by K. B. Draper
“Where’d your girlfriend go?” she asked.
I fumbled to find an excuse that didn’t seem like I was dating a crazy person. “Hmm, well she …”
Dawn jumped in from behind me. “She got jealous, stole her car, and left.”
Well, that didn’t sound like I was dating a crazy person. Thank you.
Hot guitar player smiled, then turned and grabbed one of the T-shirts and a pen from the table. She wrote “Be good to your girlfriend” on the shoulder, tossed me the shirt, winked, and then walked off. Oh, nice. I walked outside and though I didn’t need to check, we did, and as expected my car was gone. Dawn and Carla dropped me off at my house. I climbed in through my kitchen window, ripped my shirt, and crawled into bed.
The next day I had one of the patrol officers pick me up for work.
“Where’s your car?” he asked.
I could have answered truthfully, but I didn’t need everyone at the sheriff’s department knowing I had an angry, car-taking girlfriend.
“Don’t ask,” I said, figuring the answer and my sour mood would lead him to think I went out, got drunk, and left it in the parking lot of some bar—which would lead him to think I was a lush, which was better than him thinking I’m a loser with a crazy, butt-swirling, auto-thieving girlfriend.
At the end of the day I walked to Lindsey’s apartment and saw my car out front. I stood for a minute and tried to figure out exactly how to break up with her. I could be honest. “Lindsey, I’m sorry, but your pubic hair tickles my nose, the only swirlies I like are the chocolate and vanilla ones at Dairy Queen, and I don’t like having to get rides when I have a perfectly functional car.”
On the other hand, maybe I didn’t have to break up with her. Maybe I was being shallow and I could figure out the sex thing. I could role-play in my head and think of nice romantic images to get me past the chia thing. I could picture a nice romantic picnic on a blanket, along a river, her in her red lingerie, no sounds except for the BANJOS. DELIVERANCE! DELIVERANCE! Okay that was not going to work. I could deal with the car thing, and maybe the chia thing, but I drew the line at butthole swirls. I took two deep breaths and knocked.
She answered, obviously irritated. “Yes?”
“Can we talk?” I asked with a little quiver in my voice. She looked good and I had a quick flash of her in lingerie. Okay, maybe we could open the line of communication on the butthole swirly thing.
“I think we should.” She turned away from me and walked inside. Wait. Was she wearing jeans with no back pockets? That was the last straw. I drew the line at wearing no-back-pocket jeans. If I didn’t find a way to break this off now I was going to find myself in a trailer park with her yelling at me to mow the lawn while I sat in a plastic lounge chair rubbing the part of my beer belly that was hanging out of my wife-beater shirt, a sensitive pooper, and-
“I’ll go first,” Lindsey said, interrupting my glimpse into my dismal future.
Five minutes later, I was standing outside Lindsey’s apartment, keys in hand, and utterly dumbfounded. How had that just happened? I’d just been dumped by a chia-haired, butthole exploring, finger-swirling, car-taking, pocket-less jeans wearer.
If you love someone, let them go. If they return, they are yours forever.
If you keep letting them return, you need therapy …
Loren May 1996–September 1996
It was 10:45 p.m. I’d had an extremely long day at work, which was the excuse I used to justify going to bed at 9:15 p.m. I chose to think that rather than the alternative, which was that I was just a loser with no social life. I was in the middle of my favorite time of sleeping, the part where I AM SLEEPING, when I was awakened by knocking at the front door. I lay there hoping they would go away. They didn’t. They started pounding instead. I closed my eyes, contemplating how I was going to dispose of their body. I settled on small cubed pieces of meat on a Chinese buffet right before the Sunday church crowd. Satisfied with my decision, I got up and opened the door to greet the main ingredient in tomorrow’s moo shu pork. Loren.
I ignored the little leap my heart did and made a show of looking down at my watch, then back up at her. “I think we missed the movie.”
“What?” she asked with her best innocent and confused look.
