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Posted on December 20, 2006
Filed Under The Stories |

Ours was a long-winded intellectual flirtation, possibly because neither of us could engage on a physical level. But that is a story for another day, or perhaps it is simply the conclusion to this very story. I haven’t decided…

She came into my life one August morning, I think…it is difficult to truly be aware of the days, months and years when their passing has ceased to matter. It occurred to me that people really needed to be aware of what month it was in which year simply because it was necessary for them to measure up or weigh in…that’s the fourth consecutive birthday I’ve remembered or the nineteenth anniversary I’ve celebrated or the sixteenth girl I’ve consummated a one-night stand with…

If only they knew how little any of that really means. But some women will pout over forgotten annual events long after they’ve ceased to care about the actual time that passed between each successive milestone. Missed annual celebrations become crutches, excuses even, for why they’ve taken lovers or neglected their children or embraced the bottle.

Such a waste…but I digress.

She came into my life one August morning, I think…and immediately she was the most beautiful thing to inhabit my existence. Don’t get me wrong, I hadn’t been one to let life get in the way of living. I had stopped to smell the flowers and played with babies and love good women and helped the old cross streets. I had knelt at the altar of pride and been stabbed by the double-edge sword of jealousy and envy. I had been pounded by hunger when I had already eaten and been sucked dry by alcohol in the middle of a stormy relationship. Through all of those experiences I hadn’t encountered someone as beautiful as she. And she knew it, and she let me know that she knew it.

We played hard to get and we traded insults. She offered me an olive branch and sprinkled lemon juice in my eyes when I reached out to accept it. I delivered her rosy compliments in an iron glove and relished the sound of metal slapping flesh out of shape. When we were both bruised beyond relief and battered into submission by the ugliness of our souls we allowed each other to truly see us on the inside. She was the first to take a taste but I was the one who gorged first. We liked what we tasted and relished the aperitif. Great theories were propounded and several basic truths relearned. Rhetorical discussion left us more spent than the most energetic bout of tantric intercourse ever could. Ours was a long-winded intellectual flirtation and an academic lust bath that would continue unto eternity and all it took for this happy union to come into being was an angry drunk at the wheel of a stupid beast.

From the few words I was able to pick up from the speaking world I gathered that her body had been broken in more places than a compact construct of skin, bones and sinew ever should. Yet she was the most beautiful thing I would ever experience. Mine was a drug-induced coma and we had bonded over rock ‘n roll. I guess it was for the best that sex wouldn’t come along to fuck up this equation.

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