Charlemange
I
have never tried to kill myself. Suicide scares me. The idea of inflicting
enough pain and abuse on my body to cease my own existence proves to be enough
of a deterrent to keep me away from sharp objects, tall ledges, glistening
bottles of mind-numbing pills. I am not brave, only stupid.
I
will recognize him when I see him. His eyes will be hard and cold, with a hint
of sadness behind them. He will look through me, not at me. He will not ask me
any questions about myself because he does not care. He will talk about sex and
smoke cigarettes and ask me how I like to fuck. Other men will not like him,
but they will respect and revere his company. He will be mine before the night
is over.
Through
the smokey haze of the bar, my gaze rests on a man in jeans and a trucker hat.
I don’t care if the trend is dead, I find trucker hats sexy. They remind me of
24-hour diners with neon coffee cups on the windows and waitresses named “Flo”.
He tells me his name is Scott as he blows smoke rings discreetly above my head.
“Charlemagne,”
I say, grimacing sweetly at the yellow and green John Deere hat on the
stranger’s auburn head. I almost turn away from an inevitable night of fucking
and silence and dreaded sunrise. When Scotty stands to leave, I follow him.
He
will not hold my hand. He will walk slightly in front of me and I will struggle
to catch up. He will forget my name and call me Sally because of a woman he
once knew. He will not kiss me as we make love by the hour in that sweaty
motel. His breath will smell like faded liquor as he reassures me he is not a
bad man, that he never does this, that he is simply lonely and needs something
his apple pie wife cannot give him. He will not look me in the eye as he puts
money in an unused ashtray beside the bed. He will not say goodbye Charlemagne
or goodnight Charlemagne or even smile at me as he pulls the door shut behind
him to walk into the night’s darkness. I am not brave, and so I lie here,
staring at the stuccoed ceiling, contemplating high ledges and sharp objects, wishing
for an easier way.