“A year ago you left to change clothes because we were going to a movie, and I never heard from you again.” No response. “Never mind. What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything. I just missed you. Can I come in?”
SHUT THE DOOR! SHUT THE FREAKIN’ DOOR! I stepped back to let her in. To-do list tomorrow: Buy a spine.
She sat on the couch, and I went to the refrigerator, knowing that she’d want a beer. I assumed it wasn’t the first one she’d had this evening. I came back in, handed her the bottle, and took a seat.
“What are you doing here, Loren?”
“Whitney and I got into a fight tonight. We were driving home from the casino and she just got mad at me for no reason.”
I did a mental eye roll at the “no reason” part of her story, figuring there was probably a very good reason.
“She started yelling at me and then she swerved the car off the road and told me to get out.” She paused for effect or for me to insert an “oh, you poor baby” or “I can’t believe she’d do that to you.” I didn’t say either so she continued. “I refused because I had no idea where we were, and she started hitting me and yelling at me to get the fuck out of the car.”
Tears started gathering at the corners of her eyes. At the sight of them a small crack developed in my steely veneer, but I remained silent, figuring I could duct tape the crack later. With tears spilling down her cheeks, she went on to tell me that Whitney had hit her and then spun in her seat, kicking Loren in an effort to get her out of the car. At this, I examined her a little closer. She did have red marks developing on the left side of her face, and she had red scratch marks from her neck to her chest. That’s when she told me that Whitney had grabbed her necklace and thrown it out the window. When Loren went after it, Whitney left her alongside the road.
She began again after a long drag of her beer. “I didn’t know where I was so I just started walking. I didn’t even know which direction I was heading. Luckily, Whitney came back for me, but once we got home she started yelling at me again. When she left, I came here.”
I did another mental eye roll, but this time at myself, knowing I was going to get sucked right back in.
“Did you find your necklace?”
“No …”
“So that’s the events of this evening. Do you mind telling me what happened over a year ago when you left here, left me, without so much as a phone call?” I asked with the little bitterness I did retain.
She sighed and gave me her best “I’m sorry” look. When that didn’t suffice, she began to tell the saga. Apparently, when she left my house and arrived home, Whitney was there packing camping gear, coolers, and clothes. Whitney decided they needed to go on a road trip together to work things out. Loren must have agreed because instead of changing for a movie she packed for a vacation with Whitney. She went on to describe their seven-state excursion in great and annoying detail.
“And you didn’t think to call and advise me of this little turn of events?” I inquired, just about back to full bitter.
“Well, we were gone for three weeks and Whitney never left me alone long enough to call and I didn’t want her to get mad. Then by the time we got back I figured you were mad so I didn’t think you would want to talk to me,” she explained.
“Did you not think I’d be worried when you didn’t show back up? I didn’t know if you’d been in a wreck or if Whitney had done something to you. I called the hospitals and police departments for a week!”
“I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to piss Whitney off,” she said, as if it explained everything.
“Oh well, as long as Whitney’s emotions are cool. I mean … not a big deal if I was worried or hurt,” I grumbled.
/> “Of course I cared, I just … I’m sorry,” she said as she got up, walked over to sit next to me, laid her head on my shoulder, and told me she was sorry again. Before I knew it, my hand moved to her hair and began stroking it softly. And just like that, my steely resolve shattered. To-do list: Buy Tarn-X to shine up that suit of armor.
“Do you need to stay here tonight?” I asked.
“You still mad at me?”
“Yes.”
“How can I make you un-mad?” she said with a sly grin curling at the edge of her lips.
“You can’t. I need to go to bed. I have a long day tomorrow.” I got up and made my way back to my bed. She followed, stripped down to her underwear, and curled up against me. I fell asleep holding her.
Over the next few weeks we’d fallen back into a familiar routine. I hadn’t completely forgiven her, but enough that I was able to push the resentment and hurt far enough back to be able to talk, laugh, and get back to the crazy, sweaty, roll-around sex of yesteryear.
