That Girl
Now I am older, not wiser, and my memory has faded with wine.
But regrets. I don’t have any.
Because there are shadows of her still with me, faded with wine.
And time.
That Girl.
Who was she?
I remember how drunk we were. Pulled over on the side of the road.
You jumped out of the car, reached up under your dress and took off your panties.
Peed on the side of the road, squatting down, giggling, had me hold your hand.
That night we kissed passionately, your naked legs wrapped around me and wouldn’t let go. Bare heels biting into my buttocks until it hurt. And I didn’t mind.
I came inside you and fell asleep in your arms.
That Girl.
Who was she?
Madly in love.
We got married, and I remember how scared I was to tie the knot.
Forgive me for becoming angry, and slapping your face on our honeymoon night.
I remember you posing in the window in Rome, the shudders open, the morning sunlight coming in, antiquity in the distance. The Coliseum and Forum Romano. You were smiling, sweetly, and as if you were as happy as you could ever be.
The night before we’d made love, Fucked, and you’d said how you’d never felt that way before.
It was magic.
Who was That Girl?
In my days of Madness, only She was always there for me, waiting with cigarettes, tequila in the freezer of her dirty little apartment. She’d always drive to get me when I called her on the telephone, when I was down and prepared for suicide. Took me back to her place, put me to bed, took a shower and came back with a towel on her head. And nothing else. But warmth and wetness.
And who was she?
The one that wore a red, silk dress, made me sit on the couch and listen to her music as she put her sweet mouth to the flute, filled my ears with beautiful song?
The names, I don’t remember, and the names don’t matter because they aren’t there anymore.
That Girl, and That Girl. Now they bear their husbands’ names, drive their children to soccer practice, and go to meetings of the PTA.
And do they think of me fondly, as I do of them still?
I came inside each of them, with passion, eruption. Real passion.
And if this does not matter to them, it does not matter.
It matters to me, and my memories.
That Girl, and That Girl.
Amen.
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