Swipe Right

Swipe Right

Right up the butt. Shoulda done laundry. Don’t borrow Cassie’s hoochy mamas.

That’s what I was thinking when Sag mush w/gp answered the door. Okay he’s not a mind reader. But I think he had a pretty good idea. I had one leg up on his porch rail and was vigorously tugging at my sister’s “make him beg” satin panties through my torn Levis.

I had set the pizza down and that, more than my gymnastics, confused him.

“You’re not Kimberly.” He spat.

I had, by now, abandoned my de-wedging.

“Look!” he accused, as he shoved his Galaxy S10 in my face.

On the screen was a Tinder profile. Kimberly hated beer and cigarettes and liked bocce ball and spinning. Her lulu lemons fit perfectly and her boobs were as snug as two sumo wrestlers tucked into the back seat of a Porsche.

I’d of slapped Kimberly out of his hand if I could have afforded it. I couldn’t and I didn’t. I did mentioned which internal organ would be the S10’s destination and how it would get there if he didn’t get it out of my frigging face.

He retreated into his gray on gray on gray techie lair.

“Ugh sorry” he managed as I presented his large sausage, mushroom and green pepper.

“You didn’t touch it?” He was reminding me where my fingers had been when he answered the door.

“It’s in a box, dork. That will be twenty eight thirty five with tax.”

Usually I get thirty and a hearty “keep the change”, but he gave me an extra fin as penance. I take guilt tips.

“Thanks.” I chirped, as the door was closing in my face.

I almost made it off the porch, but I couldn’t let it go. I turned and yelled through the door, “FYI you will not get lucky tonight, Kimberly is Hawaiian with double pineapple and she hates green peppers!”

Back on my fixie and back in the crack with the hoochy mamas.

He didn’t stand out, I had two stoners pay for a twenty one dollar medium with eighteen dollars and ninety three cents in loose change and a blunt. Two old men called me son or boy and someone slid the money under the door and waited until I hit the street to retrieve their peperoni large.

I love this job.

I love dogs.

Since I can’t own one, I have made friends with every dog that walks the Lake Merritt path. Ricco, Tony, Pumpkin, Dodger, Bullitt, Sadie and Kevin, yes a shiatsu named Kevin.

I was Dutch rubbing Tony’s head, when Sag mush w/gp sat on a near-by bench, clearly waiting for me to move away from the pit bull.

“Miss”, he queried as Tony moved on.

“Do I know you?”

As I asked, I remembered. S10 creep.

“How do you know Kimberly?” he asked, as he scanned me from head to toe.

“Do I look like I would know Kimmie?” Making plain I’d read his mind.

“I don’t know, the gym.” A nice attempt at repair.

“No” I’d had enough.

“Then how did you know her favorite pizza and that she hated green peppers?” came out in a rush before I could get some distance.

Six years I’ve been delivering pizzas, so I see patterns, tells, personalities. If I have a half anchovy, half Hawaiian, grandpa will answer the door and Disney will be on the tube and I’ll get less than a buck tip, but that’s okay from a grandpa.

I don’t tell Sag mush w/gp this.

“I got the sight”, I tell him as I plop down next to him. He withers, not used to the manly smell of a girl who hugs dogs, skips showers, doesn’t wear socks and has Sriracha on grits for breakfast.

Out comes the S10 with Dawn, a biracial beauty with high cheekbones and endless legs. She likes travel and politics.

“Kalamata olives, goat cheese and sun dried tomatoes with a pesto base.” And I’m trotting toward Kevin who is nosing a dead seagull while his owner is texting.

I don’t particularly like people but they fascinate me. It’s easy to observe people if they have no interest in you. I‘m the pizza delivery girl, standing in your doorway looking into you house, you don’t dress up for me, you don’t pick up the room or change the channel, you don’t put on your personality for me. Twenty one bucks for a pizza and a four dollar tip, five minutes in your open doorway and I know more about you than your hundred dollar an hour therapist.

