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þÿThe New Deal

Liam Spencer

    It snuck up on me. She snuck up on me. Insanity snuck up on me.
    Finally the holiday season was over. Mail volume was light. I was resting up. Management was still leaning on me, but they were easy to appease by then. I had taken one of their toughest routes off their hands and proven myself once again.
    I had recovered from the Melinda bullshit, and had enough energy to get my apartment in order. I wrote at night again. The Seahawks were on track to win their first Super Bowl. My finances were largely straightened out. I was working six days a week, but the days were easier.
    I was sound asleep one night when a single word echoed through my mind. It sent panic through my body to where I rolled off the couch.
    Stephanie.
    I had forgotten how stupid I had been.

    I contacted Melinda for the first time since she left. She was awake and talking with guys, of course.
    Yes, Stephanie was coming.
    Melinda begged. Stephanie was a different person. She wouldn’t do the same things. She was driven. Educated. Starving for a chance.
    I got Stephanie’s number, took a half a sleeping pill and dozed off.

    Stephanie nervously answered the phone the next night and got the riot act read to her. I would never go through Melinda’s shit again. Never. There would be a new deal; NO DATING, NO FUCKING, NO PARTYING! THE FIRST OFFENSE WOULD BE THE LAST!
    She readily agreed, then denounced Melinda. We talked for a few hours. I repeated threats to throw her out. She accepted.

    Weeks rolled by and the Seahawks kept winning. The NFC Championship had been a narrow win over the rival 49r’s. I had wanted to go out, but had to pick up Stephanie at the airport later that night. I couldn’t drink much and would have to nap before driving.
    My old GMC truck roared to Seatac Airport. I grumbled the whole way. Me and my stupidity. Bleeding heart bullshit.
    Anyway, what did she look like? Twenty two. Cute. There were some commonalities between us, according to phone convo. This might not be too bad, maybe. Doubtful, but it might be ok.
    It didn’t take too long before she called my cell phone to pick her up. I drove to the pick up area and parked. Several young women weaved their way through the three lanes of parked cars. Several really beautiful women looked all around. I drooled at some, silently praying one of them was Stephanie. Each of them crawled into other vehicles.
    There was no way to miss my giant red truck. Soon a woman bashfully waved and headed my way. She was young and cute, but heavy. Around my height. There was something immediately familiar about her somehow. I couldn’t place it.
    Her cheap luggage weighed over seventy pounds. I tossed it in the back seat. I went to hug her, welcoming her to Seattle. She coldly hugged me back.
    We each lit a smoke immediately. She relaxed into the seat. Convo was sparse. I did what I could to be cheery and upbeat, and get her to talk. She would open up for a brief time, then get really cold, often in midsentence. Again, something familiar.
    I parked the giant truck in the usual area. A full quarter mile up the hill from my apartment. I carried her heavy bag as we headed down the steep hill in Queen Anne. It was the same pattern; she’d warm up to excitement, then grow really cold.
    Even with wine poured and beer opened, it was the same. Excitement and warmth would immediately give way to cold. Well, I reasoned, it was a huge leap for her. Moving cross country to live with some guy she had only spoken with over the phone for a couple months, hit or miss. And that was the tip of the ice berg.
    Slowly, with wine, she opened up a bit, and some good times and laughs were had. I was actually off work the next day, so I could stay up late.
    She began settling in the next day as I drank beer. She set out a bunch of stuff relating to Korean music and culture. It turned out that she was obsessed. Severely.
    I took her to the Korean Restaurant down the street. She glowed brightly and ordered heavily. The food was really good. Neither of us had ever had it. The booze went down smooth, almost like water, but packed something of a punch. Not bad. Fifty bucks well spent.
    We walked through the neighborhood. She was distant, and walked away from me. We crashed early. I went to work as usual.

    Stephanie was not home when I got home around six. Seven rolled around. Not a word. Eight. Nothing. Nine was silent. I began to worry. It was her first day in this city. I texted at ten.
    Ten thirty had a text from her. She was ok, going to spend the night at friend’s. Really. Here I go again. I texted back.
    “Whatever.”
    “Hey. Are we ok?”
    “Whatever.”
    The phone rang.
    “Hey, I’m only staying over at a friend’s, ok?”
    “Whatever. We’ll talk later.”
    “Hey, we’re ok, right?”
    “Whatever. We’ll talk later.”
    I hung up, rolled over on my couch, and drifted off.

