Tonight the liquor gave my aggressive side the cold shoulder, and instead decided to dance with my sensitive side. I’m up against the wall, already drunk and reflective, which means I’m going to do something no man should do: I’m going to vomit my feelings all over someone. Tonight, I miss everything about my ex. I miss her smell, her touch, her kiss, and her hand in mine. Everything. Her laugh, her smile, her voice, and her company. Everything. Her good morning, her good night, her coming, and her going. Everything. But I can’t call her, no checking in to see how she is doing. Those are the rules of our breakup and I have followed them for like the past six months. I’m not making any phone calls, not checking in to see how she is doing. Repeat to myself over and over again for emphasis because being drunk will not be an excuse. If I do see her, cool. No problem. I’m just going to say, “What’s up.” Then keep moving so quickly I don’t even hear her answer. Wait until I see her again.

But it won’t happen tonight, that much I know. Tonight, it’s Halloween and I’m in Chicago. Good thing too, because this random girl grinding on me right now without permission is just what I need. She is helping me more than she knows, giving my mind a 15-minute recess from my ex-girlfriend. I keep thinking: Well done, random girl. Well done. Keep going, random girl. Keep going. If you stop, my mind starts. So don’t stop, random girl. Don’t stop. Any other night, random girl, I’d know what to do next. But no aggressive drunk tonight, random girl. No aggressive drunk tonight. Music shuts off. Club empties out. Liquor’s consumed. Recess is done. I’m walking back to my boy’s car, it’s 2:15 a.m. here. That means it’s 3:15 a.m. in New York City. But it doesn’t matter which time zone I’m in. It’s late everywhere.

Check my phone. No phone calls from my ex tonight. Damn, for some people, Halloween is a special occasion to call loved ones. Isn’t it? Why did my boy have to park so far away from the club? Doesn’t he know I need to pass out in the seat and get rid of my ex’s cobwebs stuck in my head? The more we walk, the more I talk about her cause I am someone-get-that-man-some-water drunk. Turning to my boy I say, “Man, I don’t even miss the sex with my ex. I mean, I do, but you know, what we had was more than just sex. We lived together. I miss after the sex just as much as I miss the sex itself. I miss the way….” My phone is ringing at 2:15 a.m. Chicago time, 3:15 a.m. New York time and it’s my ex. And it’s late everywhere. Count to three then say sober, Jozen: 1, 2, 3 SOBER! Answer the phone now. “Hello?” “Hi, are you home?” “No, I’m in Chicago.” Long pause. Fill it up. “I’m drunk. I miss you. What are you calling for? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Long pause. Her turn to fill it up. “I wanted to come over. I’ve been having dreams of you.” “Oh man, I’m so happy to hear that. Tell me about them.” Long pause. Her turn to fill it up again. “I wanted to come over tonight. I’ve been having dreams of the sex we used to have.” Long pause. My turn to fill it up. “Oh, you do? I miss that too.” We talked for a few minutes then, about the sex we used to have. When we got off the phone, I was still drunk but pissed. She called because she was having dreams about me; missed sex with me. She called because I am a man, and she thought a man would love to hear her say such things. I am a man, I acted like it was exactly what I wanted to hear, when the fact is, I missed everything about her. Everything. Instead, I kept it all in. I am a man, and men don’t vomit their feelings.