On the eighth day of March, you break up with your girlfriend\u2014or try to.<\/p>\n
\u201cToday<\/em> of all days\u201d is what she first says. Then, two seconds later: \u201cYou don\u2019t know what today is, do you? You have no idea.\u201d<\/p>\n You rummage around in your old, cobwebbed brain. You played football in school, from seven till senior year, and are secretly convinced you\u2019ve been living with a TBI.<\/p>\n When you told your first girlfriend, the summer after graduation, she gave you a tight-lipped smile and said, \u201cWell, that explains a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n When you told your second girlfriend, two years after that, she said to go to a doctor. You broke up with her\u2014not because of that, necessarily, though you\u2019ll admit the thought of going to a doctor\u2019s office made your brain start hurting again.<\/p>\n When you told this girlfriend, the girl you\u2019re trying to turn into your third ex, she said, \u201cI hate football. It\u2019s stupid and toxic and anti-feminist.\u201d<\/p>\n You asked how football could be anti-feminist. She said if she had to explain, you were just as bad.<\/p>\n \u201cAs what?\u201d you asked.<\/p>\n \u201cAs football.\u201d She paused. \u201cLet\u2019s get takeout tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI knew it,\u201d she says now. \u201cYou\u2019re such a buffoon.\u201d<\/p>\n I want to break up<\/em>, you say in your head. You said it before, just less succinctly.<\/p>\n \u201cToday,\u201d she says, \u201cis International Women\u2019s Day. You can\u2019t break up with me on International Women\u2019s Day.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIs it illegal?\u201d you ask.<\/p>\n The regret is instant. Her eyes burn so brightly, you think you might catch fire.<\/p>\n \u201cI hate you,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n \u201cGreat. Then let\u2019s break up.\u201d<\/p>\n She ignores you, her arms folded across her chest. Her teeth scrape her lip. Her eyes turn to slits.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is about Elsie,\u201d she says. \u201cIt is, isn\u2019t it?\u201d<\/p>\n You close your eyes, willing yourself out of existence.<\/p>\n She never liked Elsie. Said she was too young. Your girlfriend criticized people for all kinds of reasons, but too young was a first.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s no reason for a grown man to talk to a little girl,\u201d your girlfriend explained.<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s my niece,\u201d you replied.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd she\u2019s young,\u201d she shot back.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s not about Elsie,\u201d you tell your girlfriend.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, right,\u201d she says. \u201cIt\u2019s always about her.\u201d<\/p>\n Before, when you were single, you watched Elsie every Friday. You took her to the park. To the movies. The mall. You never got tired of hearing her laugh, the sound like bubbles blown from a plastic wand. Every time you met, you\u2019d ask, \u201cHow\u2019s my favorite lady?\u201d<\/p>\n She would titter at that, like a small, precious bird.<\/p>\n Naturally, your girlfriend was not a fan of your routine.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s creepy,\u201d your girlfriend said. \u201cIt gives off incestuous vibes.\u201d<\/p>\n “Inces\u2014”<\/p>\n You stopped; one hand clapped over your mouth. You couldn\u2019t bring yourself to say the whole word. Not that it mattered; your girlfriend just kept on talking.<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s my family,\u201d you said when she finally shut up for once.<\/p>\n Your girlfriend frowned. \u201cSo am I.\u201d<\/p>\n The argument you had that day seemed to last for years. At one point, you even claimed she was supporting toxic masculinity.<\/p>\n \u201cIf you were really a feminist,\u201d you vaguely recall saying, \u201cyou would be happy I can play horsey with my niece without feeling emasculated.\u201d<\/p>\n Her response: \u201cIs that what you men call it nowadays? \u2018Playing horsey\u2019?\u201d<\/p>\n When you first started dating, you were just so na\u00efve. You honestly thought she and Elsie would get along. You kept imagining yourself saying, \u201cI have two favorite ladies.\u201d<\/p>\n Instead, you were made to choose: your girlfriend or your niece.<\/p>\n It hits you, not for the first time, that you definitely chose wrong.<\/p>\n \u201cYou know what?\u201d your girlfriend says, raising her hands in surrender. \u201cNo. Just no. We\u2019re not doing this today.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDoing what?\u201d you asked. \u201cDoing when? What the hell\u2019s happening?\u201d<\/p>\n She shakes her head. \u201cNo breakup. Not now. Not today<\/em>, of all days.\u201d<\/p>\n Then when?<\/em> you want to ask. Please explain what\u2019s going on. Slowly.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cI want to break up,\u201d you tell her.<\/p>\n \u201cLet\u2019s go to dinner,\u201d she replies.<\/p>\n You get in the car and take her to Salt & Boca. Throughout the whole meal, you say a total of eight words: \u201clasagna,\u201d \u201ccheck, please,\u201d and \u201cthank you. That was good.\u201d<\/p>\n When you take your girlfriend home, you say, \u201cI want to break up.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTomorrow,\u201d she says.<\/p>\n Then she slams the car door.<\/p>\n On the ninth day of March, the day after International Women\u2019s Day, your girlfriend breaks up with you. She does so successfully, almost emotionlessly, then gets upset with you for not bursting into tears or begging for her to take you back.<\/p>\n \u201cA real man would cry,\u201d she coldly informs you.<\/p>\n \u201cThen I guess,\u201d you say, \u201cyou should find yourself a real man.\u201d<\/p>\n She makes you drive her home, her eyes on her phone the whole ride. After dropping her off at her building\u2019s porte-coch\u00e8re, you head back to your place and toss your jacket on a chair. Then you pick up your phone and dial a familiar number. You can\u2019t remember much\u2014maybe it\u2019s the TBI\u2014but this sequence of digits is burned into your brain.<\/p>\n \u201cHello?\u201d a voice says. \u201cIs it really you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCan you please put her on? Just for a minute?\u201d<\/p>\n The resulting pause feels longer than all your relationships combined.<\/p>\n A sigh. Then static. Then a quiet \u201cHello?\u201d<\/p>\n You let out a breath. \u201cHow\u2019s my favorite lady?\u201d<\/p>\n A gasp. Then a giggle. Your heart nearly breaks. You missed so much of her life already: Christmas, New Year\u2019s, and, worst of all, her birthday.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m good,\u201d she says, \u201cbut I miss my horsey.\u201d<\/p>\n Your shoulders sink. Your eyes burn. \u201cYour horsey misses you too. Do you think he could see you again sometime soon?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes!\u201d she exclaims; she has a slight lisp. \u201cYes, he neigh.\u201d<\/p>\n She laughs at her own joke. You laugh along with her.<\/p>\n You love her so much. Your favorite lady.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" When you told your current girlfriend, the girl you\u2019re trying to turn into your third ex, that you have a traumatic brain injury, she said, \u201cI hate football. It\u2019s stupid and toxic and anti-feminist.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":25635,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3530],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-24774","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-flash-fiction","writer-kelly-murashige"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24774","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=24774"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24774\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":25637,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/24774\/revisions\/25637"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/25635"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=24774"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=24774"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=24774"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}