by K. B. Draper
Wait, shouldn’t I have had one of those whole life flashing before my eyes, the meaning of my life finally revealed, moments? Instead, there was nothing, just an Mmmbop and then a white light. I felt cheated. I’m only thirty-seven. It couldn’t have taken that long for someone to at least put a little PowerPoint presentation, short slideshow, or something together. Even a little flipbook. How was I supposed to reflect on my past, acknowledge my mistakes, ponder my regrets, and then realize the true meaning of my life without a this is your life highlight reel? I was starting to believe Heaven was run by the government. There was a serious lack of assistance, no clear directions, I’d been waiting here forever, and I’d just bet St. Peter had lost my good deeds paperwork.
I was assuming it was all up to me to figure out my own life lesson. What mistakes had I made in my life? There was that phase in eighth grade where I thought blue mascara, MC Hammer pants, and green contacts were cool. The time I let my friends convince me that if I put a little lemon juice in my naturally dark brown hair it would look “amazing,” giving me blond highlights, and then again when I believed the orange tint of my lemon-treated hair wasn’t “that noticeable.” Then there was the mistaken thought that I was the only person on earth who could fight off the “get naked” wooing power of tequila. Okay, this could go on for eternity.
“All righty, we’re done here,” a woman’s voice from beyond the light said.
I knew I shouldn’t have thought about how hot God was going to be or about naked people while waiting to be let into the Kingdom of Heaven. Now she was pissed and just rejected my entry application. Hmmm … I wonder what the Devil looks like then? I bet she’s hot. I hope she looks like Angelina Jolie. Oh wait, Angelina mixed with a little Sharon Stone and Pink …
“You’re all good to go. You just needed four stitches,” Doctor Carly-look-alike said as she moved my heavenly light away on a convenient roll-away stand.
Jesus, I can’t even near-death right.
“Just let me get you all bandaged up and you’ll be good as new,” Doctor Carly-Look-Alike continued. Wait, maybe I had a come-back-to-life, get-a-second-chance, find my true love and my purpose in life moment. I looked at Doctor Carly-Look-Alike. Maybe she was the message. I was supposed to go after Carly. She was my only true regret. Well, her and my blue mascara phase. I’d always wondered what would’ve happened if I had let my heart lead me instead of my head. And I never really recovered from her. That’s it! I’m going to find the love of my life. I’m going after Carly!
I needed a plan. I couldn’t just jump in my car and head for Minneapolis and say, “Hey, I thought I’d just drop in, disrupt your life, and let you take me back now.” I needed something better. I need a movie-like scene, like the ending of An Officer and a Gentleman. I could go striding into her work with a big smile, which would make her jump in my arms. I’d give her a long kiss, profess my love, and carry her out. Of course, Carly is a doctor, so I probably couldn’t get past the nurse at the receptionist’s desk. Even if I could or did, Carly could be in surgery, which would probably require me to scrub up first and put on a mask, gloves, gown, and those paper shoes. A mask would severely impede the whole enter with a big smile thing, which wouldn’t be a totally bad thing because I don’t really have a Richard Gere kind of smile. I mean my smile isn’t bad, but when I smile really big I get this whole double chin thing. It’s a hereditary deal from my mother’s side.
Plus, if she was in the middle of surgery and even if she wanted to go with me, she couldn’t just jump into my arms and walk out. There would be that whole stitching them up issue, and if I were the patient I really wouldn’t want my doctor’s long-lost ex-girlfriend interrupting my appendectomy because I’m pretty sure that’s how scalpels and sponges get left in people. There was also the fact that I hadn’t seen her in eight years. She could’ve gained a couple of pounds and I wasn’t that strong in the first place, especially in my upper body. I didn’t know if I could carry her very far, and I’m thinking a piggyback ride wouldn’t have the same romantic ending effect.
