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You're tall. You have a mustache or
maybe not. You shave your head. You're in your forties, or maybe in
your early fifties. You go to a gym regularly, working the
free-weights and the tattoos on your arms expand and contract as you
pump iron. Your hands are rough and calloused--paw-like--but the
fingernails are clean.
We meet for coffee and I feel that zing
and know I'm in trouble. I ignore the coldness lurking behind the
smile in your clear blue eyes, ignore both the overt charm and the
impatience with which you treat the waitress, because I'm already
smitten.
We meet again, this time for dinner.
You admit to being out of work—the boss was an asshole and the
other employees lazy and you got tired of doing all the work--and
assure me it's temporary, so I pay for the meal and the movie
afterward. It's worth it, though, because your hand gropes for mine
in the dark theater and you lean into me, stretching your legs to the
side and I smell your man-ness. You keep my hand in yours and kiss
me; I melt. As we leave the theater some teenage boys--all
enthusiastic, talking loudly about the some martial arts moves in the
movie they've just seen—jostle you as they pass, unwitting and
animated, and I ignore the sudden tug of your body as you move toward
them and the dampened fury on your face.
“Assholes!” You mutter under your
breath.
“They're just kids.” I respond,
and you start talking about respect and today's youth. I smile with
understanding; you've told me about your childhood, about your father
and his beatings, your mother and her drinking and screwing around.
I know you had to learn to fend for yourself at a very young age and
that the carefree life these boys live is alien to you.
I know you've got a chip on your
shoulder, that you see the world with suspicion and have an
underlying well of anger in your soul. But it's alright, because I
also know that all you need is a little love and understanding.
Two nights later you call me drunk,
asking me to pick you up from the bar. I have to work in the
morning, but I roll out of bed, pull on my jeans and come to the
rescue, bringing me to my place so I can take care of you. You fall
into my bed dragging me with you and we make love....sort of. You're
a bit rough and I'm left physically unsatisfied, but I know it's the
alcohol and happily curl around your sleeping form, running my hands
up and down your muscled back. You wake me in the morning before the
alarm, taking me again. I'm again unsatisfied, but am singing inside
because you find me attractive. I shower, make you breakfast,
leaving it on the table with a note.
I rush home from work and am overjoyed
to find you on the couch in front of the TV. I see you've made
yourself at home, as evidenced by the sandwich meat and mayonnaise
jar on the counter, and I make a mental note to pick up more bread
and sliced cheese. You give me a kiss and tell me you have to take
care of business, asking for money and the keys to the car. I give
you both, knowing this means you'll be back.
You're out all night and I have to get
a friend to pick me up and take me to work. I'm distracted all day,
worrying about you and again rush home, hoping you'll be there. You
are. You're passed out on the couch with a half-empty bottle of Jack
Black and a bag of pot on the coffee table. Relieved that you're safe
I try to get you to come into the bed with me and I finally get a
spare blanket and—kissing you tenderly on the forehead—take off
your boots and tuck you in.
You're still sleeping when I wake up
and I again make breakfast, leaving it on the table with a note.
This time I put a little heart by my name so you know I'm not angry
at you. You're not there when I get home from work and I search
uselessly for a note from you. I keep my cell phone with me at all
times in case you call and finally I go to bed alone. You stumble in
sometime after two and I smell the alcohol on your breath. You want
the car keys again—you need to run an errand—and I protest,
saying it's late, you're drunk and I need the car for work in the
morning. You ignore me and reach for my purse, taking the keys and
walking out of the house. I cry myself to sleep. But at least I
know you'll be back.
In the morning you're again passed out
on the couch and I pick up the beer cans and wipe the spills from the
coffee table before tucking you in and kissing your forehead. On my
way home that afternoon I stop at the store, getting all your
favorite food and a 12-pack beer. You're upset when I arrive,
grocery bags in hand, wondering where I was and who I was with. At
first you don't seem to believe that I was just shopping and ask me
about that guy I share an office with. I'm flattered that you care
so much about me and make us hamburgers.
After wolfing down your food you again
ask me for money. I say I don't have any cash and you shove the rest
of your food into your mouth then pull me into your arms, kissing the
top of my head. You explain that you've got a “thing” going,
that you know I've been patient and good and ask me to just hold on a
little while longer until you get stuff straight. You promise you'll
take care of me and even offer to mow the lawn the next day. I
snuggle into your chest, smelling you, feeling your arms around me
and suggest we go to the ATM machine. You stroke my back, my
shoulders and tilt my chin up, kissing me tenderly, then with more
passion. You pull me to the bedroom. After, as I'm dozing off, you
suggest it would be easier if I just gave you my debit card and pin
number so I don't have to get up and get dressed again, besides, you
say, I do have to get up early and it's important that I get my
sleep. I snuggle contentedly into my pillow, tired and--delighted at
your show of concern for me—I mumble the four digits, allowing you
access to my bank account.
The next morning you are again passed
out on the couch and the beer I bought is gone. There is a mirror on
the table with the residue of some white stuff smudged on it and a
rolled-up $20 bill. I tuck you in and kiss your forehead, then make
breakfast, leaving it on the table with a note and a little heart by
my name because I know all you need is a little love and
understanding....
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