Dear Whoever’s Still Listening…Need Big Ass Shiraz…Stat…

Sex in the Woods by Crystal Laramore


Dear Whoever’s Still Listening…Need Big Ass Shiraz…Stat…

“We’re not over. I love you with all my heart”. I keep hearing the words. The words keep me up at night. But the action (or lack there of), doesn’t back up the words. And that wakes me in the middle of the night. It’s been over a week since he’s called. Three weeks between that phone call and the last. Here’s your sign. The whispered words are fainter with each passing day. Silly girl, tricks are for rabbits.

Anyhoo, my mojo is coming back! Well, my coffee mojo anyway. There for a few weeks I just couldn’t get it right. Every morning I make myself (cuz I can’t afford staff on days the restaurant is closed) a café latte and froth the milk and lately the frothing part of my daily ritual has been off a bit. Well, it’s been flat, actually. No froth. Do you know how devastating no froth in a café latte is? Especially to an already unbalanced individual.

But one day last week I made the perfect cup of coffee, froth and all! The next thought had no real place in my pattern of thoughts…wait, have I had a pattern lately? Yes. Scattered. So, actually the next thought fit right in. It was about a cat my sister hijacked. She didn’t really kidnap it as she does let it go outside but she has definitely hijacked it.

My little sister was going through a divorce and doing the whole “why doesn’t he love me” drama dance, like we doooooo, and she was praying to God to get her mojo back. About that time a black, male cat showed up on her front porch, walked right in her cluttered “I’m newly divorced” condo and made himself right at home. She was a bit taken aback since she not only didn’t like cats, she didn’t like men. And a black cat? What more bad luck could she possibly withstand? Well, there was a collar and a name tag on the black, male cat. His ass was goin home! Until she read the name tag. His name: Drum roll please: MOJO! Seriously. God really does do things to amuse himself. I can see him now sitting on his throne giggling to himself saying “Ya really gotta learn to be more specific people, otherwise…”

Since God was channeling himself through the black, male cat named Mojo, my sister decided she should probably, at the very least, provide food and shelter. Hopefully she never provides clothing. The hijacking part comes from the fact that she bought cat a diamond studded dual bowl set, is dishing up it’s favorite brand of caviar and serving it Evian water. Would YOU go back home? God keeps looking around Heaven asking Peter “Where IS my son”? Wonder where he got off to this week.

Anyway, back to me: I now know why people get together during a time of pain and suffering. When we are hurting we want someone to console us and when it can’t be the one delivering the P&S (pain & suffering) sometimes we turn to who is available/willing. Ooooooh, I just thought of another song to replace the silly love songs: “So if you can’t beeeeeee with the one you love honey, love the one you’re with”. Oh, I digress. My bad. I have a good friend who I do not want to date for reasons far beyond the fact that he is a great man. And being the great man he is, when I called, when I needed him, he came running; even though I was drunk-texting him; even though he knew who I really wanted. Yes, he came over – Even Though - and just held me. Excuse me, I’m getting teary-eyed and need a break. I just put on make-up and hate to waste good product…

…ok, I’m back. Whew. The sadness comes in waves. So, my friend didn’t even have a clue that Richard had put me on hold. I told ya’ll already that I hadn’t let on to my friends and letting go is such a quiet sound. My friend was totally shocked as he has met Richard and thought it was a match made in heaven. Yeah, me too. That’s the funny (gotta laugh or I’ll cry again and again) thing - it is a match made in Heaven. My friend wondered why I hadn’t called him before now. I told it him it wouldn’t have done any good cuz he wouldn’t have been able to understand me. The ugly cry doesn’t lend itself to comprehensible verbiage. He may have understood sign language; maybe we could have played charades: Woman in midst of ugly cry, making loud duck(like) call sounds with nose, coupons for Kleenex with lotion surrounding her, arm reaching toward bottle of Big Ass Shiraz holding empty wine glass…No last night was the perfect time. I was able to clearly state my case and not cry. Oh, I got teary-eyed, but not one tear rolled down my cheek. Moving right along. Isn’t it sad?

Anyway, my friend held me and we talked about the evening at the restaurant. I told him about my new musician and how he had invited someone here to meet me. The man’s name was Richard. My friend said “Hmm. You certainly don’t want to start dating someone with the same name as the one you’re trying to get over”. Wow! I hadn’t even put two and two together! So there I was being introduced to another Richard and never even thought of my Richard! Ha! How do ya like that? It’s about time! (And no, I do not want to date anyone else. What I want however seems not to be the issue. What I am doing is waiting and hoping and venting.) My friend and I decided I was on the road to recovery! And then, I made another perfect café latte this morning! Fluffy froth and all!

And, I took a shower. I didn’t cry and I didn’t draw hearts with his name in the center. What I did do was discover that if you are really interested in your hygiene there is a lot to do in there! It just takes focus. No time for crying when you are actually shaving your legs, washing AND conditioning your hair, scrubbing the dead skin (there’s a metaphor if you think for a split-second…) off your feet and just generally cleaning your body. I’m not sure I’ve been remembering all of those steps lately. I’ve had other stuff to do in there. Like draw hearts and write “I love Richard” in the fog and cry and beat the wall and scream at the water; then erase the hearts and love notes and step out of the therapy shower without falling down. I fell down once about eight years ago and the only thing I keep thinking through this heart-wrenching betrayal I’m feeling is that I can’t fall down again. I can get weak, I can cry but, I. Can’t. Fall. Down. Must. Not. Fall. Down.