Dear Journal
April 1, 2013
You think at my age, I would be joking about all the sexual unpreparedness of my youth. It's too bad I wasn't like all the other boys; I'm a grown man now, and I am still learning the do's and don'ts of bedside manner. I had this really weird experience with Rita. I didn't really know what to do, so I just followed Hector's advice... I attempted to perform oral sex on her. He said, "Hey man, if she wants to go down the emotional road, just distract her by going down on her." She was crying to the movie I rented for us. I tried to keep my eyes open so they would start to water. I don't know what came over me, renting a movie for us, as if we are together or something. But the thing that surprises me about Rita is how much I like being with her. She refused my offer, though. I couldn't tell if it was awkward, so I just stopped. I guess Hector's advice was wrong; that will teach you to listen to a drunk friend's advice. I got up and sat next to her; the movie was boring and I needed to reflect on what had just happened. That's when this vivid memory of my father reoccurred to me. I remember it... it was after prom and most boys were out getting lucky; I was home early. I didn't care for that kind of behavior, nor did romance interest me. I asked him, "Dad, will I ever feel it?" He said, "I hope so, son, I sure hope so." My father's words ring in my ears like it was just yesterday.
April 8, 2013
It was a relief to finally kill the couple who were drowning the Cuban immigrants. There were women and children in there; they were innocent. So, they had to die. I saw Rita hugging the victim's wife. She thought he had gotten lost at sea when he was crossing the border. They were illegal. I told Rita that I'd contact my friends in the Immigration Office to try to help find him. She refused; they would get caught if I did so. I knew it was an empty offer. I have learned the people tend to offer resources like networking when their loved ones are in trouble. I don't love Rita, but I suppose in the grand scheme of things, she is a loved one. The victim's husband washed ashore. Finally, some blood. Some evidence. When Rita hugged the victim's wife at the morgue, I felt nothing. The inability to feel has it's advantages, sometimes.
April 15, 2013
Rita and I are having dinner, alone. The kids are asleep. I remember my parents would have reflective conversations at dinner. I attempt to talk to her about the future. It's risky, and I don't know what I am going to say. But, after all, isn't that what relationships are all about? I took the risk. I asked her, "Do you ever dream for your life, for your future?" She looked up as if she were surprised and answered slowly, "Yes, do you?" I knew my answer, "I want someday, to be content, just to feel comfortable like everyone else. I want..." Then, Rita finished my sentence, "... a normal life." She said this so naturally, if I could feel I would have felt happiness, I think. I agreed, "No fame, no fortune, excitement at every turn." She said, "I'll take average, boring, and ordinary." I felt like this was abnormal, all I ever see are people doing everything they can to make money. I said, "That's weird, huh?" We both laughed. I felt awkward, but she is pleasant and so kind. I want to be more than I am. I just don't think I could ever do more than this; I enjoy it too much.
Dinner Scene:
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