The Jersey City Independent"

Brendan wasn’t the cleanliest of boys that I’ve dated. I mean, sure he was sweet and he treated me well. I think he showered everyday, but something like washing his bed sheets probably was secondary. And his work clothes were always wrinkled. One thing I learned from Brendan was not to date where you work, but that’s a whole different column. Brendan was a cute, freckled, quiet redhead with long skinny fingers and lanky limbs. He was so pale, like he’d never seen the sun. Maybe he hadn’t because he was British. And oh, that accent! It’s almost as if any boy with any accent automatically got 10 points with me just for sounding romantic when he spoke. But he liked me. I mean, really liked me. I just wasn’t used to that.

He tried to kiss me at the company holiday party at Cipriani on Wall Street. I wasn’t having it. So we left the party and he pulled me aside on Wall Street where he kissed me for the first time as the cabbies slowly passed and watched. Sure it was cute. Sure it was sweet. But I just wasn’t so sure about it. In fact, I was never sure of any of it.

He did things like send me flowers for our 6-month anniversary. He bought me jewelry. How could I not be in love with this guy? But me? Jewelry? The only things I ever wore on me were tattoos! And he was quiet. He hardly ever spoke. He often filled empty quiet spaces by kissing me. Or just staring at me. Or it’s as if he rarely ever spoke because he was always waiting on me to say something. It never felt quite right to me. Still, I wasn’t so sure about him and I wasn’’ sure why. Maybe this was all too easy for me. Why is it that the easy ones are never the ones we want?

His lease was ending on his share in Harlem and it was time for him to find a new place. He had spent plenty of time with me in Downtown Jersey City in my place near Hamilton Park. I took him to brunch at White Star, we walked down by the water at Pavonia Newport on pretty, summer nights. We drank loaded mojitos and ate dinners at Azucar. So he decided on Jersey City. I remember him trying to explain himself with that accent, “Well, Jersey City is cheaper and just as nice as Brooklyn.” We probably should have looked for a place together, as both of our leases were ending at the same time. But thankfully, we didn’t …

He was sold on a 1-bedroom apartment on Newark Avenue by the Grove Street PATH station.

“This is perfect for you, Brendan,” I told him in the empty, sun-filled apartment. “Right by the PATH so all your city friends can visit!”

We took a day off and we rented a car. We drove to IKEA in Elizabeth and I picked out all his new furniture for his new loft-like apartment on Newark. Let’s face it — the boy needed a little help. Then I helped him shop for new work clothes. He always looked so foolish with his skinny limbs in those baggy button down shirts. So I dragged him to the Newport Centre Mall to Express and made him try on the fitted button-down shirts. Finally, he looked good in his work clothes.

I wound up spending most of my time in his apartment on Newark. It was awesome. Sleeping later than usual on work days, taking the PATH together to work. But late nights on the weekends, it was loud on Newark. Tricked out cars with their subwoofers booming. Drunken girls laughing their way down the sidewalk. Police activity and freaks shouting out things that didn’t make sense. We’d jump out of bed and peer out into the street at 4 in the morning to all the activity going on. We’d get woken up all the time. Little did I know that soon, I’d get woken up for a whole different reason.

One night we were laying down on the couch watching South Park (I hate to admit that, but that’s what dating can do to you) and he had his arm around me. I noticed a few pink circle marks on his arm.

“Brendan, what are these marks on your arm?”

“I don’t know,” he said in his defined accent, “just bug bites, I guess.”

“Well… do they itch?”

“I don’t know! A little!” He got testy. “Just mosquito bites, eh!”

About a week later, I was at work when I noticed a few bites on my leg. 1, 2, 3 bites right down a row on my leg. Oh no. These weren’t mosquito bites. I started to panic.

It was nearly impossible to bring it up to him in conversation. But I had to do it. I had to speak those unspeakable words to Brendan. I didn’t want to offend him or set him off in anyway. It was as if it was a disease. That unspeakable word: bedbugs.

“Nonsense,” Brendan said. He told me that he didn’t believe in bedbugs. That they were a myth. That they were only in that “sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite” rhyme that parents said when tucking their kids into bed. Was he nuts? Had he not seen all the articles written and stories on the news about the pandemic of bed bugs throughout New York City?

Early one morning at Brendan’s apartment, I woke at 6 am to a pinch on my hand. I opened my eyes and I pushed myself up off the pillow. I looked down to the mattress. There they were, tiny, black, tick-like insects scuttling around on the bed sheets.

“Oh my god, look!” I said. He leaned over and took a glance. He saw the bugs and he sat up. He let out a sigh. I jumped up and I ran to the living room. I didn’t know what to do. Would I leave right then and there? Run back to my apartment to strip my clothes outside of my door and jump into the shower? I’d never go back to Brendan’s apartment, that’s for sure. I sat on his couch and I worried. Then I got up from the couch because the couch probably had bed bugs too. And I did what I had to do. I just picked up and left. I told him I would call him later.

The days to come were difficult. Could I really end it all with this sweet boy because of bed bugs? “Um… YES, CLARISSA!” my friends told me. And I wouldn’t let him over my apartment either. So we met up for drinks at places like Skinner’s Loft or LITM every night. I was weary when he hugged me goodnight. And the poor thing, he went crazy trying to de-bug his apartment. Exterminators. Vacuuming his bed. New bed sheets. Mattress covers. Shampooing the carpets three times. How was this going to work? I didn’t want an infestation! We started to see each other less and well… what more could I do? I had to end it.

And that was that. Miraculously, I did not get bedbugs. No, I just got a case of the crazies: waking up about 5 times during the night, switching on my light and scanning my bedsheets. That is, if I was lucky enough to even fall asleep.

I saw Brendan from time to time at work. He ignored me. It was sad that it had to end the way it did. And yes, his work clothes were still wrinkled.