    Stephanie was not home the next night. Seven rolled around. Nine brought nothing. I didn’t text at ten. I went to sleep. It was what it was. My stupidity. Help someone get their start, huh?
    The door opened at two thirty. Stephanie’s shadow headed into my bedroom. The bedroom door closed. I drifted back to sleep.

    I resolved to kick her out. We had a deal. My having read her the riot act over the phone had been ignored. I was stuck providing for some bitch to do nothing but date, party, and fuck other men. What and who she does is her business, but I should not have to pay for her while she does it. We had a deal. This was for her to get her start; job, savings, and her OWN place. Not depending on me.

    I got home to the same old story. I was on the couch by ten. At one, she came rolling in. She jumped as I broke the silence.
    “If you’re not here by the time I get home tonight, all your stuff will be outside.”
    “Huh? But I came home.”
    “Our deal was for you to get your start. A job. Save for an apartment. Be on your own. Then leave me the fuck alone. We must talk tonight. I’m serious. Your stuff will be outside tonight if you’re not here. Got it?”
    “Ok.”
    The bedroom door closed hard, but not slammed.

    Work finished early. I bought beer and went home for a fight. I was serious. It was too much. I prepared to throw Stephanie out.
    She wasn’t home. I groaned, opened a beer, and sat at my laptop. I planned to put her stuff outside at ten.
    Just before seven, Stephanie rolled in. There was so something familiar about her. I couldn’t quite place it. She looked harsh. I said hello with a mix of friendliness and sternness. I wasn’t going to take it.
    “Help yourself to some wine. Relax. I’m glad you’re here.”
    “Really? Can I have some?”
    “Of course.”
    She sat down, glass in hand, and lit a smoke. I chugged down the last of my beer and got another. Then I started.
    “This is not a motel. I am not your dad or your uncle. I am not supporting you so you can party and date and fuck. It ends now, or you’re out. I have had enough. Really.”
    She sat silently, nodding her head.
    “Remember our deal. We spoke about this over the phone many times. I was harsh about it. You said you’d never...”
    “I didn’t though. I stayed at a friend’s house one night, and made it home the other nights...”
    “You were out partying, dating, fucking...”
    “No...I wasn’t..”
    “Come on now. Really?!”
    She looked away.
    “Look. I don’t get to party and date and fuck. I have to pay the bills here. I work. Hard. And now I have to pay for you, and live with you, with your stuff in my apartment. I can’t bring a woman here now. I’m putting my life on hold to help you get your start here in Seattle. So you can have it good. You’re making me regret it.”
    She looked down at her glass.
    “Ok. You’re right. You’re right. It’s just...I’m excited to be here and...”
    She got cold. We sat in silence.
    “You know, when I started out here, no one did this for me. You’re getting a hell of an opportunity here. What are you doing for work? Any leads?”
    “No. not yet.”
    “Ok. Can you see my problem here? If you can go out there and party, you can put efforts onto finding work, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “That was our deal, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    “This does not have to be draconian. It’s one thing to meet for drinks or dinner once in a while, but it’s a question of extent. The emphasis needs to be on work, saving for an apartment, and moving out on your own. Really. I am not here to support your partying, dating, and fucking.”
    She nodded, and sat there pouting. I tried to lighten the mood. She asked for more wine. I encouraged. We sat there largely in silence, drinking and smoking. Bad sitcoms played in the distance.

    I came home the next night to find Stephanie sound asleep on the couch. I quietly went to put my beer in the fridge. There was a fresh twelve pack already in there. The dishes were done. The recycling had been taken out. I quietly walked to use the bathroom. It had been scrubbed!
    I opened a beer and sat in my usual office chair. Stephanie snored quietly. I played FB football, caught up on email and news, and just relaxed. Before long, I started the oven and took out a frozen lasagna, then opened another beer.
    The lasagna was done just as she awoke.
    “Care for a glass of wine?”
    “Yes please.”
    “Thanks so much for cleaning! The place looks great!”
    She chugged half the tall glass.
    “What’s cooking?”
    “Lasagna. Hope you like.”
    “Good. I’m hungry.”
    We settled in and reacquainted. We ate a lot, drank a bit, and talked about anything. It was a good night.

