another dear boy letter

Dear Pinot G.,

You really let me down tonight. I was counting on you, counting on you to make me forget my heartbreak, my insecurities, my self-doubt. But instead, Pinot G., you made me realize how very insignificant my problems are.

You brought me news. News of a friend in need, a friend beyond lonliness right now, a friend for whom I, nor anybody else, even those closer than I am, can do anything. And you made me oh so blue.

They knew it at our bar. They put their arms around me and told me to cheer up, to wake up, would I be okay?

I shrugged and fake smiled, and demanded more of you. More of you to help me to shrug it off, to treat the situation with pure, unadulturated, blissful ignorance. But you, my dear, you slid down my throat with your familiar bitter sweetness, but insteaded of comforting me, you refused to let me forget.

It became clear to me very early in the night that you weren't going to help me. It became clear that I had to leave you, and leave you with a quickness, before I exposed my ultimate vulnerabilty to everyone. So I left. And I waited for the bus to bring me back to the solitude of my own home.

But you followed me, and once we were alone, you and I, waiting for that bus to pick us up, you took advantage of the darkness of the street, of my blue disposition, of the lyrics pumping through my iPod.

The food that I'm eating
Is suddenly tasteless
I know what's alone now
I know what it tastes like.

And with that you made those hot salty tears roll down my cheek right there in the darkness of 8th Street. I furiously wiped them away, determined not to let you get the best of me. I wasn't about to let anybody see me cry, that was for damn sure. But when I got in the bus, you continued to torment me.

Won't you help a brother out?

Those beautiful piano melodies to which I used to analyze x-ray evidence at my cozy desk in my cozy, private office suddenly seemed to take on a completely different meaning. And as I stared down at the blue aisle, not picking my head up for a split second, not letting those ten strangers see my vulnerability, you fought me, and fought me hard. A right hook to my heart, a slap to my soul.

I got off the bus and made my way to my street, eyes focused intently on the sidewalk rather than the straight-ahead, confident, don't-fuck-with-me-because-you'd-be-surprised mug that I usually have on H Street. And when I finally reached the solitude of my own home, I rested my head against the closed front door and wept. I wept for the tragedy which I counted on you to help me ignore, but which you threw right in my face.

Fuck you, Pinot. We're breaking up.

Sincerely,
Just One More Broken-Hearted Girl