I miss a lot of things about Katy. I miss Katy, for one. I miss the way she used to laugh— although I missed that long before she left; she stopped laughing weeks ago.
I miss her smile— another thing she didn’t do often around me.
I miss…the sex. We’d whisper sweet nothings into each others’ ears:
“Beggars can’t be chooser,” we’d whisper, together.
“I’m going to quit shaving my armpits,” she’d whisper.
“Why would you do that?” I’d whisper-ask.
“It’s an artificial social construct and I don’t want to be held down anymore.”
“Your armpits are a decision we should both make together.”
“The both of us? Fuck that, it’s my body,” she said.
Katy began to get larger, in my very own arms, no less. She always seemed to gain weight when she was angry at me. “Stop getting angry,” I said, “Nothing sexually or emotionally helpful comes from it.”
Katy seemed to shed off a bit of her jiggle almost immediately— especially from her chin area. I petted her slowly to calm her down some more.
“That’s a good— good baby, what an inspiring feminist she is,” and she fell asleep like how an angry cat would. “Let’s bang and talk about it in the morning.”
So that’s what we did. We banged and didn’t talk about it in the morning.
This whole Katy going out of town thing has been about a lot of firsts. For the first time in years, for instance, I get three paychecks in the same month. What luck!
So for the first time in three years I decided to stay in on a Thursday night and not spend any money. And for the first time in ever I decided to do my taxes— and actually did them. And I owe the government $201. What luck!
While doing my taxes I called Katy on Skype to see how she was doing and her tits. The call rang for thirty (30) seconds until it finally picked up. It was a difficult thirty seconds— she could have been finishing a guy off for all I knew.
An old lady answered. She had wrinkles and did not look happy.“Katy,” I exclaimed, “What happened to your face? We are breaking up, holy shit, what has Argentina done to you?”
“Hola Charlie,” Katy’s voice said from off-screen. Everything was coming together. “That’s my—,” she started, but I cut her off.
“It’s your grandmother!” I exclaimed. Thank goodness, that was a close one.
“No,” her grandmother said. Her face got older and angrier looking, “You do not call me Grandma . You call me Blanca.”
“Really? You want me to call you White? Like, White Lady? Grandma Pelota, como se dice ‘that’s doritos locos’ en espanol?” I asked.
Katy pushed her Blanca aside and took the center of the screen.
“Hey love,” she said.
“It’s so good to see you sweety,” I said. “It’s been ten whole days.”
“Did you notice anything different about me?” she asked.
To be honest, I was just going to say she lost weight but I hadn’t noticed that…I figured maybe I wasn’t able to tell because of the camera or something. So I told her that.
“No,” she shot back, “I dyed my hair.”
“Katy, I love you but I can’t tell on Skype. You dyed your hair right before you left; I’m not going to be able to tell the difference on Skype,” I calmly asserted.
“We need to talk,” she said.
Oh no, I thought. Do we? “Do we?” I asked.
“Yes, we haven’t talked to each other in nine days. We need to at least talk to each other.”
“Well if that’s your rationale then OK; We don’t have to talk. We should talk. But that’s still subjective—we should talk because it would be good for our relationship. Now whether or not our relationship is good for us is a matter of objectivity as well. So for our own selves, should we talk to each other?”
“I can’t hear you,” Katy said, looking down, “You’re breaking up.”
“I know, I’m trying to,” I said.
We talked in circles like this for about an hour before we told each other that we loved each other and good night. She kept mentioning how sad I looked and I told her how it had to do with me missing her. But that was only half true—actually, it was about 13% true; I was 86% unhappy because of my taxes, 13% unhappy because she was gone, and 1% unhappy with my upbringings as usual because fuck you dad.