Yes, Dawn loved the pizza, and Sag mush w/gp brought me a mango mochi, which was a pretty good call for someone as obtuse as Cyrus. That turned out to be his name, I went with Skink, my work moniker.

“You nailed it Skink.” He was in afterglow.

And so began our perverted Thursdays. He’d show me his latest Tinder date and I’d recommend the pizza, the drink, the music and the movie.

Mostly I didn’t deliver to Cyrus on Fridays. I can only take so much weird.

I might have cleaned up and he might have sat closer while we planned his conquests. Sometimes I’d tell Cyrus to swipe left to save him from some mental torture or physical abuse. On those Tinder less Fridays, I’d drop by, after shift, and drink his good IPA. I’d make fun of his home, clothes, job, movies, music, whatever. He’d lecture me on self-improvement, personal hygiene and education. Mostly we’d laugh at each other. After 30 plus miles of delivery and two good IPAs I’d pass out on his couch and wake up under a blanket with my shoes off and a toothbrush next to my head.

I thought I had him read and then he noticed me.

Nobody knows me like Cassie and she doesn’t get me. We’re foster sisters. When we aged out we moved in. She sells thousand dollar purses in the city and is learning French. I deliver pizza in west Oakland and am working on a slappie. But we been through the system together and came out without an addiction to blow or the bible, so we know.

Cassie wondered why I was lifting toothbrushes, so I gave her the overview.

“You’re sleeping with a man now?” she chortled.

“I sleep on the couch”. Already sorry I’d shared.

“Maybe if you used the toothbrush, he’d let you in the bed.”

“No, no and hell no!” I did not want that image my head.

“It isn’t a sin to fall in love, even for one night, you’re twenty six.”

We don’t fight, we just make space. So I left. I wish I’d stayed, cuz Cassie got swiped right.

Cyrus is why I missed Cyrus that Thursday. He was in my head in a way I did not permit, thanks to Cassie.

At the top of the Berkley hills, is a park with a carousel, Tilden Park. One of my foster families used to take me there and I’d ride the horse with a rose behind its ear. That horse is my safe place and that is where I headed, to the top of the Berkley hills on my fixie.

The best way to unjumble a busy mind is to inflict pain until pain is all there is.

I nearly puked up a lung getting there. The carousel was closed but I still found the horse and draped myself on her, wheezing for breath. Then who should intrude? Cyrus. I thought I’d ditched him on Avenida when I hit that seven percent grade.

It was, after all, Thursday I remembered, and I’d left him hanging. He’d be as helpless as he was with Kimberly those many months ago. He wouldn’t swipe right if left was right and he’d likely swipe right if right was wrong.

I couldn’t be responsible and my vintage Wu Tang t-shirt would be a little thin when the sun set. Beer revolution at the bottom for a Zapped on Zappa IPA in 15 minutes, blow the stop signs. Maybe I’d lose him in the adrenaline.

Friday was busy, so I didn’t have time to think about the likely dysfunction at Cyrus’s. And I was whooped by the end, so I didn’t bed check Cassie.

I was up early Saturday and a shower sounded like a good Idea. Cassie wouldn’t miss a little lavender body wash. Since I had about a dozen toothbrushes, I figured I should try one out. And deodorant? Just a little would hurt, would it?

It was a beautiful day at the lake until Tony walked right by.

“Yo pooch” I yelled. He almost took his owners arm off lurching back to me. Me and Tony still got a thing. Dogs see with their nose, so I forgave the rejection and welcomed the dog slobber.

And the day was beautiful again for a few wags of Tony’s stumpy tail.

It went down something like this.

“Hey Skink” That’s Cassie.

“You know her?” That’s Cyrus.

“Oh Shit!” That would be Cassie.

“FUCK YOU TINDER SLUTS” That was me as I ran away and kept running and running and running.

