January 17, 2015: Wrecking Ball

After I did the Ryan Adams song “My Wrecking Ball,” Eric (last name withheld) shot me an email saying “Sure you did Ryan Adams, but could you do Miley’s ‘Wrecking Ball’?” So, yeah, fine. Challenge accepted.

READER SUGGESTION: “Wrecking Ball” by Cyrus, Miley

Listen to it here

 (photo from hubimage.com)

(photo from hubimage.com)

“You ruined me,” I’m screaming and I don’t know why. It is always this way with her and I. I should know better, but here we are again.

“Stop it,” she hisses, looking around, worried about…I don’t know what. It’s not like I’m not already making a scene.

“You never let me in,” I whimper, dropping to my knees, “Why won’t you ever let me in?”

“Enough,” she nearly barks, “This is ridiculous. We used to date, now we don’t. Let it go!”

All eyes are now on us. Everyone in the restaurant is riveted. She is shooting daggers at me, but I’m only getting started.

“Used to date? USED TO DATE?! That’s what you call it? Did you forget when we made love?”

She looks at the floor, blushing, “Don’t be inappropriate.”

“It was cosmic,” I plow ahead, ignoring her, “We became one with each other and the universe. I know you felt it. Why else would be so loud? Why else did you always end up passed out, utterly drained from our passions? Every time?!”

“Oh my god!” she shouts. “I can’t believe you are doing this to me for the third time this month!”

A waiter, hesitantly, puts her leftovers on her table and tries to bring peace to the situation.

“Please,” he squeaks, “You can’t do this here. Leave this woman alone and walk out of our restaurant. Before more interventions are necessary.”

“Yeah. Like what? What interventions?” I demand and pull out a flask, taking a pull.

“Sir!” he says louder this time, shocked at how little I seem to care.

I pantomime his outrage until she becomes beside herself with anger.

“That’s it…I refuse to stay here for this horror show,” she huffs, grabbing her to-go bags and storming out of the place.

I stay, swaying with drunkenness in front of everyone for a moment. Then, finally, I mumble, “Fine. I can read the writing on the wall and here it says, ‘We’re too snooty to be nice to a heartbroken man. Fine. Fuck all you all!”

With that, I turn heel and stomp to the exit, pausing to overturn a plant and sweep a pile of menus onto the floor.

I glimpse her two blocks ahead as she turns a corner and I head after her in a flat run. A few minutes later I catch up.

“Oh baby, please, you’re destroying me,” I proclaim, almost giggling.

She smiles back with annoyance and enjoyment mingled on her face.

“You know,” she says linking arms with me, “One of these days, I’d really rather just pay for dinner and get to eat it together in the restaurant.”

I shrug, “Yeah, maybe someday. But for now? I like it free and fun.”