After a few weeks, the time neared that I was going to a family reunion at my grandparents’ house. Since it was a twelve-hour drive and I wanted to be with her—or if I was being honest with myself, I wanted to make sure she’d still be here when I got home—I asked Loren to go with me. She agreed.
I’d asked her to stay at my house the night before so we could just get up and go, but she said she had some last-minute things to do, promising she’d be at my house on time. I told her we needed to leave at 6:00 a.m.
My alarm went off the next morning, and I rolled out of bed. I thought about calling Loren to make sure she was up, but I figured she knew how important it was to me and surely she’d be here. I watched as the clock clicked, 6:00. I began to pack my luggage into the car and there was no sign of Loren. I had a flash of déjà vu. 6:15 and 6:30, still no sign of her and she hadn’t called. I decided to give her until 7:30 a.m. and then I was going to leave with or without her. I sat in my living room looking at the clock, looking out the window, looking at the clock, looking out the window, looking at the clock, 7:30 a.m.
I grabbed my one remaining bag and was heading out the door when the phone rang. I stopped in the doorway and waited until the answering machine picked up, deciding that if it was Loren I was still going to leave without her unless she’d been in an accident, found out she had an incurable disease, or had been deployed, which was unlikely since she was a teacher.
“Hey, I need to talk to you … pick up.” Stacy’s voice came over the answering machine. I shut the door, cutting off the rest of her message as I figured the ex-girlfriend drama could wait until I got back.
I threw my bag in the backseat as I heard a car come speeding down the street. Loren. As she got into my car, she smiled and I smiled back, not asking why she was late because honestly I knew I really didn’t want to know.
I was excited to see my grandparents. My grandfather was this kindhearted, patient, crazy intelligent man who could fill out crossword puzzles without skipping any words. My grandmother was kindhearted as well, but she was also feisty, opinionated, and had long ago lost the filter between her brain and her mouth.
Loren and I arrived at my grandparents’ house just in time for dinner. My mom, sister, and step-father had already met Loren so I introduced her to the grandparents, my aunt, uncle, and cousins. In her typical style, she took over the room and warmed up to them immediately, as if she had known them for years. She told them stories and made them laugh, and in turn they would tell her “when she was little” stories, which made her laugh her amazing consuming laugh.
Loren and I were staying at the neighbor’s beach house two doors down. The neighbors were part-time residents and wouldn’t be there during our stay. I didn’t protest since my cousins, uncle, and aunt had already laid claim to all my grandparents’ bedrooms. We eagerly headed over to unload our bags.
“I’m going to grab a shower,” I yelled to her. “I feel grungy after the drive.”
“Okay, baby.”
I was washing the conditioner out of my hair when I felt hands on my stomach and a naked woman behind me. Remembering where we were, my quick ping of excitement was followed by a flash of panic because my grandmother was the curious type and it wouldn’t have been unlike her to walk into the house and check on us.
I turned around to express my concerns but Loren pulled me against her wet body, caressing my stomach and my breasts, and kissing my neck. All thoughts of grandma went down the drain and I was glad my showering routine always began with shaving. We glided easily against each other as the water ran between us. I moved my hands over her hips, pulling her closer to me. I couldn’t take it another moment. I had to feel all of her. I turned her against the wall and slid my mouth down her body slowly, stopping strategically at her neck, her chest, her stomach, and her hips. I teased her with my tongue as she ran one hand through my hair, and the other held onto the showerhead as I moved slowly into her. She lifted her leg and rested her foot on the soap holder, opening herself more to me. I moved in and out of her faster, deeper, and then took her with my mouth and my tongue. Her breathing became more labored as she panted out the words “Yes” and “Oh God,” making me move even faster and deeper. She matched my pace with her breaths, her words, and her own thrusts.