Tony would have eviscerated them if he was off his leash. Bullitt and Sadie strained, snarling threats. Dodger and Ricco were dragging their owners from across the lake to rumble for me. Even Pumpkin the Pekinese was yipping savagely. The mayhem is what kept me from running into the freeway.

We have a rent controlled apartment in the one of the most expensive cities in the world. If either of us left, we’d both be homeless. We’d been there. So I stayed.

She said it and I knew it. She didn’t know Cyrus was the toothbrush guy. She would never…

But she did, so we made space.

Love is when you stay. She stayed through that artic summer. She quit tinder and got pretty good at “Puis je avoir une tasse de café si vous plait” Please may I have a cup of coffee.

I changed my ring tone to Wu Tang, “bring the motherfucking ruckus” and went back to my personal hygiene neglect. I bagged on Cyrus to everyone and no one, to the dogs, to the passing cars. I trashed him with a sharpie in bathroom stalls and subway walls.

What an idiot! What a pathetic, shallow, doughy excuse for a hominoid. He had playlists with disco and playlists with death metal. His thousand movie collection spanned from Grease to Saw. All to please someone else.

His Tinder profile, which I don’t give a shit about, but a friend showed me. “The perfect pizza, a classic celluloid and the smell of the ocean.” The ocean my ass. All you can smell from his place is Alameda. And celluloid? What a jag off!

There was no Cyrus in Cyrus, he was an avatar letting the game play him. He didn’t even know what pizza he liked. I didn’t know what pizza he liked and I was his pizza pimp!

How can you miss nobody?

Smart cookies don’t crumble, Time heals all wounds or time wounds all heels or longing makes the heart grow fonder or farting makes the prom go longer.

The day came. A larger artichoke heart, pepperoncini, mushroom and sage sausage landed on my bike with Cyrus’s address.

He’s just another Joe, five minutes on the stoop, no eye contact and another penance tip. I had my own unders on so this should be easy.

And it was and I did get a guilt tip. I stared at my converse and was obsequious. Yes sir, thank you sir, enjoy your pie. I frigging did it! So bring the motherfucking ruckus!

Well he did, on Friday. Same order. But this time he left me standing, I guess his wallet was in the other room, so I took a peek. The first thing that caught my attention was a bike, a nice road bike on new beige carpet to match the earth tone walls.

It became our Friday dance. Wallet was in the other room and I was rewriting his profile, the bike got used, the movie collection was down by eighty percent, I never saw the S10 and there was never company. Real books filled in for the missing movies. The exchange was always polite, the penance tip was a one shot deal though.

You ever get really cold feet in the snow? They’re numb so you don’t feel them until they start to thaw and they tingle and they hurt and you wish they were still numb. Yeah me too.

The ripe smell of the fall low tide was in the air, I guess you could smell the ocean from his place. He asked me to step in and close the door, for the smell, like I wasn’t pretty low tide myself. He went in the other room for his wallet. I flipped the safety on my pepper spray.

“Nice bike Cyrus.” Okay the tingle was killing me.

“Yeah, thanks, you got any suggestions for a ride?” How about straight to hell, I thought.

But I said “Tilden Park is nice.” Almost the same thing.

“I’m not there yet.” He said as he emerged from the back room and caught me looking.

“Jesus Cyrus!”

He wasn’t naked or anything, but he’d lost, probably, thirty pounds and the facial hair and man bun were replaced with a surfer shag. He was wearing a beer t-shirt, Revision Citra Slam I think, and denims. Rico Suave was not in the house.

“That beer any good?” Backpedaling furiously.

He looked down at his shirt.

“I got some in the frig, if you wanna come by later.”

I did want to.

“Cool.”

Did he win? Did I win? Who won?

“I can order a pizza. What’s your favorite?”

Now he was outa bounds.

“Don’t go there. That’s never gonna happen!”

But he was laughing at me, then with me.

It was kinda funny.