Some More Alone

Some More Alone
By: Sugaree

Yesterday I drove about two blocks from home to the neighborhood gas station to buy a pack of cigarettes. The usual guilt of asking to purchase such a deadly product surfaced. This time it was compounded by the fact that there was a handsome man in the store wandering around in search of something. Although he hadn’t said a word to me, I could feel some sort of chemistry. I wondered if my dangerous and malodorous behavior would turn him off before the sparks had enough time to fly.

I considered asking the clerk for something else or even pretend to search for something until he was gone. The habit was too strong so I began to rationalize; I figured I’d never see him again anyhow and went ahead and asked or better, if he's really worth it, I'll stop or he'll ease some of the tension that keeps me smoking. The pernicious habit had me in its clutches and the excuses were running a mile a minute.

“May I have a pack of Newport 100s in the box, please?” The clerk’s hands had grown accustomed to my frequent purchases of this deadly product and already had them in her hand. I passed her my five dollar bill and she returned my usual one dollar and fifty cent change.

I left the store but not before slightly smiling at the other customer that was obviously watching me do this bad thing to myself. He smiled and nodded his head admiringly so. When words didn't follow his admiration, I figured I'd done turned him off with my purchase. He probably wouldn't have liked it no better if I had've order chocolate flavored condoms either.

Just as I was about to pull out of the gas station’s parking lot, he’d made his way to his 18 wheeler and honked his horn. I turned to the noise. It was the handsome man. He beckoned for me to meet him just pass the busy intersection. I nodded to agree.

I was surprised since I had just thrown some jeans and a hoodie on and hadn’t taken any special care to primp. I'd slept on my hairdo so my curls were mangled and wild.

I pulled my SUV in front of his and watched as his slim, toned body leaped from his truck and walked to my passenger side. I could tell his deep golden skin would look nice next to my own. I looked for a print but he walked too fast for me to eagle eye that primary spot of interest. Maybe he wasn't handsome. Maybe I was just horny, as most deprived women are while in their sexual peek and single.

“How are you today,” he asked enthusiastically. I looked at his curvy lips as they formed to ask my name. After he asked, his tongue darted out slightly to moisten his lips, I assumed. Maybe he had other things on his mind as did I.

“I’m good. My name’s Khaja. What’s yours?”

“I’m Joe. You live around here?”

“Yeah. Just a couple of blocks south of here. You?”

“Nah. I live over in the Washington Park area. I just had a load to deliver over here. I’m done for the day though. I’ve got to attend a funeral in a couple of hours. My aunt passed.”

“My condolences to you and your family.”

“Thank you but she lived her life for 94 years.”

“Oh, well then is a real home coming event then, huh. Wow, that’s sort of unheard of these days. She must have been a very unique woman.”

“Yeah. She was. I’m going to miss her but we all have to go, right?

“That’s true,” I said, waiting for his cue to change the subject to why he stopped me. In just the few moments it took for me to travel the two blocks to meet him, I’d already figured out why I was risqué enough to agree. It was simple. I was so lonely.

“Look, I’m not going to hold you here. I’m sure a beautiful woman like you has something better to do than to sit here chatting.” His statement was more like a question. I wanted to tell him that I do have something to do but if he is Mr. Right then it could wait. Instead, I offered the fact that I didn’t have to work until five that evening.

“So, would it be alright if I gave you a call then?” His eyes were peering into mine as though he could read the answer before my lips freed it.

“Sure. Here’s my card. I have a home business so that bottom number is where I can be reached at most of the time.”

“Well, I’ll call you in a few then. I like what I see and hear so far. Let’s talk.”

“You’re not married or otherwise engaged, are you?” I asked this with my eyes glued to his to watch for that jerky movement that usually accompanies a lie. He passed the test but that didn’t mean a thing. He could just be a good liar, like most.

I drove into my quarter of a mile long driveway and just sat inside of my truck listening to the last of a favored song. This song was shouting in my ear the words that my heart felt. It was Al Green’s, “I’m So Tired of Being Alone.” I cringed to think that another year had passed and there I sat, alone some more.

It was a pleasant day considering that this was January in Wisconsin. I thought, ‘maybe I’ll get dressed and just roam around the city instead of being cooped up inside sad that no one’s there to talk to or hold me or even just open the door in anticipation of my arrival.’

Once inside, the reality that whether I was lonely or not, I’d have to finish my work before five today. I peeled my fresh pack of smokes open, checked the caller id and poured myself a half a glass of Merlot. Guilt came back. It was certainly too early in the day to drink but more so because of my obligations to finish my work. It is safe to say, especially in this case, that guilt is a good emotion otherwise I wouldn't even have a glass. The bottle would have been more suitable for this lonely occassion. At least it was a cute bottle.

I sat before my computer and sipped the dark smooth wine and puffed on my cigarette. My loneliness was really bothering me more than usual. Like for any other ailment, I wondered about a pill to make this go away. It could be that it’s the very first full day alone since my children had gone back to college.