    What Stephanie had packed mainly consisted of Korean music fan stuffs. Her clothes was old and worn. She had been dirt poor. Her clothes tore often from being so worn out, and she spent plenty of time hand stitching them back together. She was out of money. I lent. Lent more. Bus fare. Phone. Phone bill (prepaid). She cried about being so poor.
    She applied for work and ran around interviewing. Her lack of confidence showed through badly. Poverty has such effects. I knew it all too well. She cried more.
    I tried to ease things as best I could, relating my own stories of being down and out. Many of them. Realizing I may now be part of the problem, I promised that, so long as she continued making efforts, she was welcome to stay as long as it took to get her start.
    “Take that concern off your plate. It might help.”

    Sometimes we would drink heavily. Long conversations and laughter echoed through my large apartment. She began to grow on me. There were some good times. Still, there was distance and coldness. An all too familiar feel. I still couldn’t place it. It occupied my mind all too often. There was something there.
    I was also having email conversations with my ex. Samantha was hit or miss. She would go weeks without word, then write a long email. She was with someone else. It still bothered me. We were once so close. Nearly engaged twice. Lived together. Loved. Lived. Lusted.
    I wondered.

    One night Stephanie and I had drank too much, but needed more. We had been talking and laughing and carrying on for hours. Neither wanted it to end. We walked down the frozen streets to the convenience store. As we got there, she admitted she had been fucking some guy named Andrew when she first arrived. That resulted in a huge argument as we started home.
    At one point we were face to face. I noticed her eyes were off center, slightly crossed. Just like my ex wife. Her arguments were eerily familiar. We had words. She started bolting off. Pissed. I followed. We passed by a crowd. Men and women looked down as she charged through. I saw Stephanie’s shoulders start shaking as she made her way past. I caught up with her. She was crying. I put my arm around her.
    She looked down and leaned on me.
    “My pants spit open. Everyone saw my vagina.”
    Her purple winter coat was old and largely shredded. I tried to zip it up. It wouldn’t work. We still had to walk through another crowd. Stephanie cried more.
    “Fuck my life!”
    I put my arms around her curves, and walked beside her, holding her coat shut. It hid her parts, and made it look like we were a couple who was making up after a fight. Dignity.
    We got home and had one more drink. She was hating her cast in life almost as much as I had. I went to my closet and brought out a black long coat that I knew would fit her well.
    “Here. It’s yours. It’ll match your hair, and accentuate how your wear your makeup. Class. You’ll make this look classier than it could be.”
    Truth told, it was a newer coat. Quite nice. I used to wear it when I went out. It fit her perfectly. She danced around and modeled it.

    Stephanie was still secretive. There was something going on. We’d still fight. There was something so familiar. Her logic. Free floating and adjustable realities until caught, only to float again. Her nose when her nostrils flared. Her slightly crossed eyes. Her voice. Pitch. Color in her face. All too familiar. Huge arguments. Lasting.
    Stephanie was home on that Saturday evening. I was amazed. The usual set up ensued with her sitting on the couch and me sitting in my office chair by my laptop. Korean shows played on TV. I watched a little as she laughed, then went back to my laptop.
    When the Korean News came on, she tuned out. We began conversing. Wine and beer were having a good effect. Suddenly, there came a serious look on her face. The mystery of the strangely familiar was about to be partially solved.
    Stephanie came out with it; she had BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder). Just like my ex wife. She had been to jail over it. It made her violent.
    It all made sense. After all these years, I was stuck living with someone who had BPD, again. Flashbacks.
    I stared, wide eyed, into the distance.
    The next day made me uncomfortable being inside alone with her. Our fights had often been very severe. I needed some time to digest it all and figure out how to deal with it.
    I decided to take her for a walk down to the waterfront to show her around. It was vital to stay in public. She put on her headset and listened to Korean music and walked distant from me. I was not happy being ignored, but it was better than arguing. Once in a while I would point something out. She would nod and go back to ignoring me.

