Earless

I stand in front of the dusty, rectangular wall mirror in my room, straightening the collar of my off-white shirt that I stayed ironing last night. Hmmm…don’t know if I should tuck in my shirt or not. Will Ashley think I’m overdressed?

Hot sweat seeps from under my armpit from the overwhelming apprehension of seeing Ashley this afternoon— my new date!

This Ashley woman came into my life when I least expected it when I wasn’t trying so hard like I always do to get the girls. I was just recovering from a past, whirlwind relationship with a brunette shawty, Bethany—a 5’1 she had emphasized over and over to me. We had met on an online dating app, which my co-worker Nick from the grocery store had introduced me to, and to my misfortune, she turned out to be a dangerous woman who exploited desperate-horny men like me. We had texted for a couple of weeks, then went out to eat at this fancy restaurant, where I spent over $100 bucks on her gold-diggin’ ass.

Afterward, we went to the bar and made love in a decent-looking hotel. I had swigged the rest of the Amarone wine and tried making that night unforgettable and so magical for her, but unfortunately, that’s not what she thought. I woke up the next morning with an awful hangover—naked beneath the light linen covers and hit by a chilling sensation.

I had found out shortly Bethany had left me behind and blocked my ass from all her contacts. And I never saw her again.

That shallow bitch! I know why she had rejected me. I lift the hem of my beanie slightly and remove some strands of hair, exposing a naked flat surface of the skin, where my ears are supposed to be. I know very well why she had dumped me…that night. The way her eyes widened and her breath hitched when her hands slipped through my hair hungrily only to find nothing. The instant fear in her eyes.

I was born like this, with no ears. A deformity, which has haunted me throughout my childhood and deprived me of experiencing life to the maximum. That doesn't mean I can't hear. I can hear things, but barely, like muffled voices that I can manage to make out. The deformity had stopped me from playing with other children in the playground to being called Earless in high school, having my head drowned in the school’s grimy toilets by the school bully Eddie. I still remember his punch-able freckled face.

Scrutinizing the naked ugliness of my deformity with disgust, I brush my hair back so that my missing ears are completely concealed. My alcoholic of a mother said the Doctor told her my earlessness might have been the result of Fetal alcohol syndrome. I knew immediately she was drinking when I was in her womb. Can I really blame her for this?

It is half past 4 p.m. when I arrive at the Cheesecake Factory. My feet tap the spotless floor impatiently, as I skim over the food menu. The afternoon weather is hot and humid today, and the place is not doing a great job on drying the sweat on my face and all over my back. I dap a napkin on my forehead and wipe the cool sweat trickling down my neck like raindrops. I keep looking back at the door every now and then, anticipating a blonde beautiful lady to pop up at any moment, but nothing happens. My breath grows shallow, as a pang of anger leaks into my chest. She’s 10 minutes late! Did she change her mind? I bite my lips with frustration.

We first encountered each other a month ago at the grocery store after my night shift was over. I had taken off my wrinkly red apron, which is what all cashiers wore, and headed towards the exit. On my way to my red hatchback, I accidentally bumped into her, at that time a mere beautiful stranger, the intense force of our body collision knocking her phone from her hands and shattering to the ground. Her eyes looked puffy like she had finished crying, but still beautiful as ever. I had offered to fix her cracked screen like any gentleman would, but she frankly said she’d be glad if I’d do her the favor of dropping her home.

A clattering of heels on marbled floor rings from behind snapping me from my reverie. I turn around, and to my surprise, I spot Ashley. It takes me a moment to realize my mouth is wide open. She is clad in a mid-length denim skirt and a red tank top with a plunging neckline that revealed the curving lines of her breasts, plush and bare. An erotic picture of feeling them flickers in my mind and so does the intense urge of craving to taste her.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting, Thomas.”

“Uh-Uh it’s ok. It’s fine,” I smile sheepishly, the former anger I had towards her melting into nothingness. I stand up, almost knocking on my chair, and go greet her.

“Oh, I was coming to your table,” she breaths, sweeping me up in a hug and I suck in the burst of fruity fragrance emanating from her hair. “You didn’t have to trouble yourself, ya’ know.” Her blue eyes securitize my attire. “Did you just come back from the bank?”

“Bank?” I’m confused for a second, that powerful fragrance of hers lingering in my nostrils. The bank, Thomas! I had lied to her when we texted these three weeks, saying I worked as an accountant in a bank. Little did I know I was going to spark a friendship with this girl. “Y-yeah, yeah.”

“Had a feeling,” she giggles, gesturing at my attire, “Ya’ know, by the way you are carrying yourself elegantly today.”

