The forty-second note

Sorry Again For All The Weirdness (a short story)

I have no time to sit and write lately, my brain can’t process a lot of what’s going on, so I thought I’d share this short story I wrote in 2018. Hope you’re all well. See you soon I hope. A lot of hope, always. Cx

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Zoe shaves her arm pits in the shower. It’s Tuesday. It’s 7pm. Her feet in the shower stand on a slightly yellow stream that comes down her ankles. Soapy hair gets in her eyes. She always gets soap in her eyes. A bit of blood is coming down her knee, a cut from shaving with her pink razor, the one she bought two months ago in the Walgreens two blocks away. She wraps a green towel around her head and looks in the mirror. There’s runny mascara, dripping down her eyes for a second before she rubs it off, till next time, with the corner of the green towel.

And then the dressing begins.

The nervousness starts flowing in, little by little. An indigo bra is clipped. Matching underwear are slipped onto her naked butt. A pair of nude fish-net tights are pulled over her thighs, the left one sports a lilac bruise. One could say it has the shape of Iceland, but that would be going a little far. And after readying the body, she walks out to the mirror in her living room. Zoe curls her eyelashes but poking her eye and hurting herself are the only two things she achieves by doing so.
She chooses coral to go on her lips. “Could go well with the blue?” “It’s also not that out there like red might be. And if it goes ok, red’s kind of a mess for later on”.
But it doesn’t seem to convince her, it’s more like mandarine than coral and mandarine looks tacky so she mouths it to herself and rubs it off. Goodbye orange. And then the fake eye-lashes ceremony begins. Up, down, into the left eyelid. Every different way. They don’t seem to stick. Sometimes nothing seems to stick. She really doesn’t know how to apply them.

“Fuck it”.

She stands, she looks, she paces. Her freezer opens and then a lemon is cut, tequila’s poured, and then drank by Zoe in her indigo underwear. You drink tequila in your underwear, you should know something is… Off. Then Zoe, dressed in some boyfriend jeans and the blue bra, stands in front of the mirror, staring right into her reflection. “Hey. Hi... Hello? Fuck. No.” She turns around, avoids herself. Turns back to mirror and starts over, trying a different approach. “Hi! Hey! Whats- no, no, no. Hi! I’m Zoe! — But you already know that.” An inhale. An exhale. Ok. She feels insane.

“Nice to finally meet you.” A pause. “Hey! Nice to meet you finally! Wanna fuck?” She double taps on her iPhone screen- It’s time to leave the house.

A not too fancy looking car is waiting double-parked with the blinkers on. Zoe walks quickly to the car, leather jacket, jeans, boots, hair down, smile up, waving awkwardly to the shadow in the driver’s seat. She stops in front of the passengers door. There’s a pause where nor Zoe or the driver seem to know what to do. Zoe crouches to look through the window. She opens the door and Hayden, an average looking guy in what could be anything from his late 20s to late 30s, dressed in a jean jacket and a hoodie, is looking at her, hands still on the wheel, looking as calm as Zoe thought he’d be. His composure alerts her. The seat belt not being taken off does more so. So she says hi first. And he calmly replies “hey” with a shy smile, that in return calms her down. He’s cuter than in photos. That’s good, she thinks, but asks “Aren’t you going to come out of the car?”. “Oh. Do you want me to?” Well of course she wants to, so she says, yes, and he gets out of the car.

The moment before he gets to Zoe on the other side of the car, seems never-ending. They stand in front of each other silently for a painfully long second. Hayden and Zoe. Zoe and Hayden. A repetitive and brief exchange of hey’s is performed again before Zoe leans in and hugs Hayden. Hayden smiles timidly and hugs her back. “Finally, huh?”

They drive and chit chat, Zoe more than him, she rambles about the weather and how she can’t decide if she should wear layers or not. And it’s like they know each other, and they do in a certain way, but there’s something off, who knows, it might just be the nervousness. That must be it, she thinks. No sparks, no fireworks, no electric buzzing. Simplicity, that’s all.

The bar that Hayden chooses is quiet, but of course, it’s Tuesday. Zoe and Hayden sit across each other, which gives Zoe a chance to look at the details that make up this stranger. He’s tall, dark, has kind dimples. Every sip of wine makes him cuter. They talk about Jurassic Park. They talk about Arnold Schwarzenegger. They talk about things that don’t move Zoe- football, different hot sauces, types of cat food. And then, they talk about politics, which turns into a light conversation about feminism, allowing her to get excited. Throughout the wine, Hayden looks away from Zoe. Zoe smiles awkwardly and grabs her phone to send “NOT PSYCHO”, though she does wonder if in 10 minutes, that might change. The possibility of murder is always around the corner with strangers that are men. When Hayden comes back with another glass of wine for her, Zoe smiles because she knows that he keeps avoiding her gaze and, of course, she looks beautiful, that must be it. Her hair looks ok. She smells good. So rather than thinking he is simply avoiding her, she wonders if maybe it’s because he’s painfully shy, maybe it’s because he’s intimidated. Other men have told her before she can be a little intimidating, which she’s always taken as a compliment even if she shouldn’t. Zoe’s never had the sense of security to make her think that her body might be making someone nervous, but her eagerness tells her that behind that calmness there must be some butterflies. There must be something. So she shapes these butterflies in her head, they’re black and purple, a hint of blue, and because of them she allows herself to be open. So she tells him she’s been so nervous she’s already had a drink. Hayden smirks, “No need to be nervous”.