    It was then I saw Her. Samantha was walking our way. She was still in the distance. It was panic.
    From what I knew of BPD, a possible abandonment could make Stephanie flip out. I knew how sudden that could happen. Of all the times for Samantha and I to bump into each other! We could all end up in jail.
    The only thing I could think to do was to pretend I hadn’t seen Samantha and walk past. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Samantha glow and smile. My heart broke at passing by her like that. I was helpless to do anything other.

    Later, Stephanie was to go to some cultural get together. I needed to get things at the grocery store, so I walked with her to her pick up point. Some ten year old Mercedes pulled up with an Asian guy driving. Stephanie was in the bathroom and had asked me to tell him she’d be right out. I said hi. He threw his nose up and looked away.
    “She’ll be right out.”
    He rolled up his window and looked away. I stood glaring until he looked my direction, then gave him my middle finger. He reached for the door handle. I waved him to come on out. He drove to the other side of the parking lot, nearer to the door of the restaurant. Stephanie soon came out and got into his car. They both saw me flip them off. Tires squealed.
    Of course, that led to one hell of an argument.

    On Wednesday, an email came from Samantha. My heart pounded. Wednesdays used to be one of our days. The email was part friendly, part just shy of flirty. She had been thinking of me. She had actually gone to bars on the NFC Championship Sunday hoping to run into me.
    That was the day I had to pick Stephanie up from the airport. Fuck.
    All in all, it seemed like there was a chance still between us.
    Then, Samantha mentioned that she’d be watching the Super Bowl with her new guy and friends.
    I wrote an email back that was colder than I intended. If she hadn’t mentioned him, it would have been a very warm reception.
    It would be the last I would hear from Samantha.

    Stephanie invited me to a Super Bowl party with her Korean friends. I joked about hooking up with some hot young Korean chick. Steph shot me a look. That look.
    She spent a great deal of time hand making a Korean dessert. It meant a lot to her. She got the finishing touches done when her phone rang. We were uninvited. More specifically, she was uninvited. She breathed deep, and we settled in and waited for the big game.
    I decided to make a nice chicken dinner with Thai peanut sauce. Stephanie joined in. We drank and smoked, laughed, and even smeared food on each other.
    Then her phone went off. She texted with focus. Soon she had to go outside to talk. When she came back in, there was no joy in her. Nothing. Pouting. Anger. Ice.
    Wine flowed. Smoke billowed. She stewed. A fight was brewing.

    “Why can’t I go out and spend the night?”
    “Huh? We covered this. I am not paying to support someone just so they can go out and date and fuck and party. We had this covered. If you’re with some guy, let him support you. Not me. Or support yourself. Whatever. But I am not paying.”
    “Ok. Ok. But really, why can’t I go be with friends?”
    “You can, of course. But I am not paying for someone else’s girlfriend or for you to be out dating, fucking, partying. This is supposed to be about you getting your start. Work. Save. Get your own place. Move in with someone else. Whatever, but not having me pay...”
    And so it began. Arguing. Yelling. Throwing shit (her not me). It lasted the entire Super Bowl. I didn’t know who won. Stephanie went into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. I laid down on my couch and slept.

    That fight seemed to have a lasting effect. Stephanie doubled down on finding work and was home most evenings. Even when she went to events in the evenings, she came in around ten. We settled into making something of a home, taking turns doing chores and cooking. I bought all the food, wine, smokes, and lent money for buses and a little spending money. One cannot really have confidence in job hunting if one is completely broke and desperate.
    Good times were had once in a while, and fighting was almost vanished.
    It was around then that I remembered a place I once worked as a part time driver delivering car parts. They were always hiring. It was not a good job, but it was something. I told Stephanie to call them and mention my name. It worked. Stephanie had a full time job.
    Immediately, Stephanie needed pot. It was the most effective medication she could have. At the time, pot had just been legalized, and companies popped up offering home delivery. I lent her fifty to get a good supply. It was better than risking explosive fights. She was, at last, relaxed.

