FOUR
In college, I briefly dated a girl with a mustache. It wasn't really noticeable, but it was always dark and unsightly whenever she pissed me off. Her name was Janine Cohen, but she often went by Nina because she thought 'it sounded better for the stage.'�
She was a junior during my first year at George Washington University, confident and settled in to school. We met in an archaeology class where the professor was about as old the things we studied. On the first day of class, Nina came in late and slipped into the seat next to me at the back of the room. Her long, caramel colored hair was curled into tight kinky waves and covered in glitter. It looked like the Revlon make-up line accidentally exploded in her face. She was wearing what could only be described as a flat sheet with holes cut out for her arms and head with a rope loosely tied around her waist. She was pretty, but the sheet made her look frumpy and an eyesore.
'Did I miss anything important?'� she asked, searching her 'Phantom of the Opera'� canvas tote bag for a pen.
I whispered, 'no, not really.'�
'Figures,'� she sighed, scribbling her name at the top of her page.
After class, she walked closely behind me as we filed out of the room. I knew this because it smelled like hairspray and perfume with every step I took, a scent I now associate with her. I was trying to find myself on a crumpled campus map I kept in my back pocket when someone tapped my shoulder. 'I don't always dress like this,'� Nina explained, tugging at her rope belt. I was secretly afraid her sheet dress was actually two cut-up pillow cases and that a quick tug would expose her to the world and me.
I tried not to cringe. 'I figured.'�
'It's for this monologue I did today in my class. I wanted to look authentic.'� Like an authentic ancient Greek whore? This thought caused me to smile, which she misread as interest.
'Where are you going?'� she asked. 'Are you lost?'�
'Yeah, sorta. I'm terrible at reading maps,'� I said, staring blankly at the grid of blocks and lines.
'Where's your next class?'�
'I'm done for the day.'�
She jumped a little in excitement. 'So am I. Want to hang to out?'�
I didn't have anything better to do. 'All right.'�
'Let's just go back to my place first. I want to get this make-up off. I look ridiculous.'�
'Yeah, you kinda do.'� I noticed she didn't mention anything about changing her clothes, but at the time I didn't think much of it.

* * *
Nina was a theater major, melodramatic and somewhat vain. I was her best audience, a doe-eyed freshmen who had nothing better to do than rehearse lines with her and watch her put on stage make-up. We were a match made in dysfunctional heaven.
'It's for the stage,'� she'd often say, 'everything is brighter on stage and I need to stand out.'� This was her explanation and excuse for everything. Sometimes when we'd spend time together, I got the feeling that she was performing. The way she'd laugh a little longer than what was comfortable, the way she'd silently check out her surroundings before launching into a yelling fit at me in public places, and how she constantly needed praise was exhausting.
'Janine,'� I would say through clenched teeth whenever she would cause a scene in public, 'Can you quiet down?'�
'I will not!'� she'd yell, 'And stop calling me fucking Janine. It's Nina.'�
I first noticed Nina's mustache when we were fighting at an Indian restaurant in town. She was complaining about how her director was a Nazi and because of it she could never 'truly get into character.'� This, in her opinion, stifled her artistic spirit and, in my opinion, turned her into a beast of a woman.
'He is a fucking Nazi!'� she roared. The customers began staring at our table in mild irritation and curiosity. Nina loved this; it was like having her very own show at the 'Taste of India'� complete with overhead lights and a captive audience.
'You're causing a scene,'� I said, trying to reason with her. 'Let's talk about something else, okay?'�
'You never want to talk about anything I want to talk about,'� she spat at me. This was, of course, painfully untrue. We spent most of our time talking about her or talking about what I thought of her.
In the mean time, she had taken a bite of yellow Indian rice and was chewing angrily, but a stray grain floated mysteriously above her lip. I thought about signaling to her to brush it off, but that's when I noticed the rice was hanging on to a thin blanket of hair.
I started laughing; tears were rolling down my cheeks.
'What the fuck is so funny?'� she demanded, her nostrils now flailing in anger. You could tell she was breathing hard because the grain had suddenly come to life and was jumping with each exhale like a terrified insect trying not to get blown away.
'Nothing. Continue.'�
'I don't want to! You're fucking ridiculous!'� she screamed, throwing down her napkin. She paused for dramatic effect before saying, 'I'm leaving.'�
This was my cue to say, 'No, don't leave,'� which I did with less and less enthusiasm with each of her outbursts.
'No, I need to go,'� she insisted, stomping out the door. The customers' eyes were burning holes in my skin, but this soon changed to comfortable sympathy. This was when it was appropriate to finish my meal in peace.
I paid for the bill and asked the server to wrap up the rest of Nina's food. I certainly wasn't going to eat it, but Nina was always starving after a big performance and back then I was stupid enough to feed her.

