The other day, I walked into a meeting and my first “recovery” girlfriend was sittin’ at the table.
She smiled and waved at me.
I waved back.
Now, I hadn’t seen her in 30 years
But she didn’t look good.
Not that she’d been drinkin’.
She was sober but…her face was blotched and
puffy and she had put on weight…a starchy, flabby kind
of gain I found surprisin’ coz, when I knew her,
when she was my girlfriend, she
was preoccupied with her “looks.”
And she was pretty in a wholesome, midwest farmer’s daughter kinda way.
The old-timers around the clubhouse were crazy for her and, when it was obvious to them that she was interested in me, they, to a man, said, “That’s a good lookin’ woman, son. Don’t know what she sees in you but you better get a little bitta that while you can. Won’t get this chance again.”
Well, I wasn’t lookin’ for a bitta that. I wanted love. But I thought, “Maybe they’re right. Maybe she does likes me. And she is a fox. And the old guys approve.”
So, when she called, I answered.
And, yeah, I gotta a little bitta that.
And she said, “You just might be The One.”
And, for three months, she cooed and kissed and encouraged me to “improve.”
And I cut my hair, bought new clothes and learned how to order from a menu.
Then, early on in the romance, we went to the beach.
And, after we picked the right spot in the sand to spread our towels, she lay down,
turned over on her stomach and
had me rub lotion on her back.
She rested her cheek on her forearm and
I thought my ministrations had put her to sleep till
she started to chuckle.
“All these people,” she said. “They’re funny.
And they’re gross.
And they’re ugly.
Thank God I’m not like them.”
I knew then I didn’t love her.
I always knew she didn’t love me.
Durin’ one of our last arguments she said,
“You were just an experiment.
I don’t have to love a guy to fuck him.
They’re like kleenex to me. They’re like tissue and
I throw them out the window
when I’m done.”
Fifteen months later,
She wasn’t done with me yet so
I walked out the door.
Then, I walked into the
Clubhouse and there she was, the
spittin’ image of the folks she laughed at
all those years ago, wavin’ at me like we were
friends so, after the meetin’, when she walked up
to hug me, I reached into my pocket and
handed her a