I grin proudly at her compliment. Do I actually look like the type of guy who works at a bank? I’m very glad I can pull that off. How long can I actually continue living this lie with this beauty when I’m just a zit in a broken-down apartment with its relentless leaking ceilings and musty wood odor?

Ashley sits opposite me and scoots her chair further against the table. Our knees slightly brush against each other, and she glances at me flirtatiously. Or is it really a flirtatious look? I never thought we would end up texting nonstop after that unexpected encounter outside the grocery. Damn, she looks like a goddess. Thomas, stop looking at her damn cleavage!

“So, what kind of bank you work at?” her question peels my eyes off of her, and I quickly straighten myself up. “My brother is really interested in your job. He is looking for someone who has had some job expertise at a bank, and I told him about you.”

Is it really about your brother, Ashley? I can spot a gold-digger from a mile away, and I am already sensing one.

“Uh, Chase bank.” That was the bank I remember crossing on my way to the Cheesecake Factory. I grin, finding this very moment the best time to impress her. I’ve done extensive research about banking, business degree, accountant work experiences, and whatnot to feel confident enough to talk about it. “It gets tiring sometimes,” I spoke with an air of self-assurance. “Long line of costumers coming and going, you rarely take a break. I have to keep track of my client’s financial records, prepare tax returns, and ensure prompt payment. It’s a handful, but you know It’s worth the good money I earn from it.”

Her blue eyes brighten. “That’s super cool!”

That’s the same interesting glance Bethany gave me when I had lied to her about working at a prestigious company. The flirtatious bat of those luring eyes, hungry to entrap a man who would pay for their extravagant meals, shopping sprees, and then dump them like a stray dog after getting what they want.

“You must have earned your business degree from an important school—"

“I’m gettin’ very, very hungry,” I quickly interrupt, not wanting to linger on this confusing career conversation any longer. “Have you chosen anything you like from the menu?”

I allow Ashley to choose everything she craves from the menu, assuring her, almost exaggeratingly, that I’m well off and money is not a problem. This is how I impressed Bethany on our first date, and this seems to attract Ashley as well because a wide smile breaks on her round face. It’s 5 minutes when the waitress approaches our table and serves the food consisting of Ashley’s favorite meals: vegan Cobb Salad, vegan burger, and Evelyn’s Pasta. Ashley is surprisingly vegan, and before putting much thought into it, I had told her I will get what she gets. Now I am stuck eating vegan food for dinner. If you know me too well, I’m a guy who has to have his eggs in the morning, who likes a big scrumptious beef burger from In & out for lunch.

“I have a question,” I start. “Hope it’s not too personal?”

Chewing on her vegan burger, with one hand dabbing the sauce staining the corner of her lips elegantly, she shakes her head. “Go ahead. I’m like an open book. By the way, this burger is sooo good and—”

“Have you been in any other past relationships other than your ex?” My voice is unsteady, my muscles tense.

There’s a fleeting silence before she nonchalantly answers. “No.” Her response relaxes me, like sugar dissolving in a cup of hot tea. “The ex who dumped me in the parking lot is my first. He is a mommy’s boy and his mother doesn’t like me which is why we always argued. Whatever. We were not meant to be anyway. Why ask?”

“Um, it’s just my Ex I was talking to you about the other day,” I start. “She told me she had dated many ex-boyfriends, like six. Can you believe it! And she always said it was their fault, but a woman who dates six men and dumps them is not an angel. She’s a whore who just sleeps with men and dumps them after getting what she wants,” I finish with indignation, remembering how Bethany had left me cold and lonely in the hotel. How she had dumped me like that with no explanation and blocked my phone number.

A sudden frown washes over Ashley’s face and I’m confused. She settles her half-eaten burger down and takes layers of napkins to wipe her palms and fingers. “So, if I had told you I dated six men in the past, you would’ve thought me whore?” Her eyebrows furrow in a look of irritation, awaiting my response.

“That...that’s not what I meant,” I laugh, fixing my beanie awkwardly. “I was just talking about Bethany, no one else.” She doesn’t look convinced, her eyebrows still furrowed. Have I really messed up this date?

“I’m sorry,” I say, sounding almost pleading.

After a few seconds, she says, “I’m full.” I open my wallet to get my debit card.

“I will take care of this,” She says. I watch dumbfoundedly, as Ashley handles the payment with the waitress, then we both leave silently. I notice Ashley ignores me throughout our whole walk to the car.

