| Dear Connie,
I know the counselor said we shouldn't
contact each other during our "cooling off" period, but I
couldn't wait anymore. The day you left, I swore I'd never talk to
you again. But that was just the wounded little boy in me talking.
Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In my
fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I
guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's cost me
a lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I
don't care about looking bad anymore. I don't care who makes the
first move as long as one of us does.
Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak
as loudly as our hurt. And this is what my heart says:
"There's no one like you, Connie." I look for you in the eyes
and breasts of every woman I see, but they're not you. They're not
even close. Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and
brought her home with me. I don't say this to hurt you, but just
to illustrate the depth of my desperation.
She was young, maybe 19, with one of
those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice
skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits like
you wouldn't believe and an ass that just wouldn't quit. Every
man's dream, right? But as I sat on the couch being blown by this
stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we've made important in our lives.
It's all so superficial.
What does a perfect body mean?
Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you
see what I'm getting at. Does it make her a better person?
Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Connie?
I doubt it. And I'd never really thought of that before.
I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up
a little. Later, after I'd tossed her about a half a pint of
throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, "Why do I feel so drained
and empty?" It wasn't just her flawless technique or her slutty,
shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling of
loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me.
It didn't feel the same because you weren't there to watch. Do you
know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus,
Connie, I'm just going crazy without you. And everything I do just
reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single mom
we met at the Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped by
last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn't
eating right without a woman around. I didn't know what she meant
till later, but that's not the real story. Anyway, we had a few
glasses of wine and the next thing you know, we're banging away in our
old bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in the sack.
She's giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when she's
not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can hear
us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your
grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we
straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totally
hot, but it makes me sad, too. Cause I can't help thinking,
"Why didn't Connie ever put the mirror on the floor? We've
had this old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a sex
toy."
Saturday, your sister drops by with my
copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicky's just a kid and all,
but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she's been a real
friend to me during this painful time. She's given me lots of good
advice about you and about women in general. She's pulling for us
to get back together, Connie, she really is. So we're doing Jell-O
shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here's
this teenage girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of
how much she looked like you
when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry.
And then it turns out Vicky's really
into the whole anal thing, that gets me to thinking about how many times
I pressured you about trying it and how that probably fueled some of the
bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I'm
thrusting inside your baby sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do is think
of you? It's true, Connie. In your heart you must know it.
Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the
grievances away and start fresh? I think we can.
If you feel the same please, please,
please let me know. Otherwise, can you let me know where the
fucking remote is.
Love, Dan. |