We broke up the week before Thanksgiving. I was watching television on her futon couch while she practiced lines in front of her full length mirror.
'Why don't you do anything romantic for me?'� she asked, I thought she was rehearsing a line so I didn't answer. Dirty Dancing was on for the millionth time on TBS and it was already the end where they're dancing to 'I've had the time of my life.'� I turned up the volume.
'Kristel!'� she shrieked, I jerked my head in her direction and saw her script whizzing at me. It smacked me in the face and dropped lifelessly into my lap.
'What the fuck!'� I yelled, rubbing my face. My cheeks stung as if she slapped me with all her weight. 'What is wrong with you?'�
'I asked you a question!'�
'What? I didn't hear you. I thought you were rehearsing.'�
'Why don't you ever do anything romantic for me?'� she repeated. 'And will you turn that off?'�
I clicked off the television. 'I don't know what you're talking about. We just went to dinner the other night. We got dressed up and everything.'�
'That's so ordinary.'�
'I thought it was nice. The restaurant was nice.'�
'You never do anything big. Everything you do for me is ordinary,'� she sneered.
'You just feel that way because you're melodramatic,'� I laughed, but I knew she was right. My feelings towards for her were enough to keep in me the relationship, but not enough to shout it from the rooftops proudly. I never felt compelled to do any grand gesture of love for her. I didn't have it in me. 'I don't see you doing anything crazy with love for me.'�
'Untrue!'� she protested, 'The other night I serenaded 'So Happy Together' to you in the middle of campus.'� It was true she did this, but it was insincere. She was loud and out of tune and the entire time she looked past me to see if someone were watching and applauding. 'I think we should break up,'� she said. Finally.
I shrugged. 'All right.'�
'That's it? All right? Is that all I get from you, you heartless sonuvabitch.'� She was pacing her apartment, watching made me nauseous.
I laughed, it only upset her more and she started charging at me like a linebacker. I stood up quickly out of her way and threw my hands up. 'You're crazy! Is that what you want me to tell you? I think you're crazy.'� I thought about chucking her script out the window, but I didn't want her to bludgeon me with her Miss Saigon helicopter music box.
'I'm leaving,'� I told her, reaching for my keys on the coffee table in front of me.
She was shrieking like a banshee, running around and throwing things on the floor. 'Heartless sonuvabitch! Heartless sonuvabitch!'� she chanted while a porcelain coffee mug exploded against the wall next to my head. She looked wild and invincible; her hands were filled with belongings she was ready to hurl at me.
I slammed the door behind me without even looking back. As I headed to the elevator, I heard her tearing apart her apartment in a blind rage. She must've thrown everything at the door because it sounded like someone was charging into it behind me. For a moment I felt a little sorry that I couldn't be a better girlfriend for her, but that quickly changed when something that smelled like toilet water was dumped on me from three stories above.
I knew immediately it was Nina. I looked up to see her practically hanging out of her window holding an empty bucket. She was laughing wildly and spitting into the air. 'Now you'll never forget me!'� she yelled, 'You heartless sonuvabitch!'�
I was going to say something to calm her, but all I heard was the powerful slam of the window and the welcomed mortified silence that filled the streets.

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