I offer to take her to this bar that’s merely 30 minutes away to make up for pissing her off. To my elation, Ashley agrees to go with me, although deep down I sense she’s still hurt about my calling Bethany a whore. I guess it’s just a general women team-work thing where they all got each other’s back.

When we arrive at the venue, it is about 7:30 pm, the orange sun sinking over the crowded colossal buildings and a faint breeze brushing through our hair. The venue is brimming with the usual bustle of eager couples and friends swarming into the bar like an army of ants around a cookie and the muffled lively music coming from inside. There’s a “Salsa Night” poster on the big paneled walls and the front gigantic window. Ashley and I jostle into the colossal building, and as we enter, the familiar, lavish scent of whiskey and cocktails invade my nostrils. It’s the same bar I often go with Nick after our night shifts are over to take sips off cool whiskey and ramble about women. The same bar where I had my final drink and dance with Bethany before she vanished.

Ashley grabs my arm anxiously, as we weave our way through the crowd towards the bar counter.

“What do you think?” I ask with a grin, waiting eagerly for a look of approval to wash up her face. I can barely hear my voice over the loud Latina song booming in the air.

“It’s marvelous!” she yells over the deafening music. “I haven’t been here before. So many people.”

Two empty counter stools are waiting for us, and I rush before Ashley and pull the stool out for her— the basic rule of etiquette for a gentleman. In a few minutes, we are greeted by Nadia, the same bartender I see every time I come here around this hour. She looks like she’s in her late thirties, with the conspicuous creases around her eyes and paper-thin mouth, but dresses like those gothic teenagers I remember from high school, with layers of thick makeup. She disappears shortly and comes back with two Margaritas. Before Ashley aims for her wallet, I say, “I’m paying this time.”

When I take a sip from the cocktail, I relish the surge of coolness that enters my mouth and winced slightly at the strong blend of orange and lemon. I examine Ashley from over my glass, trying to make out if she was still pissed. Ashley takes small sips and looks around the bar curiously, then her attention lands on a group of people who have gathered on the dance floor. They were dancing salsa to a beautiful Latina song with an eye-catching beat, and the uplifting scenery slowly rings a bell in my head—the Salsa Night posters on the front windows. The bar was hosting a salsa dance event tonight.

“So,” I start, breaking the awkward silence. “Still upset with me?”

“Just can’t get over the fact you think so little of women,” she says.

“Hmmm, I know an apology won’t be enough. How can I make up for it?” I stare at her big blue eyes, and our eyes lock for a long moment. God, she is beautiful, even much better looking than Bethany. Her tight tank-top shapes the curves of her waist, the neckline stretching slightly below her chest, giving me a peek at the perfect lines of her big breasts. The way her lips are wet from the cocktail, her eyes digging curiously into mine, sends a hot, erotic sensation between my legs. I want to lean in and kiss her.

Staring at the group of people dancing Salsa on the dance floor, she grins. “Maybe if we join them, I might change my mind.”

“But I haven’t danced Salsa before.” Nick and I have been coming here for a while now, and I’ve always been the type of guy to hate dance floors because I’m so awkward with the chicks while Nick the one to hop in and converse with them so easily like he had taken women studies in college. Unlike Nick, I don’t go to bars with the prospects of finding myself a woman, to mingle and dance with them so charismatically in hopes of getting their phone numbers. I go to wallow through the night in whiskey and cocktails and watch people laugh and dance until all my miseries slip into temporary drainage.

But now that I’m with Ashley. I reconsider joining the dance floor. “Fine,” I relent.

“Get comfortable and take the beanie off,” She finally addresses the elephant in the room. “It’s not even that cold here.”

I touch my beanie protectively, the precious thing concealing my deformity. “Aaah, it’s ok. I’m feelin’ a little cold.”

“Come on, you’re always wearing it,” she says rather seriously. “You have beautiful long hair. Just take it off and go toss that hair in the Dance floor.”

I gently snatch my beanie off, quickly making sure the locks of my hair are still concealing my ears. She seizes me by the wrist and pulls me through a clique of friends talking animatedly, and into the dance floor we go. Colorful blinding lights shoot over us from overhead and dapple the sweaty throng of moving bodies with blue and pink and red. Ashley’s moving body wriggles against mine, the colorful overhead lights turning her lovely blonde hair into pink and blue and purple. I hold Ashley’s hand, and we both make a poor attempt at salsa dancing.

“Thomas!” A familiar hard voice cuts through the pleasant music. I turn around and see my co-worker Nick dancing with his girlfriend Stacie. The sight of Nick inhibits my mobility, causing me to lose track of the rhythm of salsa dancing with Ashley. She, herself, notices something off about me. “Who is this fine-looking chick with you,” Nick teases.

