Don Zolidis - War and Speech

January 22, 1994.

Janesville, Wisconsin.

Palmer Park.

11:54 p.m.

I didnt see this one coming either.

We were sitting in her car. She drove a 1980-something Subaru hatchback. Light silver. Spots of rust. The best thing about it was the four-wheel drive, which allowed Amy to navigate the icy roads of southern Wisconsin. It also had heat, which was a particular bonus. There was virtually no way to turn off the heat, however, so now it was emitting a blast of hot air reminiscent of the open mouth of hell.

I didnt really care about that, although it did make things more awkward and smelly than usual as we made out.

We were still wearing our winter coats. She had on a puffy green fuzzy thing that I always thought looked like a field of moss, and I was wearing my black Im-troubled-and-artistic woolen trench coat, which stretched down over my knees and got tangled in our legs.

There was also the matter of the gearshiftthe Subaru was manual, so as we groped over six or seven layers of clothing, wed occasionally get stabbed in the ribs.

Basically, it was awesome. Even though I wasnt exactly sure whether I had just felt her boob or a strange bunch in her sweater.

The windows had fogged up, and we separated, gasping for breath, a hot sticky, sweaty mess of raging hormones. If anyone was outside the car, it would be pretty obvious what was going on. Of course, seeing as how it was near midnight in late January in the most heavily forested part of Palmer Park, the only likely pedestrian would be the abominable snowman.

R.E.M. was on the radio. It was that song Everybody Hurts, which was being played every hour by every radio station like some kind of horrible curse. It was about as romantic as a song about preventing suicide could possibly be.

This song just pretends its deep, I grumbled.

Amy pulled some of her blond hair out of her mouth, while I kept going.

Everybody hurts sometimes? Wow. I never would have guessed. Thank you, Michael Stipe.

Amy didnt say anything, which was probably good because I was about to get on a roll. I have to say, though, that my thoughts about R.E.M. werent entirely spontaneousI had practiced this speech before in the shower. I was sure it was hilarious and would improve her mood if the kissing hadnt done the trick.

Like, are there people out there who think this is a revelation? Like theyre going through life, Huh, I bet those people never hurt, and then this song comes on and theyre like, enlightened? Oh, I guess everybody does hurt. Please. The whole theme of the song is like, Sometimes things are bad. R.E.M. should be working as guest artists in a kindergarten. That was my favorite part of this bit. Imagining the quintessential college band of the 80s showing up and teaching five-year-olds about colors.

Amy wasnt laughing.

She was looking down at her hands. Her hair fell in a yellow curtain around the sides of her face.

My stomach started twisting up into knots. I broke into a cold sweat. These moments had been happening more frequently latelyAmy would stop, her eyes would glaze over, and you could tell that she was contemplating my utter destruction. At least that was my assumption.

Ive been thinking, she said finally.

Shit.

I think

Wait. Hold on. I wont talk about R.E.M. anymore. Im sure theyre cool.

Thats not what

Is it the coat? Is that the problem?

Craig. She said it like my sister said it. Like Shut up, Craig. I shut up. I dont know that I can do this.

Do what?

But I knew what. Amy turned just a bit to look at me and I could see the tears forming in her eyes. Down came the knife into my heart. Stab. Stab. Stab.

I dont think I can be your girlfriend. Her words hung in the air for a moment. R.E.M. continued to whine forlornly on the radio. I no longer noticed the heat pouring out of the vent.

I had tried two different approaches to the Amy-dumping-me problem previously. Those two approaches were

1. Cry and

2. Cry more, then hug her mom. (Dont ask.)

So it was time to try something new: arguing.

Wait a minute. You said you werent going to break up with me anymore!

I know. She fumbled for a Kleenex.

But now youre breaking up with me?! This is not cool! You didnt want me to be clingy, so Im not clingy, I did that

Craig

Im wearing the hat! Look at this! I yanked the hat she had given me off my head. Im not even a hat person, and Im still wearing this! For you! Im wearing this hat for you!

(Okay, I admit, my arguing technique was not technically the best.)

Can I say something? she sputtered. I dont care about the hat.

Clearly, I fumed.

She looked up at the ceiling of the car, exasperated. There are things going on that I cant tell you about.

Oh, like before?

The air froze between us. That was mean. I knew it was mean.

Amy disintegrated. She chewed on her bottom lip and I could see the tears running down her face now.

Was this your plan? I said. Bring me out here into the middle of the woods like a mafia killing or something?

No

No witnesses. No one will ever find my body.

Craig

Why were you making me out with me first if you were gonna dump me?

Im not dumping you.

We were going out earlier tonight, and now, apparently, were not! Thats a dumping.

Okay, maybe a little, she conceded.

Im sorry I made the comments about R.E.M.

Im not dumping you because you dont like this song!

Well, I dont see why youre dumping me at all.

Amy pulled her hair behind her ears. I just cant do this.

It felt like a dozen boa constrictors had slithered into the car and were crushing my chest. I reached for anything that could save me. Like, think about how great we are. We dont ever fight, we dont

We fight all the time.

No we dont!

Were fighting right now!

This isnt a fight. This is a discussion. Its a thoughtful discussion. Youre discussing doing something stupid, and Im explaining to you why its a bad idea.

Craig, she said gently, I dont want to hurt you. This is what she always said while she was hurting me. It was as if someone was taking an ice pick and stabbing it through my eye.