battered by the elements

She handed me a scotch glass and asked if I wanted a little water in it.

“No,” I said.

She lifted the short hairs above her eyes and was about to say something but censored herself.

I took a sip of the scotch. It tasted better than I’d remembered. And I didn’t even wince when I swallowed. 

“Where does all this sadness come from?” she said.

I shook my head and took another sip. “Got a lot of memories,” I said.

She refilled my drink. “You know, it’s all about fresh thinking,” she said. “Something better. . .” She paused slightly and tightened the grip on the tumbler in her hand. “I was in psychotherapy for a year and a half when I was a teenager…and my psychotherapist would always ask me this question whenever I lost my focus. . .which was often. . .How do you get back to the fundamentals of life? I never knew how to answer that question. I was sixteen years old. I’d been rearranging the deck chairs until then; what the hell did I know about the Fundamentals of Life?” She sighed. “Then, one day, I finally got the balls to tell him I don’t know how to answer that question. I don’t have a f*****g clue what you’re even talking about!. S.O.B. just shrugged and said, ‘Oh well, then’…Like, hey, no big wup… Guy’s making ninety thou a year, ‘oh well, then.’ No insight, no feedback, no diagnosis…So then my parents sent me to private school after I told them I was having sex. . .”

“Why’d you tell them that?”

“They asked,” she said.

I was really beginning to like the woman. She seemed just as confused and conflicted as me. I motioned for a refill.

“Ohh, a professional drinker,” she said, pouring me another.

“Professionals earn money,” I said. “Drinkers are perpetual amateurs.”

She smirked. “So why are you still single?”

I remained unflappable. “Oh well, then,” I said.

She liked that. “You’re cute,” she said.

Our heads loomed closer and closer until our lips made a cautious link-up. It hadn’t much passion, but it was still a good kiss. Besides, I hadn’t been kissed like that in years, so any kiss would have been good at that time.

When it was done, we closed our eyes and retightened our lips.

I recalled a passage from a book I’d recently read:

“…it is axiomatic with him that one is insulted

and humiliated at every turn. He is used to

physical suffering and the degradation of the

body. . The background of these characters is

empty. . .are of unexplained social status. . .

often courteous mannerly, especially to ladies. . .”

She sighed, “Don’t feel sorry for me, even though I’m not in love. It’s my problem…”

That’s when we fell asleep.