HALLOWEEN MONSTER
November 6th 2010 07:46
These were the exact things I had been thinking of when the receptionist called, telling me that she’d broken up with her (ex) fiancé, the policeman: I wanted to quit my job, I wanted to steal something, I wanted to drink a beer with a girl while eating a steak and glancing at her legs.
“He hit me when I wanted to break up with him. My brother came and pulled him away when he strangled me, and he threatened to kill me and I know they’re just empty threats and he just... he just left. I’m so over him,” she sobbed.
We decided to meet at New Farm, near the River. We sat somewhere and for a good amount of time I watched her cry. Throughout my years I’ve seen plenty of girls cry. Throughout my years I’ve seen plenty of girls cry more than once, more than twice, more than three times. Their tears are powerful, broken, misunderstood, manipulative. They cry for many reasons. Because of a movie, a song. Because of a best friend. Because of me. Because of a breakup. Because of an abusive boyfriend, because of the lack of alcohol, because of the lack of drugs, because they weren’t invited, because someone didn’t listen or understand, because of money, because of Facebook.
You can do different things to a girl to stop her from crying, depending on the girl you’re talking to. The receptionist liked awful, inappropriate jokes. I quickly thought of an awful, inappropriate joke.
“Knock knock,” I said to her. She was too busy sobbing so I said it again. “Knock knock!”
“What, Dean, what? Who’s there?”
“Luke.”
She sighed. “Luke who?”
“Luke out, it’s the cops!”
There was a silence, and then a mumbled little giggle. She smiled and called me a loser. We both looked at an old couple walk past us.
“Who will I marry? Who will I end up with? Will I end up with some prick?”
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