Amy Elisabeth Olson

-1 Lover

After he left for the 4th time, there was nothing to do but math.

After inventing several equations, she decided from the simplest one that the only way toward positivity was to sleep with 2 more men:

-1 lover + 2 men = 1

In fact, she reasoned, she should sleep with 3 men just to be safe. Balance and evenness is important.

 -1 lover + 3 men = 2

Because 2 is the number of breasts, the number of testicles. 2 is the number of hands. The number of lips. The number of eyes, ears, holes in the nose, the number of legs, arms, and feet.

It's balanced. Symmetrical and convenient.

She took the first man home and screwed him with her tennis shoes on. He left his number written on a pink post-it and she filed it between the coffee grounds and yesterday's rice.

After, she thought about her new 0 and how at least it is not negative.

However it is a hole. Things (feelings, evenings, memories, change, etc.) might fall in it and this could pose a significant lifestyle problem.

With the next man, she took her tennis shoes off but left her pink tanktop on. He took a long time to orgasm. It hurt because he was ramming her cervix over and over, insensitively and unaware. He left. Later, taking notes, she realized she was unsure of how to spell his last name.

This man totaled her 1. Though 1 is a positive number, it is also an imbalanced number.  Dividing it is messy; involves fractions or decimals, both of which she felt unable to deal with.  She ignored the towering presence of 1 and changed her underwear.

Later she was comforted by reminding herself that 1 is positive and at the very least is not 0 which is a hole. 1 is protruding and present. She smoked a menthol cigarette and resolved to temporarily forget the problem with 1s and last names not spelled correctly.

The last man toward symmetry was the friend of a friend. He was the kind of man you don't screw with your tennis shoes on and who has a reasonably standard last name. The buttons on his pants were confusing so she let him undo them while she sat on the edge of the bed waiting with her hands on her knees. She reasoned that this time was special so she let him take off all her clothes. She would be positive, symmetrical, and balanced for him.  Clean and without complications.

Positive, symmetrical, balanced on her back. Positive, symmetrical, balanced on repeat. 

Positive.
Symmetrical.

Balanced. She repeated the words to herself. He grunted and heaved, and she silently repeated and probably smiled a little.

No more holes. No towering presences. No more holes. No towering presences.

After, he wanted to stay with her and talk. It was only 9pm and still light outside.  She wanted to put her socks on; her toenail polish was chipped and she felt embarrassed. Scooping some socks off the floor, she held them dangling from each hand and looked blankly at the confusing pants on the floor and the polite man in her bed. She said several offbeat things and invented a new nervous laugh. She wanted to be alone with her balance.

She pulled on the bunched tube socks of her ex-boyfriend's, and settled into an armchair drinking Sprite with no ice cubes in a red, plastic glass she stole from the cafeteria in college and kept for no reason other than it was just something she did. After some time, the man with the standard last name buttoned his confusing pants and promised to call. While he mumbled a goodbye, she wondered whether she would hit “silence” or “ignore” when he called. After he left, she sat in the chair picking at her socks and debated about whether “silence” was kinder than “ignore.”

After he was gone, she opened her notebook to review her calculations and equations for accuracy. She found no errors or mistakes. However the more she studied the numbers, the more she became dissatisfied with the sum of 2. 2 signifies a pair or a couple, which is not a connotation she preferred at this stage of her life.

She made a note:

-1 lover + 3 men= 2 ; -1 lover + 4 men = 3; -1 lover + 5 men= 4

She closed her notes, stretched out naked except for his socks and fell asleep, calculating.

Amy Elisabeth Olson is a twenty-something suburban refugee armed with a BA in English, electronic music and her grandmother’s silver.