Love a la Instagram

He woke up suddenly...startled. That fact alone shocked him. He was not the kind of guy to respond to fear, nor were there a lot of things in the world that scared him. He slowly opened his eyes and looked around the room. "His girl" was sleeping soundlessly next to him, her fine blond locks in disarray on the pillow. The bedroom was quiet and calm...except for a very quiet crackling, like a small fire, that he noted on the side of the bed closest to him. He turned his head to find a large, deep red, glowing sphere floating in the air next to the bed. It was the color of the last rays of sunset -  blood red, burnt orange, deep purple...it hovered next to him and changed in size slightly with each movement. It made no noise to speak of but it's surface crackled and popped like pop rocks mixed with soda. Nothing about the orb seemed sinister...it simply was. 

Curiosity peaked, he got up to examine it closer. As he reached for it, the sphere moved away, as if refusing his touch. In order to figure out this strange phenomenon infringing on the peace of his slumber V decided to think logically - what hovered before him could not have been a figment of his imagination. True, his headaches have gotten worse with each new concussion, and sometimes he could not see anything at all unless the team physician thrust his hands into a bucket of ice to shock his system into performing til the game was over, but hallucinations were never a symptom he experienced. This could not be the result of a hangover - he did celebrate the start of the summer with quite a few sleepless, drug-filled nights but has since returned to his meticulously clean lifestyle and daily training in order to ensure that next season he would be a vital force on the team. He took no medications, did not smoke...no, nothing could explain this mini "sun." Wide awake he walked past the sphere to the kitchen. Strangely the sphere did not immediately follow. It slowly floated into the bathroom and came very close to his grooming kit...perhaps looking for something. It circled around the room to the side of the bed with "his girl" and lingered for a few seconds next to her. It flew into the closet and slowly hovered around his suits, examining, searching...perhaps remembering. It finally met him in the kitchen where V, not witnessing the strange trajectory of the orb, was busy making coffee. As he stared past the sphere and mindlessly drank he suddenly understood what this was. That fucking piece of shit Instagram VR love note!!!! Fan-fucking-tastic.

It all started out innocently enough. After acquiring 6G many social media platforms were able to expand their reach to unimaginable distances and advance their technology to create phenomena only described in sci fi novels. Emojis became live and floated from one user to the next; likes and dislikes were hovering around influencers like a swarm of bees; adorable, albeit annoying, puppies and kittens filled the streets as they rushed from sender to receiver to send a paw print or a lick.
Then came the ability to send people notes through the air which opened on contact and disappeared as soon as they were read. True DIRECT messages. Dating was never the same!

All of this was building up to the crown jewel - the ability to not only send someone a love note but to do it in such a way as to actually show them, and the world, exactly HOW much and HOW deeply you love them. IG made it possible to actually SHOW your feelings. The rollout was huge, of course. An initially nervous public embraced the idea of sending these spheres to "safe" targets - parents flooded the world with pastel pink and blue balloons that flew towards their children and upon touch exploded in gold confetti and fizzed in small bubbles making more than one baby giggle in absolute joy. Older parents were able to send somewhat stern looking spheres of love to their college grads and career warriors - these seemed to be smaller and slightly aggressive, in that they pushed themselves into the receiver in order to break apart and disappear. "I love you, but call me." "Don't disappear for a month again, I miss you." Then sports and celebrity fans discovered the power of sending LOVE to their icons. Every big sporting event was inundated with spheres made of team colors, every movie premiere an explosion of rainbow spheres from admirers of movie stars and directors. And V, being slightly famous in his field, received a good share of these...black and gold from fans of the team, a couple blue grey and green from family, a handful of small funny ones from kids who look up to him.

...and, unfortunately, quite a few from girls he conveniently forgot to call after a night or two of his usual fun. You wouldn't call these little planets "love" though...perhaps they were cries of anger or anguish. They were chocolate brown and black, dark purple and burgundy...they sped through his house and often knocked down the vases and moved the furniture from the force of the impact before exploding into little sharp tacks or shiny black hearts or whatever other bullshit these girls thought would make him take notice.

