Have I lost it yet?

It was a Sunday evening when I decided to take a walk. My initial thought was: “It’s so fucking cold out here! What the fuck?” My second thought was: "Why did I decide to move to one of the coldest cities in America?" That was a genius idea, wasn’t it?

The sad thing is that as cold as it was in this city, there wasn’t even any snow. It was just freezing and depressing and everyone walked around in the 10 degree weather acting like there weren’t eight foot long icicles hanging off of buildings and waiting to kill people.

According to an Instagram meme I saw earlier, today was “the first day of spring.” I resisted the urge to shout ‘BULLSHIT’ at my screen and decided that rather than breaking my new phone, I should go do something productive. 

Working out was an option, but the thought of doing squats and leg lifts in a smelly weight room full of strangers wasn’t exactly at the top of my list. As much as I hate leaving my apartment, I knew I had to get outside and do something. It was 4:35, which meant sunlight would soon be a thing of the past, so I laced up my sneakers and decided to just go outside and see where my legs carried me.

Turns out I don’t have a very active imagination because I ended up exactly where I expected to: the park. How fucking creative. 

Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with the park. It’s a nice park. It’s right by the river and there’s a running trail and a bunch of docks where you can sit and look at the water when it’s not frozen, which is almost never. 

No, the park is alright. The park fine. It’s just the things that have happened there that are not so great. 

Now, hands shoved in my pockets, I feel my shoulders rise up to my ears as the cold air of the river hits my face. 

I don’t know which deranged weatherman needs to be smacked in the head with a newspaper, but it’s definitely not spring. I’m wearing my winter coat and I still feel like my body is made of ice cubes. 

As I cross a bridge that leads to the further part of the river, I start to see a bunch of couples walking about. In fact, the more I look around, the more I realize that the park is basically nothing but couples. People holding hands, making out, trying to get an ass-squeeze in before their obnoxious toddler comes crashing into them with their three wheeler. 

This is what I get for trying to be productive on a Sunday. I should have just stayed home, in my house, eating instant ramen and watching Big Mouth, but no, I came outside, into this couple-infested tundra of a park and now I’m even more miserable than I was when I started.

Lovely.

When I spot a couple sitting on a bench and watching the sunset, it’s the last straw. How could they do that? That was our bench. 

But I guess I can’t really blame them. Alex and I haven’t sat at that bench in six months. We haven’t talked for longer. It doesn’t matter that our initials had been sketched into the base of it like something out of a 90s rom-com. It doesn’t matter that I even carved a little skull with heart eyes onto the back of the wooden boards.

It doesn’t matter that it used to be our favorite spot to sit and talk about Shane Dawson conspiracy theories for hours. It doesn’t matter that we used sit on the bench backwards, putting our feet on the top part and letting our heads hang down until we felt so dizzy we had to sit upright.

It doesn’t matter that Alex would do that every time, no matter what, even when she was wearing a skirt. It doesn’t matter that she once pulled my pants down while I was doing it. 

None of it matters. Because Alex is gone now and I’m here alone in this frozen city that I only moved to in order to be with HER and now some other random couple has taken over our bench and is sitting on it right side up. 

And if I’m being honest, that’s a pretty fucked up thing to do. 

But the couple has no idea what they’re doing wrong. For all they know, it’s just a regular public bench with zero sentimental value and zero rules regarding the proper way to sit. 

They’re so fucking wrong.

I stand there on the path, feeling colder than I ever imagined was possible, and think about going up to them and telling them that they've fucked up.

“Hey, guys? Sorry to bother you,” I would say. “I know this is gonna sound a little weird, but that bench is actually not meant for sitting like that. You see, me and my ex-girlfriend, Alex, um, she broke up with me a few months ago, but anyways, she and I used to sit on this bench upside down. It was actually a competition…. Here, let me show you….”

And then I would climb onto the bench and show them how to do it properly. I would curl my legs over the top and let my head dangle over the edge where most people mistakenly put their legs. 

“So, like this,” I would continue, my voice a bit strained. “And you have to see who can last like this longer. And also, there’s a possibility that one of you pulls the other one’s pants down…”

I would sit up, either to find them staring at me in disbelief with cartoon-character mouths or sprinting away into the distance. 