“I’m Ashley,” Ashley says. “Thomas’s friend.”

“Thomas didn’t tell me about you,” Nick says, giving me a questionable “why?” look. “By the way, Thomas, you didn’t show up to work today. Thought you were sick or something—

“No—I had plans,” I stutter, glaring at him out of the corner of my eye to shut him up, but that seems to leave him much more confused.

“Don’t worry, I told him you were sick,” Nick smiles, as though that would make me happy. Before he says anymore, I tell him Ashley and I will go get our Margaritas, which we left at the bar counter, and come back. I pull Ashley out of the dance floor with me, my hand slippery against her wrist, and my heartbeat hammering beneath my sweat-drenched shirt that’s duct-taped to my chest.

“That was quick,” Ashley whines. “I would have loved to stay there longer.”

“I was craving the Margaritas we left on the counter.” My voice is raspy and unsteady, and my hands are shaking that even clenching them doesn’t help.

“You ok, Thomas?”

We reach the bar counter silently, and Nadia tending to new guests. I grab my glass and swig the cocktail, clearing my throat at the gush of sourness in the end. From over my glass, I peer at Ashley, trying to figure out if she has noticed anything fishy about what Nick had said. Her blue eyes stare back at mines fervently, her pink lips parted half-way as though she wants to say something but can’t. Why is she looking at me like that? Has she found out about my lame bank story? I put my glass down, and lean towards her to ask what’s wrong, and it all happens quickly. She thrusts herself at me and presses her lips against mine, the full force of it seizing my breath away. I’m utterly speechless. At first, I’m dumbfounded, thinking there might be a misunderstanding, but her full lips brush against mine, tasting me.

Overcome by the series of erotic images I’ve been daydreaming about since I started texting her, I pull her some paces away onto an empty lobby around the corner, and we resume making out. My hands are not sure where to start, as they caress her rosy cheeks, her shoulder line, and go down her graceful freckled arms. Her lips are kissing me ardently as I suck in the fruity fragrance emanating from her blonde hair and freckled skin. Her fingers sprawl against my face like a falcon diving for its prey, feeling my dimples, my thick eyebrows, and slither through my long hair, find the space where my ears are supposed to be and linger there.

She pauses, her fingers feeling my deformity once more, and I am reminded of Bethany, the uncomfortable look on her face when she found out. “What happened…to your ear?” Ashley breaths. “How did you get this injury.”

“It’s not an injury!” I suddenly break away from her, defensively. Millions of thoughts churn in my mind, memories of Bethany and the cold way she had dumped me the next day in the hotel. And thoughts of losing Ashley, for the most part, sit in the forefront. “I-I was born like this. Um, a deformity, you can say. My mother had drinking problems… fetal alcohol syndrome…” Why the fuck am I explaining all this to her like I’m desperately striving for her approval. But because I’m a hopeless romantic, I keep rambling on and on and stuttering. “It’s the reason my ex Bethany left me—”

Ashley presses two fingers against my lips, shutting me up, and gives me a gentle peck on the lips. “It’s ok.” She smiles at me and I notice a sympathetic look forming in her eyes. Is that a look of pity? There’s an awkward silence before she says, “We can go over to your place if you want.”

“I know this nice hotel nearby,” I suggest. “It’s like 10 minutes away.”

“That works too.”

She brushes back her disheveled hair, and we go back to the bar counter, where we left our drinks. Nadia is back, laughing with an old man. When she sees me, her eyes brighten, and she holds me up with this boring conversation about her two dogs. I’m trying to slip away from her and leave the bar with Ashley, but Nadia’s dull conversations drag on and on.

“Oh Thomas, your friend is here,” Ashley says from behind.

I turn around and see Nick and his girlfriend gasping with exhaustion from the salsa dance. Never before I thought I would hate seeing his tall, scrawny presence as much as tonight.

“You guys just disappeared on us,” Nick laughs, sweat trickling down from his red face from all the exertion. “It was fun. Although I don’t know how to dance to salsa, Stacie over here is a pro.”

Stacie brushes off her boyfriend’s compliment. “Oh, you did fine, Nick.”

“I would love to stay longer and do more salsa dancing with you guys, but Nick and I are heading out,” Ashley says.

Nick grins at me. “So, are you going to thank me for covering up your ass for skipping your job today?”

“You guys work together?” Ashley asks with confusion.

I suddenly feel the margarita I had consumed earlier coming up. One side of me wants to send a signal to Nick somehow and tell him to shut up, but the overwhelming urge to throw up inhibits my thoughts. I’ve never thought I would hate Nick this much.