Zoe looks eagerly at Hayden, her mind miles away from the bar, the drinks, him. She asks him about his work. About his family. His friends. She’s attentive. By the third glass her stomach begins to rumble, and she remembers she hasn’t had any food since lunch. She’s had white wine for dinner and a shot of tequila as an appetiser. “I’m hungry”. “There’s a hot dog stand around the corner if you want to get that. They’re pretty ok.” So they leave the bar and walk silently to the truck. She orders an everything hot dog, she’s drunk enough that she even gets hot mustard with it. And a side fries. And while they wait, it happens. They kiss. It’s one of those kisses where you don’t know who’s kissed who first. But Zoe’s eyes are open, and Hayden doesn’t seem to be moving his mouth. The kiss is dull and apathetic.

Zoe pulls away and smiles uncomfortably. She leans in and kisses Hayden again, because she knows first kisses can be clumsy. She grabs his hands and puts them on her hips. He doesn’t grab her, but rather just holds them stiffly on her. Zoe opens her eyes again and looks down at his hands and wishes he wouldn’t hold them like that. The hot dog is so awful it allows her to forget how awful the kiss just was. But the thought of sex maybe being exciting, wet, the thought of being wanted and desired, being looked at with a new kind of lust, that thought clouds her mind as Hayden encourages her to finish the hot dog. So she says to herself, ok. She wants to be fucked, she wants to be desired, she wants to fuck every inch of his body but not because she wants him, but because she want him to want her.


Zoe gets in the car and takes the fries with her. His apartment is a studio. Small. Simple. On the way there Zoe checks her phone for battery. All ok. He seems to be somewhere else. So she starts thinking about the hunger she had a while ago. The hot dog didn’t quite cut it, so it might’ve not been physical hunger.
“Well, this is it.” Zoe smiles awkwardly. “It’s nice.” “Yeah. I like it. “ “Can I have some water?” “Sure.” Hayden walks away. While the water is running, Zoe looks around the flat, trying to analyse every detail of the apartment from where she is in a restless manner. She picks on the fries, eating them slowly, bitterly, and taking in as much information about Hayden as possible as she does so. Though the weeks, months, of texting back and forth have endorsed the idea of him, Him, with a capital letter; it’s now, it’s that gap in the last three hours, that is filling up the bottle of hope.
After what seems like an eternity, Hayden hands Zoe a tall glass of water. She downs the water in one go while Hayden stands in front of her, waiting, looking at her gulping the lukewarm water. Zoe hates lukewarm water but nevertheless, finishes the glass. Out of breath, she thanks Hayden, pauses, and looking back at him, decides to kiss him, beads of water still dripping from the corner of her mouth. She pulls away to look at him again. There’s something about the situation that makes Zoe keep looking at Hayden from a distance, an energy that pulls her away, that pushes her to take a step back.

She ignores it. Finally, Hayden grabs Zoe by her t-shirt, pulling her very slowly towards him. Everything he seems to do is lethargic. They start kissing continuously, which comes as a surprise, so Zoe tries to get into it a little more, closing her eyes, grabbing his head, pulling his hair. Trying to merge into his being. Hayden touches Zoe’s breast and a second later he quickly pulls away. “Sorry.”
It takes Zoe a second to understand what he’s apologising about. “What? Why are you sorry?” “Uh. For touching you.” “I want you to touch me.” she whispers, half laughing, half speechless. Zoe grabs his hand and places it on her breast. “Ok.”
Ok and that’s it, he tries it out, and she closes her eyes wishing, again, he wouldn’t touch her like that, but rather, he’d hold her, squeeze her from left to right, and then to some extent press her nipples until she felt something. But that doesn’t happen, so Zoe starts taking her clothes off clumsily, trying to take control of the ballgame. “Seeing me naked will help maybe?”

There’s so many maybe’s living in her head, but hunger soft-pedals them, until she’s in bed sighing, barely. They’re both in bed finding ways to lock mouths, hands up and down, a moan here and there, but mostly there’s silence, until before what seems like the moment before they fuck when Hayden pulls away and says “I don’t think I can come to Brooklyn”. Zoe laughs “Sorry?”. Flustered, sounding way too serious he replies “I just can’t”. “Uh. Ok?” “I… I mean I would. I just don’t go to Brooklyn very often” The really and the just together seem so silly that Zoe laughs again but looks confused and starts realising Hayden isn’t trying to be funny. And if he’s not being funny what’s he trying to do? Struggling to find the right words he then blurts it out, like if it were a small toad he’d been holding in all night, poking every once in a while in the insides of his mouth, slimy and green. “So... So have you been... Seeing? Other people?” “What?” “You know. I just... Never mind.”

