I started early. Talking by one. Weed at eleven. Sex at thirteen. Married at 20. Michelle was great. We honeymooned overseas. Three whole weeks. To an island. Mythascopia, or something. I always forget. She loved it. Amazingly clear water. It seemed bottomless.
I was naive. I trusted her. Why wouldn’t I? She claimed fidelity. But she lied. I should’ve known. There’s always signs. Eventually, she confessed. I was stunned. She moved out. She moved back. I moved out. Months flew by. I didn’t shave. I didn’t shower. It took time. War is hell? Not even close. Love is hell. Shock treatments helped. That’s a joke.
I recovered slowly. Friends are useless. Drugs don’t help. Isolation is pointless. Know what helped? S - E - X. Sex helped immensely. Whoulda thunk it? It sounds awful. But it’s true.
Her name was … I shouldn’t say.
She was gorgeous. Maybe not gorgeous. Very pretty, though. Well above average. What an ass. Like a melon. I love that. She was nasty. That’s a compliment. Only one problem. She was crazy. Totally, fucking, insane. I was blinded. Lust blinded me. But who’s immune? No one is. Not even priests. That’s different though.
Three years wasted. That’s what happened. I hated myself. That’s nothing new. I felt - abandoned. Like a dog. An old toy. An ex lover.
But I recovered. I always do. I moved west. To the coast. Los Angeles, California. Fun and sun. Tits and ass. Smog and traffic. I hated it. Talk about sprawl. Too many cars. Too many malls. It was crazy. But I adjusted. Slowly, things improved. I made money. I was tan.
I met someone. In Santa Monica. At the beach. A California native. Graduated from UCLA. Big Bruins fan. A film major. Weird, I know. She was … different. She was twenty-three. She talked ceaselessly.
“California is awesome.”
“So I’m told.”
“Are you unconvinced?” Then she winked. I was toast.
“I have doubts.”
“You’re so funny.”
I loved this. The beginning stages. It’s the best. But it fades. We knew that. We didn’t care.