As the ecstasy was at its most potent, something crashed behind me and Loren’s leg came slamming down on my head like it was a pecan in a wet, naked nutcracker. Oh God, Grandma! I extracted my head and other essential body parts but hesitated before turning around to face my grandmother while I attempted to come up with a good explanation as to why Loren and I were naked in the shower together; naked with my head and hands between Loren’s thighs. I turned to face the inevitable with only “Poor little African kids have to walk miles to get water, and we don’t like to waste it” and “She missed a spot” excuses as my only defenses.
Grandma was not looming in the back of the shower. Thank you, God. I am so voting for you in the next election. I looked around to find the cause of the crash and the ensuing leg vise. Resting in the bottom of the tub was the tile soap holder insert that Loren had been using as a prop for her foot. My eyes quickly scanned the wall. As I feared, there was a gaping hole where the soap holder used to be. This would be fun to explain. “I’m sorry. Next time I won’t bring such heavy soap?”
The next morning we got up and went to my grandparents’ house for breakfast. Luckily, my grandmother was in the middle of showing my sister the “proper way” of loading the dishwasher, so I slid by her with the dislodged tile piece behind my back and found my grandfather sitting in the living room.
“Hmmm, Grandpa, we had a little problem with the shower.” I held out the molded tile soap dish.
He looked up from his crossword. “How in the world did that happen?”
I briefly considered describing the Spiderman-like sex pose and what my hands and mouth were doing at the particular moment the tile dislodged itself from the wall, but instead replied “Loren accidentally hit it when she was taking a shower.”
Loren spun on me and glared. We’d agreed on the way over that I would take the blame for the incident, but I changed my mind at the last minute because I wanted to retain my title as favorite grandchild. My grandpa grinned and stated, “No problem. I can go to the hardware store and fix it.”
“See, no problem,” I said to Loren as we walked out of the room. Well, I walked. Loren kind of stomped and didn’t talk to me for the better part of the day. I didn’t feel that bad. There was a lot of competition for favorite granddaughter. Plus, comparing girlfriend sins: “don’t take blame for a dislodged soap holder versus run off with your ex for a cross country camping trip, leaving current girlfriend to wonder if you were dead in a ditch …” Not that I was still bitter or now that regretful.
Nevertheless, I figured I should make it up to her so that evening I stole her away to take a walk on the beach. As the sun was setting I took a box out of my pocket, opened it, and took out a gold chain
with a small but functioning compass encased in gold. I had gotten the idea shortly after her story about being lost when Whitney threw out her necklace and left her. I handed it to her.
“So you’ll never get lost and you can always find your way,” I said. She thanked me in a way that had sand coming out of places for two days.
The next day my mom bought us all tickets to the Houston Oilers game. Mom said she thought it would be fun and nostalgic since the Oilers were moving to Tennessee the next year. I thought it was because she knew my grandparents would decline the invitation and my mother could have a drink without my grandma there to tell her “alcohol makes you fat.”
We had a couple of beers and sat through the first half without the Oilers seeing the end zone, let alone crossing it. Loren and I decided to take a break and go to the bathroom. There was a line so we waited, talking and stealing kisses since we were out of eyeshot from the family. A stall opened up and I told Loren, “Go ahead. I’ll get the next one.”
“No, come in with me.”
“I’m relatively sure you can handle things in there on your own.”
She grabbed my arm and started pulling me toward the stall. I planted my feet, resisting until I heard rumblings, grunts, and arm-crossing noises coming from behind me. Glancing over my shoulder I saw drunk football women needing to pee, not a fight I chose to fight that day so I gave in. Loren pulled me into the stall and locked the door.
I don’t care if you’re dating, in a relationship, or married; there’s nothing cute or remotely sexy about going pee or poop in front of one another.
“You first,” she offered.
I looked at the toilet and realized I had no good choices. There was no way I was bare-butting it, and hovering is never attractive. I wasn’t that graceful and there were always those accidental touches. I could’ve covered it with toilet paper but then there’s that whole one piece of paper that always sticks to your butt when you stand up. A final alternative was to not go, hold it, and risk a bladder infection. Hmmm, really what’s a week of medication in the big scheme of things?