And for one moment Zoe pauses and struggles to understand why this is so complicated when it should be just so easy. So she whispers to herself but also to him “Ok?... Are you ok?”. It hits her all at once, but the longing and impatience have made it so difficult that it’s been impossible to see, though once it does, once she looks at Hayden and he silently acknowledges what’s been said all night without words, underlined in the rushed kisses and absent chemistry, she remembers she feels the same way. But they owe it to each other. They owe each other the attempt. So they fuck each other anyway. Because it’s worse to accept the defeat. It would be lamentable to be naked on top of each other and recognise the reality of the fucked up circumstance. Because sex is the consolation you have when you can’t have love, and if you can’t have sex then what is left when hunger is the synonym of loneliness.

While they’re fucking, Hayden pulls out and walks away in nothing but his yellow socks. Panting, Zoe looks towards him confused. She lays on her belly and looks to the side, frowning, and looks back towards where Hayden seems to have gone.
“Hayden?” “Yeah?” “I’m confused.” “Why are you confused?” Zoe mouths “what?” to herself, hesitating before asking, “did you come?” “Yeah” “Oh. Ok. Cool?”

Cool is the only word she seems to remember. Hayden comes back to the bed and lays down, looking anywhere but towards Zoe. And instead of being quiet, Zoe only seems to have one question. “You ok?” “Sure. You?” She doesn’t answer. She looks up to the ceiling, hoping to find the solution to the incredibly uncomfortable silence that fills every inch of the room up. “I don’t know.” “Yeah. Me neither.” “It’s weird.”
It’s weird because there should’ve been something. Something that filled up the bottle of hope. Expectations seem so stupid once you’re naked in a strangers bed. “I know.“ One, two, three, four, five, a pause that takes 5 hours in her head, but is only 5 minutes in his, when it’s as a matter of fact, 5 seconds.

“I’m sorry. Are you uncomfortable?” Zoe takes a second before answering. She sits up and looks forward. She then looks back at Hayden. “Yes, I’m uncomfortable.” How could she not be? Hayden consistently avoids Zoe. How can someone avoid such beautiful green eyes? “Sorry.”
Zoe continues to look at Hayden, and there’s something in the way she looks at him that is driven by rage. Outrage, resentment, and most of all, impatience. The worst thing about it all is that he knows, which is why he doesn’t look up. “Well. You’re even prettier in real life” he manages to say.

Zoe studies the room. Her blue underwear are on the floor. A blue Durex wrapper is nearby. Her phone lights up with an email letting her know there’s a 2 for 1 offer on take out pizza in her usual spot. She looks at the time on top corner. 1 am. “Well. I guess I’m gonna go…?” she says. “You sure? You can stay... If you want?” he says, wrapped in the bed covers that stink of weakness and doubt. “I think I’m gonna go home.” Zoe starts getting dressed, slowly, on the edge of the bed. She looks at Hayden, who is still laying down, barely looking at Zoe. She grabs her phone from the floor. She’s slow because she’s waiting for something, a sign of longing, a clue, an inexistent connection, one she knows she doesn’t want. “I like your fish-net ‘thingy’s’” With her back to Hayden, Zoe rolls her eyes while slipping up her jeans. “Yeah. Thanks.” she answers. She zips up her boots, puts her hair back, picks up her phone, and holds her tights rolled up in her other hand, clenched in her fist. “Well. My Uber is almost here.” “Ok.” “Ok.” “So... Do you want me to walk you out?” “That’s fine.” “Ok. You sure?” But it’s clearly not fine. Zoe walks out the door and turns around to look at Hayden, still in bed. “Ok. Then I guess... Bye.”


She gets back to her house at 1:34 am, after being in a Uber that has driven her from his house to hers. She goes over the last hour trying to work out how she’s ended up so disoriented. He didn’t walk her out. He didn’t kiss her, he didn’t grab her or hug her. He just stood there, looking at her while she got dressed, asking if she was ok. In that moment Zoe wants to cry, but is not too sure why. She looks in the mirror and sees her make up is smudged on her forehead, around her eyes, on her cheek. It looks like she’s been crying. A very messy kind of crying. She hopes it happened in the car. Zoe knows she’ll be ok tomorrow -she’ll have pancakes at her favorite spot, coffee, she’ll be fine-but for some reason, it still stings. She thinks it might be the gruesome impoliteness. No matter how much he might have been thinking about someone else, he did fuck her in his bed, she was just naked in between his sheets. She thinks, “I don’t care if our mouths didn’t connect, I don’t care if our bodies didn’t connect either. Our minds did for a while, for a moment, and maybe, that should really count more”.
And that’s stupid. Because she’s thought of the word maybe again. It might have been all in her head, it could have been the wine that made her do all of this. Sure, alcohol might have fogged her up, fake turned her on, but most of all, it was hopes fault.
Hope and the expectation of connection. Zoe washes her face, takes off her clothes and sits on the toilet to pee. And while she takes a piece of toilet paper she says in a mimicking way: “I like your fish-net thingy’s”.

And while she flushes the toilet, a text comes up on her phone:

“Sorry again for all the weirdness”