https://www.angelfire.com/empire/cavegirl/index.html
rabarrington@hotmail.com
I Fell In Love With A Barstool Bucko.
I have been programmed to adore people that will leave me. The ones that disappear are the ones for me. And if it is by death, all the better. That way they are forever sealed-off, out-of-reach. You could accidentally bump into a live person at any moment. Then it could start up all over again. The embers never quite exhaust themselves. A faint breeze, and whoosh! the fire comes alive.
I once wrote a love letter to HIM/about HIM and he detested it, so I took it down. Even the second half, which was one of my family stories, was axed. He thought I made it up. It was real. I am going to put it here so I don’t forget it.
When I was about 14 I overheard bits of a conversation my father was having with my older, much older brother. He said that a man should “sow his oats” before he gets married. My dad didn’t marry my mom until he was 37. He never cheated on her, at least as far as I know. I did live with them so I think I would have an idea about that. Anyway, when I was 16 my aunt, my dad’s sister died. We traveled to Prairie du Chien, a Mississippi river town on the Wisconsin side.
We are all dressed in black, in mourning. After a quiet funeral we arrive at a banquet hall where an after-dinner is starting. Immediately a very well-dressed woman adorned in huge chunky gold jewelry walks up to my dad and with a gigantic smile on her face says, “Hello there.” She is practically breathing his air. I am thinking, “Get off of my father you hussy bitch.” I am also thinking that she is being highly inappropriate. After a few moments of friendly “I haven’t seen you in a long time” banter my dad takes my mothers arm and says “Excuse me.” to that red-headed demon woman.
“I see you are still quite popular.” says my mom to my dad.
“Popularity? That and a nickel will get you a nickel.”
Two more women came up to him while we were there; the redhead with loveblossoms in her eyes persisted as well.
My dad and mom had been married for almost 30 years when this happened. Surely these women could have found someone else by then. Shoo!
Man, my dad must have been a stud-o-matic! (My brothers were laughing about the whole thing.) Yet when my dad found the one he wanted all of those other lovely hussies Poof! Out! They were history.
He had found his lovedoll and it was forever…until she died, until he died.
That’s what I want…one of those “done with oat sowing” men, 37 to 40, like those stroller men I see walking their babies everyday on the sidewalk outside my house.
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Can you see why I am confused?
Most people think that my stories are 100% fiction. Actually they are about 85% true. Surprise! I guess they are closer to roman a clef than fiction. My writer friend calls them private narrative. I will call all of this simply one girl’s diary.