But who could blame them for wanting to try? They met a tall, charming, successful athlete who told them everything they wanted to hear. Who seemed to be able to read their thoughts and asked interesting, thoughtful questions. Who made a joke or two so nonchalantly that their guard inevitably came down...and who slipped out before the sun rose while they still dreamed of what could be.
They were understandably angry. Because none of them every knew about "his girl." None of them knew that he was master liar when he saw the opportunity for a perfect night. Not one could imagine that this handsome, strong, genuinely kind man has spent his whole adult life collecting women like trophies. No...collecting is the wrong word, for he never kept what he acquired. He spent his life using women as a conduit for his pleasure. When the need arose he went on a hunt to find the perfect girl to help him reach ecstasy.

And "his girl" knew...of course she knew. But she understood that ignoring his indiscretions was the price for becoming THE WIFE. She was willing to pay, of course, but she refused to have her face be thrust into it. Thus the spheres became a problem. She yelled, she cried, she chased them around the house wanting to strangle them and make them disappear...but they kept coming. The app was popular and the users rabid which flooded their home with incessant colorful balls that seemed to arrive at every inopportune moment. But, like all good and bad things, eventually they stopped.
Until this morning...
The sphere in question was more intense, both in color and size. And its behavior thus far was suspect, to say the least. For it seemed to have a purpose for being there. And he wasn't sure how this sphere was supposed to show him love.

He knew it would follow him so he quickly showered and slipped out of the house before "his girl" woke up. The orb followed him to the lake where he always went to clear his mind and escape what bothered him. It watched him load the boat into the water, assemble his lines, check his bates..and took off after the him as soon as the motor started. It never interfered with his actions or hindered his path through the water. In fact, it almost knew what he was going to do next, as if it has been on the lake before. This was definitely not a classic love note.

For hours he fished and tried not to think. The sphere's presence eventually stopped being a nuisance and he even began to think of it as a companion...like the family's dog that could sit next to him and stare at the water as he searched for specific fish he wanted to capture that day. He caught and released them, marvelling in his ability to outsmart nature and capture that, which did not want to be captured. Like the girls in his life the fish were only a temporary pleasure...the thrill of the hunt more important than the result. So he released each one into the water, never to think about them again.
As the sun began to set the water around him gained intensity. The blues and greens deepened and darkened and he marveled at the simple perfection of the lake before him. When he turned to put away his rods he gasped, for the sphere was now the color of the lake. A deep, fervent blue that glistened like mercury. Slowly it began to lighten to a piercing blue, the color of the sky.

And suddenly he KNEW. He knew who made the sphere. For it was now the color of her eyes. The color he tried to burn out of memory almost as soon as he left her that morning. The sphere grew larger and finally approached him. It slowly touched his body and when it did it began to rapidly disappear, fizzing and hissing as it turned a deep pitch black. He tried to hold on to it...to make it stop evolving but it was too late. He felt a small ache where the sphere touched his left nipple and when he looked down he saw a little white scar on his chest...the pace where her head used to rest.

Whenever she disappeared into the abyss of her monstrously giant bed he would call out into the darkness in a hoarse whisper - "come into my arms"...and out of the dark came her tiny hands that wrapped around his neck. Her lithe, muscular body would follow to press itself along his, as her always cold toes snuggled on his perpetually overheated body. A wild cat seeking comfort from the storm...she wrapped herself around him and rested her head on his chest and her lips always tickled his left nipple... a feeling he hated at the time but now missed. This was her sphere. It was the last message she wanted to send. Not to remind him of the intense love they shared for a brief time when both seemed free...not to appeal for a return. No. This was a simple declaration that her love for him was no more. The last time she could show him how deeply and passionately she loved him and missed him when he left her with a false hope and a suitcase full of pain.