“Yeah, we work at the grocery store, behind the register,” Nick continues senselessly. “It’s like so gruesome and tiring. You have to smile at the customers all the time even if they are a pain in the ass.”

“What?” Ashley's lips part open in confusion, as she tries to grasp what Nick had said. Then everything seems to make sense to her as her eyebrows furrow together at me. “You told me you work at a bank? Chase Bank,” she corrects herself. “You…you lied to me?”

“I can explain. Can we take this outside?” I put a hand around Ashley’s shoulder and proceed her outside the bar, jostling past lines of people coming in. There’s a long, threatening silence permeating the chill air of the night, as several men and women make their way towards the bar, women dressed to impress, with mini dresses and long heels clanking against concrete. A sharp breeze cuts through my skin and blows through my hair, somehow intensifying the anxiety that’s creating thunders and blizzards in my mind. I can’t make out Ashley’s expression in the dark, but the intimidating silence between us is making me sweat despite the cold air. Halfway, she wrenches her hand away from my grasp.

“You lied to me!” she repeats again with a high-pitched voice. “Why would you do that? Why?”

She looks agitated and confused. The night breeze brushes through her blond hair, spraying hair strands all over her face. I can’t help but think how immaculate she looks in the dark.

“I wasn’t honest with you, ok, and I’m sorry,” I say, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder, but to my surprise she shakes it away. She might have forgiven me earlier at the bar, but this time she looks mad and immovable. “I work as a cashier at the grocery store with my friend Nick. I am not a banker, accountant, or whatever you thought I was. I didn’t study at a prestigious university in LA or get a business degree. I’m not all that.”

“But why would you lie to me like that?” she insists. “We’ve been texting for like what…three weeks now, and all this has just been a game to you. You were not being honest with me.”

“I was afraid to lose you.” I hear my voice crack, as I attempt to find the right words to console her. “I didn’t want you to lose interest in me and just disappear like…like Bethany.”

“Why would I lose interest? You thought lying about working at some bank will make me happy?”

“Don’t get all bent out of shape about it,” I snap, my voice suddenly rising to a shout. “I didn’t know we’d start texting and seeing each other. But I saw…I saw how your face brightened when I told you I work at a bank. This is how you girls work, and once you find out we don’t own all that shit, you back off.”

Ashley breaks into a taunting laugh at my response. “Seriously?” She holds herself for a second, closing her eyes to calm herself down.

“Is that why Bethany backed off?” There’s a mocking tone in her voice that I don’t like when she mentions my Ex. “It was never about your ear, huh? She left you because of your lies. Did she?”

“Don’t you dare bring her up!”

“Seriously,” she says, giving me a long pitiful look. “You actually thought I want your money. I was only interested in that bank story of yours because my brother aspires to work as an accountant, and I thought maybe if I get you guys all connected, you’d help him out. You actually thought I was after your money. Your make-believe money,” she emphasizes with a look of indignation.

I press my lips together, wondering if I was reliving the same awful moment I had with Bethany. Is love even real? Ever since the day I met Ashley, I’ve been daydreaming day and night about her, imagining spending lots of beautiful days with her, and now this is happening. Was it my deformity that made these women so disgusted and fed up with me?

“I’m very disappointed in you,” She continues. “You think so little of me and probably many other women out there. Like even earlier, you called your ex a whore for having been to many relationships. Your behavior stinks and you need to fix yourself instead of projecting your insecurities onto others.”

And she storms out in a huff, her blond hair flowing in disarray behind her back. Her retreating figure fades away, as more people walking towards the bar block her figure completely.

I try to call her, and her phone number goes straight to voicemail. Shit. Shit. Shit. Did she leave for real? Is this how love stories end, or is it just mine? I open my hatchback with a thud and plop myself on the car seat, closing the door behind. Slumped against the car seat, my hands clenched so tight that I feel my nails digging through flesh, I try to understand where I went wrong. The fact that Ashley was able to overlook our wonderful moments together this whole month, our laughable texts, pleasing time at the restaurant and bar, and pay attention to the negative, angers me. Why can’t she understand I lied because I love her?

As I think more and more about Ashley, a surge of resentment begins to settle in my chest. I think about Bethany, how she never showed up the next morning in the hotel after our wonderful times together. How Ashley just stormed away, without taking heed of all the effort I put in to impress her.

Glancing at the rear-view mirror, I notice that the wind has disheveled my hair, sending it all over my face. My monstrous deformity is bare, ominous, inevitable, looking back at me, reminding me over and over that I’m different. That no woman will ever love me.