Emmet reminds me of Jeff Boisner. I nearly cringe at the thought but it’s true. Emmet reminds me of one of many boyfriends from my past, but Jeff was one of the worst.
The relationship started after a one night stand at a party and I’m not quite sure you can actually call it a relationship. We fucked around a lot and he occasionally spent the night at my place. That’s really what it was. That and we always got high together, mostly off of the product Jeff was supposed to be distributing.
Tall, lanky with dark hair and troubled eyes, Jeff looked just like your typical dealer who was sampling the product a little too hard. It all came to a head when his supplier started getting pissed about not getting any money in return for his product. He’d tracked Jeff down… right to my apartment.
I was in the midst of working on a painting when I’d heard the bang of my door being knocked down. I’d shot up as my heart raced and I looked for a weapon. The only thing I could come up with was a pocket knife that I’d purchased from the mall because I’d thought it looked nice. By the time I found it, my bedroom door was already being knocked down.
The three big men made it clear who and what they were looking for and while they didn’t physically hurt me, it mentally fucked me up worse than I already was. They issued threats that I’m sure they intended to make good on, while ripping my apartment apart, including a piece of art someone had commissioned for $400. It was supposed to cover part of my rent, but ended up in me losing one of the only steady clients that I had.
The second Jeff showed up to my house two days later, I’d exploded. Pots, pans, coffee makers, they’d all been thrown at his head as I cursed him out and let him know about the visit from his friends. He’d tried to apologize but I wasn’t having any of it as I made it clear he wasn’t welcome in my apartment again.
Things went to a whole other level, when I realized he actually did have some of his supply in my apartment. And not just weed, but things from heroin to cocaine.
One of my neighbors called the police and we’d both ended up in cuffs for a disturbance while Jeff went away for possession.
I was still piping hot when Kylie made the flight from California and picked me up from the police station the next day and posted my bail. She’d asked why I hung out with people like Jeff.
Because of the thrill,I wanted to tell her. I loved when Jeff would drive his beat down car a hundred miles down the highway and I couldn’t tell whether I was going to be sick or go flying off the road. I loved when he’d grab me roughly and push me up against a wall in public, putting his hands all over me. I loved when we’d sit on top of buildings and get absolutely wasted. I loved the excitement of it all, the recklessness. All the stupid shit that I look back on now and wonder how I even survived.
I couldn’t tell Kylie that though, I didn’t want to see the disappointment or shame on her face.
Logically, I know that even if she was ashamed, she never would have let it show while in my presence. She knew that her disappointment was the one thing I couldn’t take.
What would she think of Emmet?
I think of the strange man, trying to decide if the comparisons stop at being tall and lanky. No, there’s the stoner appearance about him that matches up. But Jeff wouldn’t even apologize for leaving the toilet seat up, so he surely wouldn’t apologize for an altercation that we both had fault in.
A part of me thinks that I’m just reaching with the comparison, but another part of me wants an answer that I know I can’t have.
Would Emmet be able to give me a thrill?