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.
Nothing lasts forever. Only 90 days. That was it. Sex gets boring. That’s not true. Monogamy gets boring. Is that terrible? It’s no secret. She felt it. The pulling away. It’s so strange. Her friend called. The next day. What an airhead.
“So what’s up?
“Listen, I can’t…”
“Don’t sweat it.” She hung up.
Two years passed. I went home. Then dad died. Fucking heart attack. Mom was devastated. But she’s strong. Stronger than me. That’s no shit.
I visit sometimes. Dad, I mean. Talking to dirt. Sometimes it helps. Don’t know why. Religion is stupid. There’s no God. But I visit. Pay my respects. I don’t cry. Not graveside anyway. In the car. It just…happens. I don’t care. Men can cry. Maybe I’m rationalizing.