Maybe it’d be better if I did the John Cusack, holding a boom box over my head outside her window thing. But again there was the issue with my weak upper body strength. I probably wouldn’t be able to hold it up very long, and I wasn’t really sure where to buy one of those old school boom boxes, let alone cassettes. I have an iPod but if I were just standing outside her window with the iPod above my head and earphones in my ears, that would probably come across just a bit crazy and stalker-ish and could very well have the opposite desired result. Then too, there’s the whole standing outside thing. It’s cold in Minneapolis. I’m kind of sensitive and my lips chap easily.
I could do the “You had me at hello” thing. No, that wouldn’t work either because I’d be walking in on her, so her response would probably be, “What are you doing here?” I couldn’t really reply, “You had me at what are you doing here …” That was just dumb.
Ahhh screw it. I’ll wing it. I bolted out the front doors of the hospital after taking time to wave my well-wrapped finger at Nurse Sunshine. I’m going after Carly! I reached my left hand out to open my car door and SCREAMED! A shooting pain ran through my hand and all the way up to my shoulder. I hopped beside my car in a little dance of pain. Note to self: YOU HAVE BANDAGES AND STITCHES ON THAT HAND. I stopped and realized I had no idea how to get to Minneapolis, and for that matter I didn’t know where she lived. No problem. I’d just swing by the house, pick up a map, and Google her. How did jilted lovers reclaim their long-lost loves before the internet?
I dropped into the driver’s seat and put the key into the ignition. I was really going to do it. It was a sign from God, right? If it wasn’t a sign, then God would’ve sent in the short, chubby doctor, which would’ve sent the message that I needed to lose a few pounds. Or she would’ve sent me the Middle Eastern doctor I passed in the hallway, and that would’ve told me I needed to give the Indian restaurant down the street another chance, even though last time I had had their chicken tikka masala I pooped orange for a week. But no, she sent me Doctor Carly-Look-Alike who … who was wearing a wedding ring. I stopped. My heart slammed into my chest. Damn. I rested my forehead on the steering wheel. Carly had built a new life that didn’t include me. If I loved her, truly loved her, I wouldn’t disrupt her life, cause her pain, or cause problems in her relationship. I couldn’t do it. I had to let her go. I mean, I’d still keep in touch, just in case Nurse no. 2 ran off with a pharmaceutical sales rep and Carly needed me to comfort and console her, but for now I had to let her go and move on with my life.
I looked heavenward. “Next time, instead of the confusing not-so-near-death experience, how about you just send me a memo?
To: You
From: Me
Reference: Your love life
Carly has moved on. It’s been nearly a decade. I created the earth in a week. You’re kind of dragging things out here.
Or better yet, a quick text message:
Mov on. Duh. Lve the almyt.
I sighed, turned the key in the ignition, and headed for my friends and a much-needed Pop Rocks Appletini.
I opened the door to the restaurant, screamed, and did another little dance of pain. LEFT-HAND STITCHES! LEFT-HAND STITCHES! You would’ve thought I’d have remembered since it was STILL throbbing from using it to shut my car door. AGAIN. I scanned the room for my friends and in the back-corner booth saw Little Jo and Alisa, Stacy and Janet, and Sheila and new girl. I headed toward the women of my life, and Sheila’s new girlfriend candidate and smiled.
I relayed the events of the evening, leaving in Nurse Sunshine and leaving out Doctor Carly-Look-Alike. They all gave me my long overdue sympathy.
Ten minutes later and with the clarity of two Pop Rocks Appletinis, I started to play my own little View-Master highlight reel of my life and past relationships. I’d dated an eclectic group of women—straight, married, voluptuous, certifiable, sweet, perfect, young, one that caused minor chafing,
funny, serious. But they all had one thing in common. They all left. They all packed up the U-Haul and left, physically and/or emotionally. With some, I might have had their boxes already packed, labeled, and sitting in the living room, but in the end they all left for one reason or another. Some left with my heart, some left me with fond memories, some left me with a need for twice a week visits to a therapist, and some just left with my favorite sweatshirt.
I was tired of this cycle of dating and the whole meet, love, pack the physical and emotional U-Haul, and then leave routine. I didn’t have the back or the heart for it anymore. I was tired of investing energy and feelings only to end up hurt and alone. I needed to break the emotional cycle, break the pattern of love then loss, and figure out why the ending was always the same. Hmmm … It’s simple really … they were all crazy.