“Anyways,” I would conclude, fixing my rumpled jacket and messed up hair. “I just wanted to let you know so you can sit on it the right way.”

That’s what I thought about doing. I wanted to do it too. I really did. But you know, there are societal rules against being deranged in public. And I'd rather not spend the night in a psych ward tonight.

So instead of doing my duty of educating the public, I turn on my heel and start walking away. 

My vision is kind of blurry, not because I’m crying or anything. It’s just cold. Shivering, I pull my hood on tighter and begin to cross the bridge. 

It’s not until I’m on the other side that I realize someone is tapping me on the back. 

“What the fuck?” My voice was meant to come out at normal volume, but I find myself shouting. 

“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

I still haven’t turned around yet, but the guy's voice is soft and familiar. I feel like I’ve met him before. 

“It’s okay,” I say, rubbing my cheek with my gloved hand as I spin around to face him. “Just wasn’t paying attention. Um, hey.”

We lock eyes and it’s immediately clear that I have not met him before.

“Hey,” the mystery man says. “I just wanted to tell you…”

I’m listening. But I’m also not listening because this guy is a supermodel. Gorgeous green eyes, curly brown hair, a sharp jawline with the perfect amount of stubble. He wears a long parka with and black trousers with tan loafers. A green scarf drapes around his neck.

“Your pants are kind of… falling off,” he says with an embarrassed smile. “Wasn’t sure if that was an intentional choice or not.” 

I pull my pants up so quickly that I nearly fall down in the process. 

“Fuck, oh my god, it’s not the 90s,” I reply, laughing. “Sorry you had to see that disaster.”

“It’s fine," he chuckles. “I’m Jack, by the way.”

“Max,” I say. I go to extend a hand, but then remember how I was just basically touching my boxers a few seconds prior and pull away. “Maybe it’s better not to.”

“Maybe. Well, I hope you have a good day,” Jack says. He smiles, nearly blinding me with the whiteness of his teeth and I look around for hidden cameras. This has to be a joke.

“Y-you too,” I say. 

He starts to walk away and I lean against the railing, watching him and wondering what the fuck just happened. One minute I was having a mental breakdown next to the bench, the next a handsome stranger was telling me my pants were falling down.

I know I’m not the most stable person around, but fuck, I did not know things were this bad.

Another thing I realize is that I no longer feel cold, a feat I truly did not think was possible. 

Shaking my head, I turn to go home. I’m in desperate need of a drink or a therapy session or something. Clearly, I’m losing it.

As I make my way to the street, I see Jack a few feet ahead, standing at the crosswalk looking gorgeous beneath the light of the golden hour. He’s holding his phone, perhaps taking a photo of something, perhaps texting someone. 

I catch up to him and stand a few feet away, waiting for the light change. From this angle, I can see his screen. 

It’s a picture. Dark green. His fingers trace the screen and that’s when I see it. The skull with heart eyes.

“What the fuck?” I shout.

Jack wheels around to face me, his face a fixture of terror and amusement. “Um, hey again!” he laughs.

“Sorry, it’s just, I made that skull. On the bench,” I stammer. Never in my life have I craved Xanax more. 

His perfect face lights up. “Really? I love it! I take photos of the park all the time. The other day I noticed this and thought it was so cool.”

I smile stupidly for a minute, before forcing my cheeks back to their natural state of resting bitch face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Listen, I’m gonna go get a coffee. Do you wanna come with? You can tell me about it?”

My instant reaction is to say no. No because this is probably some sort of sick joke. No because I don’t really want to talk about a cartoon logo that I created with my ex while high on mushrooms in 2015. No because I haven't taken mushrooms in years but I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating right now.

But then I think of the alternative, which is going home to an empty apartment and potentially breaking my phone over a Kylie Jenner meme that I don’t agree with. I also think of the alternative of missing out on the opportunity to look at this beautiful creature for a little bit long. Then I think of the alternative of...

“I’ll answer for you,” Jack says, stepping closer to me and shattering my cycle of never-ending anxieties. His face is inches from mine and I can smell his cologne, the deep scent of spices and lavender. “Yes.”

I nod, helplessly. Because there really is no other answer here.

So I repeat him. “Yeah, okay. Yes.”