my forlornness caused me to lose track of time

There were things that were said that

night,

but I don't really remember.

I was either too drunk, too sleepy, or

both.

The only thing I do remember

is

somebody got mad at

me

because I couldn't

recall the name

of the person whom

they were describing.

"You

know," the somebody said.

"She has short,

fleecy auburn hair,

green eyes?

Big-boned with a round, bland face?"

"I don't

remember," I said.

"Yes you

do!" the somebody said,

nearly perforating

my ear drums.

"The one who uses

a night light in

her bathroom to

look at herself in the

mirror because she

doesn't like the way

she looks when she

turns on the overhead

light; she said it

makes her face look

like Morticia

Adams!"

I shook my head.

"How can you not

remember her?

She was holding a

jar of mayonnaise

and dipping Doritos

into it all night!"

"I don't

remember!"

At that point, the

somebody became

so frustrated with

me that they

let out this little

grunt

and rolled their

eyes

and threw their

hands up in

almost total

despair.

Actually, I thought

their behavior was rather funny.

I think I might

have even snickered a little at them

and I think they

might have even heard me snickering

at them, which only

seemed to piss them off even more;

although, as they

sometimes say in the hood,

I'm not a huned

percent for sure.

The next morning,

around 8:45, my cell phone rang.

I really didn't

feel like answering it so I let

the call go into my

voice mail.

I went back to

sleep and woke up an hour later.

As I was trying to

figure out

whether to have

beer or whiskey for

breakfast,

my cell phone rang

again.

I looked at the

caller ID.

The word "Private"

was displayed.

I decided to hedge

my bets.

"Hello," I

said.

"It was Maude

Love," a voice said.

"I'm sorry?"

"The person I was

trying to remember last night. Her name was Maude Love."

"Who is this?"

I said.

"Thelma!"

"Ohh, Thelma,

hey..."

"I could not

think of her name."

"Maude Love."

"Yess!"

I didn't remember

anyone named Maude Love so I just kept my mouth shut. Because I knew

Thelma.

She'd start in on

me again. About how I never listen to her or remember anything she

tells me. Which I don't think is entirely true. It's just that she

usually wants me to remember the things she wants me to

remember, and I usually remember the things I want to

remember.

"You remember

Maude Love?" Thelma said.

"Uhmm..."

"You don't."

"Well..."

"Just say you

don't," she said, frustrated as hell.

"I really don't,"

I said.

Thelma didn't say

anything after that. I was surprised. I figured she was going to

take that opportunity to really lecture me on my active listening

skills, but she didn't. Maybe she'd had it with lecturing me. Maybe

I just wasn't a good enough student in her two different colored

eyes. Maybe... who the hell knows?

She ended the

conversation the way she always ended our conversations by saying,

"Well, anyway," which was my cue to say, "I guess I'll let you

go."

But she'd always

stay on the line for another minute or two, just breathing into the

phone, and I'd turn on the TV and start flipping through the

channels, waiting for her to say "goodbye", because I've always

had trouble saying goodbye to Thelma. I'm really going to have to

talk to my therapist about that some day.

Finally, Thelma

would whisper throatily "goodbye" and I'd be relieved, because

then I could say goodbye, and we'd hang up, and I'd go to the

kitchen, open the fridge, crack open a beer, sit there silently, lost

in thought, hoping that one day the bright sun would bring my life to

light.