I fumbled, distracted, glancing quickly all around.
Which pair of pants was I wearing? Ah, yes, the ones with the zipper fly, not the buttons.
I met her at a bar, but not in the usual way; I was behind it, pouring pitcher's of beer and carafe's of cheap wine. She was a new barmaid; first day on the job.
I seldom visit taverns. I prefer a quiet lounge with piano jazz. This noisy watering hole was owned by my brother. The till was coming up short too often, I was here to find out why.
She was tiny; five feet and a fraction, long dark hair blue eyes; attractive but not beautiful. She liked my hands, she said.
Behind the bar or any closed in space where people work together, moving, lifting, reaching, some are klutzes; bumping, spilling, dropping.
I always knew where she was; hands and eyes, touching and glancing; we seemed to read each others minds.
After the rush of business, when I got around to noticing, she was wearing a black leather skirt and matching calf-high boots. The skirt was short but she wore it well; her blouse was white and long sleeved, one button open at the throat, silk that slides through your fingers and quickens the pulse.
I should have known better.
One thing led to another; a silly teenage rug burn from someone's carpeted deck after closing. She had kids, two, they're okay. I'd seen a lot of kids looking for dads over the past ten single years.
I think it was the little boy who got to me. I helped him go pee at the county fair; he was two and a half then.
I wanted a son.
She was $2500.00 back on mortgage payments; new development, three bedroom ranch style, bare minimum construction.
I had been saving to go back to Miami, try sailing again.
Her car needed work; $527.00...I don't know why I remember the exact figure.
So I moved in; for about a month.
Then one night when I reached for her,
she pulled away and said sweetly: "I don't really like to do it, y'know what I mean?"
No. I didn't know what she meant. I seldom knew what she meant about anything.
I moved out the next morning.
She called me three weeks later.
We named the little girl, April.
We never made love. But we had sex, once in a while, not often. It was my fault. I wake up that way, half asleep, reaching out for the warmth and the softness.
Five children; one miscarriage. She told me later she knew I would never leave a child of mine behind.
She also said she counted and knew the days she could conceive.
I didn't think she was that smart.
We men are such fools.
It took two full time jobs, there were seven children now.I wasn't around very much. Just as well. But she began raising show dogs. She needed more than just kids, she said.
A grand a month for Veterinarians, show entries, travel, meals; dog food was the least of it.
Thirty-one St. Bernard's; great slobbering beasts. I can't look a dog in the eye anymore without growling.
I got to know the children. She was gone Friday through late Sunday and weekdays, twice a week for 'obedience' classes.
It had been, 'daddy' for discipline and at the dinner table; now I learned to cook for them, do laundry, change and clean endless diapers and play with them.
The experts would say I 'bonded' with the children.
I must have. The pain was way past intense when she took them away. The heart and soul of me was gone. I was but a lonely empty shell.
Then she brought them back; her new friend from a dog show somewhere didn't want kids.
Fine with me.
Six months later she took them again. I was too stupid and too busy to file the papers.
They were meal tickets for her; Food Stamps, free medical care, section 8 housing and on and on. Who needs a father with the welfare program happy to provide.
She did have to give up the dogs.
The little boy that first caught my eye, turned thirteen, brutally beaten and sent to a foster home.
It cost me $1500.00 to discover that 'step-fathers' have no rights in Court.
The first little girl, April, abused and a run away at fourteen. I tried but it was too late; she was hurt and bitter and afraid to trust.
The next child was a boy, my first son. At thirteen he was in a boy's home, trying to control his anger and rediscover his battered self esteem.
More lawyers fees. I discover you can't fight the State either; father's had few rights.
The three little ones, two girls and another boy are undergoing treatment for abuse, neglect and mental torture.
I went to Court after all those years and all that pain.
The Judge thought she ought to have another chance.
After all, she was the 'Mother'.
She was coming to claim the children and her victory.
She rounded a corner too fast, swerved to miss a kitten in the road, flipped the car and burned to death before my eyes.
That was four days ago.
When she swerved to miss the cat? It was the only 'kind' thing I ever saw her do.
I looked up, my eyes unfocused for a moment, then seeing the trees and shrubs throughout the well tended Cemetery, I unzipped my fly and looked down at the fresh dirt.
I had saved it up all day.
It was a good....long....piss.
...finis... |
