Waiting for my mud mask to dry and my chicken to cook, I remembered something about the last time I saw this guy.

Salsa

Our last dinner together was at an all-night place with depressing waitresses. The atmosphere was well-suited for the sad attempt he was making at winning me back.

I ordered a sandwich and ate less than half. Ever since I’d found out about all the rendezvous with his cheating ex, my appetite had been shot. We talked openly. My need to be agreeable had been obliterated. I gave him the treatment, calling him on every line of bullshit, saying exactly what I thought. I told him, Maybe you’d like me better if I treated you like shit. It seems to be your preference. He laughed, Maybe. But he was warmer to me that night than he had been for weeks. And that said a lot, because he had a hard time with freeform.

He knew how to dance but only if there were steps to follow. He couldn’t feel the music, dance from inside. I put on Celia Cruz and said, Doesn’t is just make you feel like moving? He stood looking at me as if I had asked him to stand on his head and recite Shakespeare.

I should have known then that he was not the man for me.

We walked out of the diner and I looked up at the black sky behind the black hills. There was a billboard for Miller Lite, in Spanish, but I could only see half of it past a pathetic city-landscaped tree. The left side, next to the beer bottle, said “Daté Cuenta.” Wake up. Get Real.

The drive home was quiet. Despite his professions of affection, I knew he was going to see her in a few days. I wanted him to change his mind, to say that he realized I was the one he should be with. I was the one who could make him happy. But I also wanted him to take the box of shit he’d used as a pretense to see me, and just go away for good.

I determined that I would not invite him up to my apartment when we got back. We pulled up in front of the building and he asked what I wanted to do. Well, it’s almost midnight, I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble with anyone. He rolled his eyes. And I don’t want you to do a leave-behind with that shit.

So he took it.

The further I get, the more I see the cracks in the china. The more I see where he could never live up to my standards. I’ll admit they’re high. But I’m not going to lower them so that I can peacefully sleep through the best part of my life.

Sometimes it just takes a little something extra to wake me up. But when I do, I get out of bed dancing.