HONEY'S PREGGERS
The screw driver didn't go in that deep. I still have the scar, but no real damage was done. My nose on the other hand was broken, deviating that septum for all time, cutting the delivery passages for any inhalable powder in half. Probably saved my life.
Honey was an exotic beauty of mixed origins- Malaysian, American Indian, Black, etc. It must have been the etc. that made her so violent. She had been a student in a class that I was TAing at art school. Like all my women she was beautiful, bright, and had a few issues. Like a moth to a fucking Zippo I go.
Our first date was in a hot tub. I loved California. At the time she was involved with a lawyer in the Berkeley Hills and an ear, nose and throat specialist in SF. She was more of a scientist than an artist. I liked that too. I didn't need the competition on the art front. Within weeks I had moved into her ultra cheap Berkeley pad and squeezed the Doctor and Lawyer out of the picture. I should have stayed tight with the Doctor. I had no idea I'd be visiting emergency rooms so much in the coming years. I guess I was the Indian Chief. I grew pot on the back porch and for the first time started writing. I was about 25 or 26.
Honey had a nose for coke. At the time I was suplementing my income with a little low end dealing- eights and quarters for the Berkeley weekend party set. Punk rock had given way to bad haircut new wave. Everybody was doing coke. Honey was doing all my profit. What i didn't realize at the time was coke could take a personality already predisposed to throwing punches and unleash the inner Macho Comacho. What should have been just a little normal bickering between cohabitants had a tendency to escalate to full scale war when the nose candy came out. You kids can learn from my mistakes here. Anyways, Honey got pregnant and she blamed me. I don't mean she was sleeping around and she suspected it was mine. We were monogamous. (As sure as one can be on that front). I mean she BLAMED me. It was like I had infected her with a case of crabs. That's when the chairs really started flying.
One night after i'd crawled off to the couch and drifted into dreamland she doused me with a full pan of ice water, just for jollys. How dare i sleep when she wanted to play. I'd spent the day interviewing my neighbor who had been the whistle blower on Jim Jones' People's Temple. When the water hit me I swear I saw Jim Jones looking down on me and smiling. I know pregnant women can be difficult, and have special needs and cravings, but this was plowing new ground. Trips to the 7-11 for rocky road and burritos i could take. So I did what any sane man would do. I killed her.
Just kidding. I sure wanted to though. Instead I summoned all the restraint a twentysomething can muster and didn't kill her. I stood there soaking wet and calmly went off to the bathroom, locked the door, took a hot shower, wrapped myself in a bunch of towels and laid down on the fluffy pink rug like a whupped dog. That's when she called the cops.
Honey was an exotic beauty of mixed origins- Malaysian, American Indian, Black, etc. It must have been the etc. that made her so violent. She had been a student in a class that I was TAing at art school. Like all my women she was beautiful, bright, and had a few issues. Like a moth to a fucking Zippo I go.
Our first date was in a hot tub. I loved California. At the time she was involved with a lawyer in the Berkeley Hills and an ear, nose and throat specialist in SF. She was more of a scientist than an artist. I liked that too. I didn't need the competition on the art front. Within weeks I had moved into her ultra cheap Berkeley pad and squeezed the Doctor and Lawyer out of the picture. I should have stayed tight with the Doctor. I had no idea I'd be visiting emergency rooms so much in the coming years. I guess I was the Indian Chief. I grew pot on the back porch and for the first time started writing. I was about 25 or 26.
Honey had a nose for coke. At the time I was suplementing my income with a little low end dealing- eights and quarters for the Berkeley weekend party set. Punk rock had given way to bad haircut new wave. Everybody was doing coke. Honey was doing all my profit. What i didn't realize at the time was coke could take a personality already predisposed to throwing punches and unleash the inner Macho Comacho. What should have been just a little normal bickering between cohabitants had a tendency to escalate to full scale war when the nose candy came out. You kids can learn from my mistakes here. Anyways, Honey got pregnant and she blamed me. I don't mean she was sleeping around and she suspected it was mine. We were monogamous. (As sure as one can be on that front). I mean she BLAMED me. It was like I had infected her with a case of crabs. That's when the chairs really started flying.
One night after i'd crawled off to the couch and drifted into dreamland she doused me with a full pan of ice water, just for jollys. How dare i sleep when she wanted to play. I'd spent the day interviewing my neighbor who had been the whistle blower on Jim Jones' People's Temple. When the water hit me I swear I saw Jim Jones looking down on me and smiling. I know pregnant women can be difficult, and have special needs and cravings, but this was plowing new ground. Trips to the 7-11 for rocky road and burritos i could take. So I did what any sane man would do. I killed her.
Just kidding. I sure wanted to though. Instead I summoned all the restraint a twentysomething can muster and didn't kill her. I stood there soaking wet and calmly went off to the bathroom, locked the door, took a hot shower, wrapped myself in a bunch of towels and laid down on the fluffy pink rug like a whupped dog. That's when she called the cops.
posted by mike osterhout at 1:32 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home