Endings

 "You are not good at endings are you?" I looked up from my attempt at balancing matches on the bar, to the person asking that question with a bit of surprise. "What makes you say that? I've finished/ended several beers just in the last couple of hours, all things considered they were happy endings as well. At least until tomorrow's sun smashes its way into my eyes and makes me want to die." She smirked at that (she is a great one for smirks). "Yes, Shakespeare you've certainly had a fair amount of beer. I expect that it will make you brood as usual." I raised an eyebrow, "who said beer makes me brood?" She replied "I said that, and while I have the floor, I'll say a lot more. Beer makes you brood, whiskey makes you maudlin, and gin makes you angry. These are the three moods of GI. Accept them or not at your leisure, but that's the lot."

I sighed, she made me sigh a lot. She had a point, not that I would give her the satisfaction of telling her, and not that I needed to, she already knew, the bitch. "I thought we were discussing endings, not the three moods of me. Neither of these statements I accept as true by the by." "Oh, we can discuss your poor performance at endings if you wish. I am big fan of discussing your failings, but you'll need to buy me another drink first sailor." I motioned for the barkeep to bring her another drink, nothing like paying the bill to listen to a list of your flaws. She was quite good at pointing out my flaws. I sometimes thought that perhaps that was why she kept coming back, she could never find someone quite as flawed (in her opinion) as me, and she was a master at finding fault. It wasn't exactly her best trait, but you know her best trait didn't require talking.

 "Have I ever told you I hated you?" She let loose another smirk. "No, I don't believe you have. I told you I hated you once, but since you were fucking me at the time, I think it might have been at best a mixed message. Not that you are particularly good at getting messages either across or through." I laughed at that, "have you ever thought maybe it's the not the message that is the important part? Maybe it just the simple words, take for example 'i hate you' not really a deep message there, unless you start to dig. But why would you dig into that? Do you want to know how much, or how deeply someone hates you? Do you want to know why, how, or what for? You want to hear the stories of how they lie awake at night hating you, and devising multiple ways to ruin your life? Or is "I hate you" enough to get the point into your thick skull? Well, not your thick skull my sweet, your skull is as finely formed as the rest of you, which is the tragedy of you. Finely formed, but ..." I trailed off before I finished that sentence it was an old argument of ours, we had several of them, old arguments that is, and it wasn't going to come to an end tonight. After all, I am shit at endings, she wasn't wrong about that, but I'd take that admission to my grave if necessary. 

"Yes, Shakespeare I've heard the stories about my fine form, not that I mind them, they are after all true, but I just figure that maybe you had something else to say for a change. You've no reply to my observation about you being bad at endings?" I took a deep drink of my beer, "perhaps I shall have to brood upon the subject, and get back to you with my findings." She finished her drink, stood up, gathered her things, and on the way out said "well don't brood too long pretty boy, after all I might need to remind you that I hate you in about an hour." She smiled, she was quite pretty when she smiled. "You know the apartment code, and the key will be in its usual spot, don't brood too long lover, but I'll realistic and give you two hours, because I know you'll sit here and wrestle with what I just said about endings for a "couple" of more pints. I can afford to be patient." And with that she swanned out of the bar with all the curse of her curves on display. 

 Watching her swan out of the bar was almost worth paying the tab in and of itself. When she tried, and she was trying, she had a walk that made grown men feel underage. She was aware of my gaze upon her departing form, and she milked it for all it was worth, the bitch. Maybe I should have told her I hated her after all? Though I wasn't exactly sure that I do, which is why I ordered another pint, and decided I had at least an hour to think (I prefer to call it thinking, not brooding thank you very much). Sully in his usual way, came over with another pint, and said "not sure who that one is, but she certainly has a way of making an exit." I nodded as I looked again at the door, "yeah I suppose she does, she comes and goes, but never quite leaves, that is part of the problem of her." Sully just laughed, and said "well you'd know better than me GI, but I am confused as to why you are still here, but then again I've said that about you way too many times over the years."

"Go polish a glass Sully, I'll leave in me own time, and under me own steam as usual, and not before." Sully just nodded and walked away, he wasn't going to say more than he needed to, and in his mind he had said what he needed to. It is what makes him a brilliant bartender. Of course she had a point, I am not good at endings, after all she is walking, talking proof of it. We had wandered into and out of each other's orbits more than once, and it seemed that is how it was going to be. A brief flurry of mutual attention, followed by (sometimes years) of neglect. Like an ancient church that gets a makeover once a decade before beginning to fall back into rack and ruin.

The other main point she had (the bitch) is that she knew all of this, and she knew that the pattern of our "relationship" was not, in fact, ours. She knew that because drunk me had decided one night to tell her that. It was not exactly the brightest idea I have ever had, but drunk me sometimes likes to make things difficult for sober me, the bastard. The point about me being bad at endings was just another broadside in our little war. She knew that endings were not my strong suit, and that there were/are other carbon based life forms of the female variety that were out there in the world. Like ships that have sailed away from port in search of fairer weather, but always knowing the way back just in case of storms. 

She was wrong about one thing, although she would never admit it, or maybe she just didn't remember it. She had told me she hated me more than the one time she mentioned. It was said whilst being fully clothed so the message was decidedly not mixed. It was crystal clear, and said with some force, made all the more pointed by a request to "get the fuck out of my sight." A request that I figured it was in my best interest to grant at the time. It was, at the time, what I considered to be a pretty fair approximation of an ending. I was, eventually wrong, but that is not an uncommon occurrence. 

I wondered what alignment of the stars had brought her wandering back into my orbit? Was she just at loose ends, and knew I would be there, like some human security blanket? Was she actually more fond of me than she let on? Or did she just want to make me her dirty, little secret again? Slumming amongst the proles, while waiting for something classier to come along? Then I realized it really wasn't the time or the place to ponder this particular mystery of the universe. I was never going to solve her for X anyway, and besides my allotted 'brooding' time was at an end. I called Sully over, and said "while as pretty as a peach Sully my man, I've got to go see a man about a horse." Sully smiled, and replied "your tab is paid GI, go give that filly a happy ending." I laughed "Sully my man, you've never said anything more true in your miserable life."