Karma has its way.
I am being punished for my sins. My sins against women. I was no Jack the Ripper or anything like that. More like Bill the Skipper. I’d skip out on them, rather abruptly I’m afraid, toodle-oo, as in, love ’em and leave ’em. More than once, full of hurt.
Now I’m left high and alcoholic. In all fairness, on a few occasions, I was the one left holding my heart in my hand. The most punishing revenge was outside Bloomindale’s on a deathly cold New Year’s Eve. It’s a long story, but the end result, in a kick in the nutshell, was my girlfriend of five years dumped me for a successful guy who was bound to be wealthy one day. I fictionalized it in a story, an excerpt of which can be found below.
Anyway, a few years after that, and its California aftermath, I married S., and guess what? I treated her cavalierly too. Thank god, she gave back as good as she got. It was a highly flammable relationship. Despite that, we had some wonderful times in the thirty years we managed to patch together, in different cities and countries; the rotten times were rough, but S. would keep her cool and roll another joint. She was the coolest person I’ve ever known. And I never told her that.
So the punishment, imposed by the Chief Magistrate banging his gavel in my brain-cell damaged mind was five years solitary confinement. Which I think was rather severe. But I can’t complain. I’ve got a roof over my head and the amenities that come with a lowly bungalow in the sticks, and best of all, a cat to keep me company.
A little bit like the Birdman of Alcatraz, ’cept I’ve got a cat. She’s great company and doesn’t mind being confined along with me. We’ve gotten to know each other’s moods and mood swings and idiosyncrasies over these years.
But how I miss S! After several years of a botched back surgery and its complications, she ended up on a walker. She was on a walker but still managed to prop me up. She kept me sane.
Now it’s up to me. And Bella, and, at this moment, Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9.