I finished my wine and cigarette and decided to free myself of the clothes too. I went upstairs into another room I’d setup as a computer room and turned some music on. I choose to make myself even sadder and listen to the Shakespearian lyrics of Teena Marie. I knew that would be a mistake but my gloom just needed a bit of soothing.

My favorite song, Sunny Skies, was cued to play. It was as though this computer I’d grown to know so well by profession and personal gratification, had me pegged. I could feel a tear bubbling, getting ready to spew its hot liquids down my cheeks. It had been long over due since I’d had a lonely pity-party. I just let them flow.

More tears fell as Teena described how her lover too had left her solo and that her heart was raining January through December. My absent lover had betrayed me years ago but my heart still roared a thunderous cry everytime I thought of him. I wiped the tears away when the song automatically moved to the next. This song was too loving to cry to, although I had before. I cried because that love she squealed about seemed like it would never be mine.

“Maybe a hot shower and some pampering will do me good,” I said aloud.

I turned the music up loud enough to hear over the water stream. I stepped into the shower and began washing, and then scrubbing as though something about me was dirty and I deserved this loneliness. Why else would I be convicted to this evilness?

My mind must have alerted me of the hot water and the harsh treatment upon my skin. I turned round to add cold water but instead, tears poured down my wet face. The memory of how my absent lover used to stand by the water faucet. I remembered his smile. I remembered my eyes traveling to his excitement. I remembered my own excitement and how he’d bend me like a pretzel while the water washed our lust down the drain. Little did I know, more than that was going down the drain. I stood frozen by sensual memories.

Teena’s song, Cupid, came on. Suddenly anger took over but the tears still fell. I fell to the floor of the tub and shouted, “Fuck cupid! If I ever see that little mothafucker I am gonna kick his ass!” Soon I was laughing and confessing to myself that I was indeed loosing it.

Tired and miserable at this point, I decided that I’d nap a while and then get up to finish my work. While laying there waiting for sleep to replace the aching in my heart, I cried again. I thought about all of the men that I talk to via phone, mostly. None of them gave me the sort of sparks that would enlist me to at least a small commitment. I am not the type to be with a man just to say that I have one. I had done that miserable deed to myself already.

I recalled asking God to help me out of that addictive abusive relationship. I told God that I’d never love again if he’d just free me from it. He did. After four years, I finally fell in love again. I thought it was going to be a beautiful union. I hadn’t thought it out well obviously. Well, not well enough not to fall prey to a man that would pretend to love me for so long and then leave.

Of course I’d considered my estranged lover’s criminal background but also considered that I am not a judge and that maybe all he needed was love and a bit of guidance and then he’d be alright and we would love happily ever after. Not the case at all.

I wanted to slap myself for thinking that ‘we’ would match in love. He was a thug and I am a woman that’s been seasoned with experiences that teach us human being to be responsible and caring and educated. He’d led a life of criminology. Raised by a crack head that had no morals to teach him. Raised by a woman that thrived on deceit. He learned from the best.

So, two years later, here I lay, in the very bed that we used to make love in. The bed where I learned how blissful sex could be. I lay in the spot where my entire body racked with passion and desire melted like fire to his every touch. I could feel him right then. I longed for him and needed him right then, if only for a night. Instead, I’d have to attempt to make love to someone else. I’d have to mask all the passion that still burned so deep in womb for him. I just hadn’t figured out how.

The phone startled me. I answered the unfamiliar number.

“Hello there. I was just checking to see if this was the right number you gave me today,” Joe’s cheery voice spoke.

“Sure it is. If I had no interest, I would have just told you,” I laughed.

“I’m glad to know that. How is it that a beautiful woman like you don’t have a man or a husband?

“I was married before. I was in a relationship afterwards that didn’t work out. Other than that, I wonder myself.”

“My lucky day. Look, I’m going to call you a bit later after the funeral. I just wanted to call you cause I said I would.”

“Ok. That’s fine but remember that I get off pretty late tonight. Again, my condolences to your family.”

“I’ll talk to you later. Stay sweet”

It’s a good thing that he couldn’t see me through that phone. I was a mess. My hair had frizzed from the long hot shower. My eyes were puffed from the pity-party I’d just finished. I lay naked and red eyed, holding on to my body length pillow. I lay hot from the thoughts of my ex-lover deep inside where no one had ever reached and hurt deeper by his absence.

Too much time had passed to nap. Instead, I got up and walked to each of the empty rooms in my house, then back to my empty bedroom. I looked at the empty bed and closet absent of male clothes and null of the scents of cologne or even sweat of love just made or even funky feet.

I went to my computer room and sat some more before I began to work. I prepared myself for the reality that when I come home late tonight, there would be no one here to listen for my truck pulling into the driveway so that he could meet me to carry my heavy equipment in…no one to kiss me and make sure that I was safe at home…no one that would tell me how his day was and to ask how my evening was. No one to give me that ‘naughty’ look and beckon my horny ass to bed.

I was prepared for tonight this time. I was prepared for some more alone.