the most strong-willed and decisive of British guys.

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As I was leaving after my class on Tuesday, I saw T sitting on the couch by reception waiting for Artichoke. I hadn't seen her since our class ended 6 weeks ago, and it was nice to catch up. She's looking for a job (something in marketing/finance), and just finished an exhausting few weeks at university. 'Choke had gotten drunkenly self-righteous a few days before, and demanded that she come meet him after work ('You're my fucking GIRLFRIEND and you can't even...).

'Choke showed up, then the three of us went to meet Celery, his girlfriend K, and another friend for a drink (jasmine tea for me--I'm regressing to college, when beer grossed me out). T kept asking me about Artichoke and other women. I hope my awkwardness just passed for normal social nerd-weirdness. It was a gross situation, trying to disguise evasiveness as lightheartedness. I can't straight-up lie to her.

The more time I spend with her, the more I like her. The more I like her, the more I start to think of us as friends, and I know things about her relationship that I couldn't keep from a friend. My own little what-have-you (every word I can think of--tryst, fling--seems like overkill) with Artichoke pales in comparison to what else he's keeping from her. He has a girlfriend in England who he thinks of as the priority. He'll go back to her eventually, when he decides to get serious and move back home, and brush off his "affair" with T. In the meantime, he's lying to T and wasting her time because he can.

It's nauseating to go out with them, watch him lie to her and treat her like she owes him so much, and feel complicit. I think this finally tipped the balance. I feel like avoiding him as best I can for the next week, going to China, coming back, and having a life here with much less of him. I can do without our hour-long arguments about the ending of Foucault's Pendulum, respect for being able to correct him on the number of homeomorphic loops on a torus, bouncing ideas around about what chaos theory says about free will. Also I bet I can find someone else with a washing machine.

(Final straw: The next night Starfruit, [I'll think of a veggie name for this guy later], Artichoke, and I were, where else, by the kiosk. Somebody mentioned some girl who would go for anyone who paid a little attention to her, and 'Choke points at me and goes "YOU!" Right. We see nothing in each other as people, I'm lonely and desperate, and you're the only one who notices me ever. I know if I called him on it he'd say "oh it's guff, it's all guff, British people just talk guff, it doesn't mean anything." I've learned not to take him seriously, but it's still obnoxious. Shut up and be responsible for what you say once in a while. Enough, всё.)