All I needed to do in the future was throw in a Rorschach inkblot test on the second date and if they saw Hitler eating Krispy Kreme donuts versus happy little bunnies then I’d know to return the U-Haul to the rental agency. Happy with my new revelation, I sat back and took another sip of my drink. Then suddenly I had a flash of realization. Not all of them were crazy. Most of them didn’t understand the meaning of monogamy, but not all of them were crazy. However, the one thing all my relationships had in common was me. I WAS THE COMMON DENOMINATOR. I’m the crazy one! I grabbed a napkin and my drink, thought twice and set it down, then grabbed Sheila’s drink and poured it out on a napkin.
“What the hell?” she yelled as she leapt to grab her glass from me.
“Shh!” I stared at the napkin and squinted. “Oh thank God ... bunnies,” I said in relief.
So it was them. And my only fault was that I’m prone to bad decision making when in the company of attractive women. The times I’d met someone and then actively pursued them versus them choosing me, I’d selected incredible women. Okay, woman. But it hadn’t been the right time, or as much as I’d thought they were at the time, they just weren’t the “right” one. I’d found other peoples’ “ones.” I’d made a great practice girlfriend, breaking them in for someone else. This time I was not going to settle for the next cute girl that comes along and I was not going to get sucked into a relationship before I let my heart heal. I was through with bad choices.
Next time around I’ll be more attuned to my emotions, my wants, and my desires. I’ll look within myself and figure out what I truly want in a partner and in a relationship. I’ll search for a woman who’s not only attracted me physically, but attracted to me morally, emotionally, and mentally. But most importantly, this time I’ll make sure my heart’s ready.
I glanced at Little Jo and Alisa. The two of them had been together for several years. They had successfully survived a breakup and a makeup and were planning their life together. Little Jo had found the one whose love was strong enough to survive the rough times. I then turned my eyes to watch Stacy and Janet, laughing and sending knowing looks while giving each other the little love touches that were usually lost after only a few years. Stacy had found the one who was giving, loving, and could put up with her. Then I watched Sheila and the new girl. They had the giggly-stupid smiles of a new romance, and I was relativity sure that Sheila was just horny. But looking at the six of them, I realized what I needed to be looking for. I needed to find the one who would stick with the relationship through the good and the bad, the one who would love me despite my faults, and the one who believes in love and looks at me all giggly-stupid.
Happy with my newfound resolution and love mission, I finished my drink and told my friends I was calling it a night. Renewed in the belief that I could find love, true love, I headed out the door and of course opened it with my left hand. I started my one-legged hopping dance of pain. “Ahhh … Ouch, ouch, ouch. Mother Fuc …” I trailed off as I collided into someone trying to enter the restaurant. A bag fell to the ground and the contents spread across the sidewalk. I immediately knelt to pick the items up, apologizing profusely as I lunged for a tube of ChapStick, which was escaping down the sidewalk. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was dancing in pain,” I said as I looked up into soft light blue eyes with the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen. “Are you okay?” I fumbled to say.
She slowly took her ChapStick from my hand. “I’m fine,” she said with a small laugh in her voice. “Are you?”
“No,” I replied.
She smiled.
Oh, damn …
Epilogue
Since things change so much in the lesbian world I thought I’d give my readers an update as of late, upon the rerelease of this book.
Sabrina – Sabrina did get married and yes, I attended as her maid of honor, ugly dress and all. The marriage lasted three months. I’ll go on record now that I hate Facebook. Anyone and everyone can find you. But it is due to Facebook that I can offer you the rest of this update. Sabrina has since been married two additional times, and at some point she found God. (Don’t ask me where he was, Maui maybe.) I’m not saying finding God is a bad thing, obviously, but she’s one of those found God people. According to a Facebook message I received from her, she is very blessed; very, very blessed about many blessed things. For that I’m happy for her. I attempted to message her back but the strangest thing happened … I had a blackout. Don’t worry, I’m seeking treatment.
