|
Not that you cared, but yesterday had been hard. the whole weekend had been hard. she kind of cried thinking about it all - you know - feeling sorry for herself. what a sad sack - always living in the past that she threw away then grabbed out of the trash and cleaved to her bosom.
her body had been made for child-bearing, but she had never had them.
maybe that would have been the thing.
children.
whatever the thing was, she had lost it.
she still bled. whee. she was bleeding right now. It was only about 15% rare - to be so old.
she had always loved drummers. even in U2, it had been Larry Mullen she admired as much as Bono lit her up. "if I could throw this lifeless lifeline to the wind, lead your heart away ... the desolation....and let it go.... you know I would."
and here she was.
no one to rescue.
no one to save.
no one to play with.
and it was her own undoing.
the leaves were falling hard on the neighbors yard. kristen blew her nose and wiped her tears. Today, she would have to clean the refrigerator. her aunt was visiting next week, and she had gone on and on about how filthy it was on her last visit.
Cleo pranced up the driveway like a piebald queen.
she thought of her first dates with husbands. She had loved mark before she even met him - decided that he was going to be her husband. It had been a joke, and then she encountered him at Deluxe, "are you still hanging out with Sarah? because even wanting to go out with her, well it lessens you in my eyes." He looked at her, "I don't know what I was thinking. it's over. Do you want to hang out tomorrow?" "yes".
and there's a picture of it - or there was - somewhere. She was sitting on that red sofa he and his first wife had been so proud of and she had left it when she left him for drugs and fame and California. Kristen was wearing an outfit she'd never worn before and would never wear since: some jeans with a light blue linen j. crew clearance button down shirt.
not that you care.
not that anyone but kristen does.
me
so, at first his friends were over, and at the very very first, he had been busy cleaning his house. Maybe she had been early. They left after a while. She had enjoyed it all. but it was a bit awkward. She had thought maybe they'd be just good friends and not husband and wife after all.
When she got home, he called her, "all I wanted to do was kiss you all day."
She was surprised. she didn't think they had had that zizz, but it intrigued her, and they married later.
the second first date with a man who would be her husband, she doesn't remember what she wore. She remembers being in a boot because she had broken her foot trying to drunk flamenco dance and slipped on a wet floor barefoot and her entire weight had landed without remorse onto the side of her foot.
She had always been a sturdy strong lass.
she couldn't wait for the fat jab to do its thing so she could be off of it and finally drink to oblivion again. it sucked taking reality straight.
so, she forgot her wallet with husband number two. she thought it was funny and unusual. she had to carry all the convo in the loud venue he had chosen. after their date, she immediately knew on the way home that this dude was not for her. "I'll never see that guy again." if only she had gone with that instinct, but she was thirsty, heartbroken, tired of being alone. She doesn't even remember if she kissed him. maybe but probably not. maybe just a hug. He too texted her "got I want to kiss you." and they did. all over Oakland. he kissed her all the time - in the car - on the street. it was theatrical. the whole thing was a farce, "I knew from our first date that I wanted you in my life forever.'
not me.
so then fucking noel.
why does she even include him in this pantheon?
because she's desperate. she remembers she debated three times over the outfit and finally decided on a skirt that looked like vertical pieces of beautiful flags and a black shirt and those cool sexy sandals that she could walk to Egypt in. She's never worn that skirt again. it's marked now. it's haunted.
and you know the fucking story, they talked for hours. she woke up. she had hope.
she loved him.
she held nothing of her heart back but so much of her shame and worth.
and it ended. he never thinks about her.
she's still sitting in ten or nine months - who's counting anymore - waiting for Christmas and Boxing Day and the day after to finally be over because it's the last memories she has of him and she knows form experience, it's always better after the anniversaries are over.
and this town.
the only thing to do was to
mainline Wellbutrin and hope for the fucking best.
|
