She Was a Mean Beauty

Hers was a love that almost killed me

By Coffee and Milk on iStock (image licensed by author)

Hers was a love that almost killed me. She stole my check book, wrecked my car on a rainy, Saturday afternoon, and drained my last dollar covering bills she never intended to pay. Her cat ran away, and she sobbed for hours, then I bought her a new one which she gave away to a friend.

When we were once apart for a few weeks, she slept with my best friend, soon a former best friend, and shrugged as if I would understand. She lost her job because she was lazy, and got it back the next day because she could talk anyone into anything. A woman of immense talent who hid it just to piss me off. She lived with me when she needed me, and lived alone when she didn’t. Her secret passion was strip bars, lap dances, and roaming the gay bars of San Francisco where we lived. She was always just one shot away from going on stage…and I always bought her that shot.

She once broke up with me at noon, dragging an overstuffed suitcase down the hall to the elevator, then knocked on my door at three in the morning and moved back in. One shake of her copper hair and I forgave her everything, maybe even it was my fault. She hurt me enough to make me want to be a monk, but so crazy in bed I was glad I didn’t head to the cave. She left one day, and I never saw her again. One year, eight months and six days of loving her…