Maggie – I made friends with a lesbian state trooper who talked about this hot woman working in their field office. If you listen to the gossip, she got married to a “pompous ass.” However, given those rumors going around, who knows if she’s still married to him.
Loren – I haven’t heard from Loren in several years. It might have something to do with me moving, changing my phone number, and avoiding the “Wanted” poster wall at the post office. A couple of years ago a friend ran into her at a bar and she asked for my phone number. My friend, and I mean that in the truest sense of the word, said “Uhhhh, no.”
Lindsey – The lesbian phone tree last reported that Lindsey was dating a woman who works at a phone company. Apparently, she’s not one of those with the cushy “how can I help you” jobs. She’s actually out there climbing the poles. I ran into them once. Well, I actively avoided running into them, narrowly dodging down a different aisle of the hardware store. Lindsey looked the same, and the new girlfriend was kind of short and bowlegged. (You see this joke coming, don’t you?) I had to wonder if it was from the job requirements or if she’d been subject to one too many butthole swirlies.
Jordyn – Jordyn received the finer lessons of lesbianism from Jenny. Graduating with honors, she moved to Colorado, bought a house, got two dogs, and became a PE teacher.
Carly – Carly is married to Nurse no. 3. (Yes, I did have a moment where I questioned my career choice.) They just had a baby and she is very happy.
Alicia – Yeah, sorry. I have no idea.
Abby – I don’t see Abby anymore. She moved after graduation. But what I have heard is she’s doing really well, playing and writing music, has a good job, and a nice age-appropriate girlfriend.
Kellie – She still shows up in my bushes sometimes, but doesn’t stay. She moved to Chicago for several years to pursue her career. She came back to pursue another victim, sorry, girlfriend. She is seemingly doing well.
Nicole – I don’t see her often but we still talk. I kept the new house, but in retaliation repainted the bathroom. She’s found someone she clicks with and they’ve been clicking for several years now.
My lesbian nemesis – She found her own girlfriend several years ago and has been in a successful, healthy, and long-term relationship. I’ll freely admit the girlfriend is payback worthy. Not that I feel the need nor have I ever desired revenge, it’s just the simple fact her girlfriend is extremely nice and pretty flippin’ cute. Alexis and I see each other every once in a while at gatherings. I can’t say we’re back to being friends just yet, but I don’t feel the need to leash or put a “Property Of:” stamp on my girlfriend’s forehead anymore. So, time will tell …
>
Stacy – Stacy is still in my life. She still tells me what I should and shouldn’t do and I still pretty much ignore her. She’s in a relationship with a significantly older woman and since I still have a healthy fear of Stacy that’s pretty much all I have to say about that. But I will say this one is at least nice and does call me by my given name.
Sheila – Turned out the wedding girlfriend wasn’t “the one”, but she has since found another “the one” and things seem to be working out okay. She’s following this one to Florida. I’m not exactly happy about this little fact, but I am wishing her all the best because she absolutely deserves it.
Little Jo and Alisa – The great girlfriend switch of 2001 worked out in their favor and they are getting married this year. They’ve also gone so far as to develop a “if we get separated in the apocalypse where to meet” plan. I’m thinking they are pretty solid.
Oh and me, you ask? Well, I had a few more short “what the hells,” but I’m in a relationship going on four years and still counting. She’s absolutely amazing. She’s sweet, drama-free, plus she puts up with me and does the laundry. She moved in after two years (no, that’s not a typo). I bolted her furniture to the floor, got a restraining order on all sixteen area U-Haul locations, and I try to tell her how uniquely special she is every day, and twice on Tuesdays just for extra insurance. So far, this tactic is working out extremely well … We have rings on our fingers but no immediate plans for a wedding. Not because we aren’t that committed, but because I just have an irrational fear of speaking in public. We have, however, started discussing our own apocalypse plan. I want to meet at an army surplus and gun store, and she, in the chaos, wants to rescue the poor puppies from the animal shelter. I think there’s a Dunkin’ Donuts between the two places so I’m going to suggest a compromise …
