. . . . I’m all about bad decisions tonight. After a life time of making the right ones, I realize now that the right decisions are bad decisions and, consequently, bad decisions are why I’m here now. Sometimes a bad decision is the only way out of a bad place. Well, probably not, but, when in Rome. . .
It didn’t start out this way. I was just sitting at a bar, minding my own business. I only wanted a drink. . and then another. . and then another. I wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want to help out some woman in distress and I definitely didn’t want to pay the price for it.
When she walked in though. . .It was all over. She sat down next to me and when I tried to ignore her she asked me for a light. After hesitating for just a moment, I lit up her cigarette. . or her fuse. . whatever. It was all over at that point.
I’ve known a lot of women in my time; and I’ve screwed it up with every single one. Every Single One. At least that’s what they think. Who knows. You meet a woman with a story. She wants to get away from some bad guy that’s giving her grief. You do what you can to help. You get beat up a few times. You do what needs to be done and, a month later, she’s right back with the guy giving her grief and, for your troubles, you end up being the bad guy. It’s a racket. But, hey, they pay well and you gotta eat, right?
This one told me her story. I won’t go into detail, but it was typical. We stepped outside for privacy and she shoved me against a wall and kissed me deep. It was a reckless, impulsive, crazy kiss. I thought we’d be there forever… But she was just making sure she had me hooked. Good job babe. . .dont forget the line and sinker.
So I got her out of her jam, at considerable cost to my sanity and reputation. For my troubles, she just turned around and went right back… And she had the nerve to call me a year later and ask for help getting out again. Like I’m that stupid.
Anyway, I’m meeting her at that old joint on the South Side of town again. Wish me luck. I’ve got some bad decisions to make.
“It happens in your sleep, Steven” – What I was dismissively told when I first became curious about love and sex.
This will never work out. We’re not compatible.
We’re too different:
If I hold her she will sleep.
But if I don’t hold her, I will sleep.
She can’t go to sleep unless I am holding her.
I can’t sleep when I am touching another person.
She suggested I hold her until she falls asleep.
Then let her go, so I can sleep. Once she is asleep, she will not know I am not holding her she says.
She’s a very practical woman. A problem solver.
But she has nightmares. I hear her. Her breathing speeds up.
She startles. She tries to cry out. But she has no memory of these in the morning.
So I held her one night when she was having the nightmares and the nightmares stopped.
The nightmares she doesn’t remember.
If I don’t sleep, I’ll be okay. I’ll know that she didn’t have the nightmares. This will sustain me.
So I start holding her and I don’t let go.
Late at night, when I’m awake holding her, her hands grasp my hands and our fingers are interlocked.
Her legs are intertwined with mine. She holds my legs tight with hers.
We wake like this, but she has no recollection of how it happened. I dismissively told her that
It happened in our sleep, “who knows? it’s just one of those things,” I said .
“Hmmm. . .” she said, and then she gets up and takes a shower.
At night, when she subconsciously grasps my hand. When our fingers are interlocked
And our legs are wrapped around each other
It’s like her soul is breaking through her subconscious mind.. begging me. .saying
“Don’t let go baby. . .never let go.”
And my soul answers, saying
“Baby. . I won’t let go. I will never let go.”
Now, something strange has happened. When I hold her and don’t let go
I sleep. . .. . . .. . . . .
Sometimes it does happen in your sleep.
So there I was,at this joint on the south side of town. It was a hot, sticky night and all I wanted was a break from the heat… and to be left alone. The bartender just looked at me, so I said, “Give me a whiskey and coke, hold the coke, make it a double and keep em coming.” I had a lot of thinking to do and this wasn’t the time to do it. The bartender grunted, turned around, and poured some whiskey into a glass and set it in front of me. There is an art to ordering a drink and if I don’t get anything else right in this life, at least I got that.
That’s when she walked in. Dark hair, dark eyes and dark skin, with long legs and nails. To be honest, she was beautiful. I was hooked and there was no turning back. But I didn’t let on. I kept my hands and eyes on my drink. I held my breath even though her sweet, sultry scent filled my nostrils and swirled around my brain.
The bar was empty but she took the seat right next to mine. She fumbled around in her purse, clumsily pulled out a cigarette and put it between her lips. She leaned over and touched my arm. Electricity pulsed through my body and lit a fire in my gut. I turned to find her staring into my eyes, “What’s a girl gotta do to get a light in this place,” she asked. Without taking my eyes off of her, I pulled out my lighter and flicked it alive. But I hesitated. . . Because sometimes you’re lighting a cigarette, and sometimes you’re lighting a fuse.