TURNABOUT

From the driveway I can see her bedroom window. The low lamp is on. Is she sleeping or did she just get in? Why should I care? With good reason. I am mad as a wet hen that knows it can’t swim and will soon drown. Jen dumped me. If she had held off just another fifteen minutes I would have been able to relax my paralyzed vocal chords to tell her what she told me. The difference was my plan had me as the bogey man while she was sweet, pretty, charming and I am a creature of habit–a bad habit–I snort coke. So what if that is a lie, a big lie? Drugs are not on my list to do some day. Jen has a list too, a don’t list. Don’t date druggies.

What really bothered me the most were the few words she used to do the deed. ‘Sorry, Drew. We’ve had our time together and now I’m movin’ on. Please drive me home.’ I fumphed. I gulped. I was stunned and delighted at the same time. Her mother was sitting on the front porch when we arrived. Jen, dry eyed, kissed me lightly, quickly on the cheek, opened the car door and smiled a quirky smile, ‘Have a good life, Drew.’ Her mother waved to me. I was away from there as fast as my Honda would take me.

Days turned into weeks, Jen was replaced by Marcie, We were good together. In spite of our diverse opinions, we had fun. We had super sex. Being escorted to a secluded table in any fine restaurant, eyes turned to us, her really. She’s the pretty one, the dresser who doesn’t flaunt herself. She walks slowly but with no airs. Me, I’m there in the background until the check comes. That’s okay. It’s not exactly ok.I’m still hurting. The rocky road I’ve been on trips me up. Jen did walk out on me. That never happened before and I didn’t like it when it hit. Had she gotten down on her knees in mid-thought and begged me to forgive her, I just might have. My degradation is eating an ulcer in my belly. I’ve taken to driving past her place when Marcie and I go out. Marcie has asked a few times why I come this way and I make up little white lies. Actually, I go past hoping Jen will see me with her. Instead, my pain has worsened. Once I caught her as she got out of a red Lincoln and once a silver Caddy.

Christmas was nearing and my innards knotted. The holiday season filled Marcie’s time. Almost daily she told me what she bought for this nephew, this niece, that cousin, her Mom and I didn’t want to hear her even mention my name. I told her several times not to buy me a gift and I won’t buy her anything either. I had a plan.

The week before Christmas we went to a cozy pizzeria. I was going to be Samson, strong willed, defiant, use what I had planned to use on Jen. An old wine bottle, still encased in raffia, a lit candle played shadow games on the red checked table cloth. I was ready, Marcie was extremely quiet. There was a look in her eye I didn’t like. It reminded me of Jen. Her face was long, somewhat sullen. Before she could tell me what was bothering her, I let it out. ‘Marcie, this isn’t easy,’ I said, ‘but I have to do it. You are special. You’ve been the joy of my life for two months. You’re lovely. You’re smart. Your sexy, but I have to move on.’ My kidneys needed emptying. Marcie laughed. ‘Drew, you are right. That’s what I was trying to tell you. I want to be free again. It was nice while it lasted, but it’s over.’ I am dumbstruck. I fumphed and I gulped. We finished our Chianti, shared a piece of Italian ricotta cheese cake and walked arm and arm out of the pizzeria. Marcie said, ‘Take me home, Drew.’

At her place, she kissed me lightly on my cheek, thanked me for the fabulous nights, walked up the path to her porch and stopped.A tall, broad shouldered man met her as she reached the top step. He put his arm around her.

I called out the window, ‘Have a good life, Marcie,’ and drove away.