This love was beautiful and it was now dead.

And even the little scar he thought the sphere left faded by the time he turned the key and entered his home where "his girl" was busy making dinner.

He opened his phone and started to write her...but stopped when he realized that there was absolutely nothing he could offer her. So he quietly showered and poured himself a glass of her favorite whiskey.
"To Instagram" he thought to himself as the liquid burned his throat.

Brick Pollitt

Whenever my heart gets broken I seek comfort in the usual suspects- music that reminds me of him, reliving memories that made me happy, scrutinizing shared words and gestures...watching Cat on a Hot Tim Roof on loop.

I loved it long before it was my coping tool. The performances, the colors, the actors..the entire aesthetic is absolute perfection to me. But I watch it now because through Maggie that Cat I get to talk to my Brick. The Brick that, unsurprisingly, injured me this time. ( sadly there have been a few now)

You know the type... they start out brilliantly from the beginning of life. The strong, charming, care free boys. Excelling in most things, especially anything physical, they draw admirers instantly and bask in the love of girls of all shapes and sizes. They never try to fit in or follow trends because they set them. Their chiseled bodies make any outfit look perfect even if it’d seen better days. They wake up, brush their teeth, fuss with their hair for 30 seconds and run out the door chasing another thing that they desire that day.

Professional athletes or surgeons or rock stars... always the ones to set the mood in the room, always the ones that leave and are not the ones left behind. They glide through life with such ease... they can usually fix cars and boats and doors and anything else that’s broken without ever having been taught how to do those things. They thrive outdoors and chase adrenalin in all its forms- and so you follow them on hikes and bike rides and fishing trips and skiing because you are addicted to them and because you’ll get another rush of desire when you see how they look at you when you excel at the thing they love... what a fucking stupid circle that is.

Being with them is exciting (even if you thought you lost all ability to be entertained)- great conversations, constant laughter and mind blowing sex because there are no rules between you two. Seemingly, life is so easy for them- they figured it out. While YOU are consumed by thoughts and inconsistencies, they tell you life is simple. When you’re happy you stay. When you're not... you leave. And so they chase happiness ... new country, new sport, new car... new girl. Over and over because there has never been and never will be a person to tell them “no.” Not until they get old and lose their charm but by then their long suffering girlfriend would have become the long suffering wife- content with ignoring the painful moments for the price of being “Mrs X.”

Being with them is like a drug. You get addicted to the idea that maybe.. just maybe.. two alphas can be together. Because you grew up with movies and books that made it seem possible. Because you finally feel like you don’t have to be the strong one all the time. Because someone stronger is there to catch you. And that feeling is what I end up chasing. Curling up against a big muscular chest at night and feeling safe. Being tossed in the air like a feather and caught in giant hands... knowing that anywhere we go doesn’t require a plan because it will be perfect anyway. Insidiously the desire for more of this grows and it’s too late before you realize your heart has joined the fan club of the Bricks. And worst of all.. now it has given you ideas of the future. It wants more. It wants a lifetime of this. But that lifetime usually belongs to the girl next door they already know. Because your alpha doesn’t want an equal. They want “comfort” and “safety” and “easy.” And hard as I may try... easy has never been a word to define me. And even when I’ve tried in the past (mistakenly) to change and bend with the boy it’s never enough. Because like a wolf they know your core and any desire for you is trumped by the need to continue to do whatever they want whenever they want it.

Perhaps that’s too simplistic. Perhaps I’m missing the necessary details to truly define this... to understand this. And when I ache I turn to the film. Where a gorgeous strong girl fights for her handsome broken husband and says the words I long to say. To watch her win her love back scratches my itch. I pick at that wound daily.. I’m sick of it, frankly. I wish I could stop feeling like shit.  But I cannot help doing it again the next day. Because every night it does scar a little bit. And with time it heals... though much slower than it should. And in the end I still have hope.. that one day, my Brick is going to choose me.