    The months that followed had us growing closer. The routine was she would get together with a girlfriend, Song Ming, on Sunday afternoons. It felt good to have some time to myself. The rest of the week had us together at home in the evenings talking and laughing. Usually the topics covered work and relationships, plus making fun of people. I knew people she worked with. Plenty of writing material.
    With our connection growing, I became a little concerned. There seemed to be an attachment being formed on both sides. When we went out, people saw us as a couple. We acted as a couple at home too, except there was no sex (although it came close more than once).
    I kept reminding myself that she had BPD and was twenty two. She had to go through the usual bullshit of dating and fucking and partying. Once she had her own place, she wouldn’t want some forty year old guy around. She’d need to play the field. Eventually, we would be distant friends with some memories together.
    I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be with her in a relationship even if things did work out. She had BPD after all. Time in jail for acts of violence. She also was not quite there mentally unless she was smoking pot and drinking.
    Plus, being in a relationship would mean giving up on Samantha, possibly permanently. Despite it all, and knowing she was likely long, long gone, I still wasn’t quite ready to completely let go in my own mind.

    Stephanie came out with something new one evening. She was having some romantic feelings toward Song Ming. She thought she might be finding herself as a lesbian. She showed me pictures of them together at the waterfront. Song Ming was a petite young Asian woman. I joked that I might get to fuck both of them. Stephanie smiled and said, “You just might.”

    Stephanie and Melinda had their own deal. Stephanie would get the job and apartment, then Melinda would come and live with her. It had been their plan from day one. I was fine with that, so long as Melinda was not living with me.

    Phone calls started coming from creditors. It wasn’t enough that my ex wife had stuck me with the IRS issue and a car (both of which required me to hire lawyers), but she and her hubby had included me in their scams as they borrowed money, then ran when the bills piled up. We had divorced seven years earlier, but had the same last name still. More legal bills. Great.
    I told Stephanie of this as I vented. She looked at old pictures of my ex wife, Stacy, and I together.
    “Wow! What a beautiful woman! I like her.”

    Stephanie played hell finding an apartment. Rents were skyrocketing and availability dropped. Seattle was the place to be. Amazon was growing explosively. Time was tightening.
    It so happened that my five day break in service, and thus my trip to see family back east, was coming right after Stephanie was to move into her new apartment with Melinda. The timing would be perfect.
    I had mixed emotions about it all. My whole world would be changing dramatically in a very short time. First, Stephanie would be moving out. Despite a very rocky start, it was actually great having her around. We had great times together, and often seemed like a couple. I knew that soon, we would barely be any part of each other’s lives. I would be alone again.
    Second, some people at work had made career, and someone would be taking my route. I had been on that route for a year. I knew it so well. I was used to it to where I could do it blindfolded. I would be moving on.
    Then there was my truck. It broke down so often that my insurance company cancelled roadside assistance. It had meant so much to me for quite a while. It was the vehicle that started my recovery from my days on worker’s comp.
    Also, friends that I had known during my days with Samantha were largely gone. The one remaining friend was moving back to Utah. I knew it would be a matter of time before he would be a part of the past. Generally, people in/from Utah didn’t like me at all. That influence would not be denied.
    Lastly, relatives back east were passing away. It might be my last time seeing some of them. I still remembered them as relatively young and vibrant. Now many of them were already gone.

    Melinda was to arrive on Wednesday night. It would mark an end to Stephanie and I living together. Melinda would stay through Friday night, then they would be at their new place on Saturday. My flight back east would leave early Sunday morning.
    I came home Monday to Stephanie napping on the couch. Her soft snore seemed loud. She had been exhausted in searching for apartments, buying things they needed, packing, and planning. I sat and sipped beer.
    She awoke and smiled, then poured a tall glass of wine and smoked a bowl. She stared at me appreciatively. Her eyes glistened, then she ran off to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she went to the kitchen and began chopping veggies and boiling water. She was making homemade lasagna to mark our dwindling time together. We shared a moment in the kitchen. She cried when I told her that she would be sorely missed.
    We held each other for a very long time.

    Tuesday and Wednesday went by in a blur. It was the same old, but different. There were sighs. Stephanie stared around the old apartment with wet eyes. Her laughter held sadnesses. Wednesday would be our last evening alone together. Melinda’s flight would be later, so Stephanie would be leaving for the airport around when I would be snoozing for another long day of work.
    “I just can’t believe this is our last night like this.”
    “Me either. It doesn’t seem real yet.”
    We embraced for a long time before she left to meet Melinda. I watched as she left, the door closing in a finality.

    The next morning I knocked on the bedroom door right before I left for work. It was tradition. It was the next to the last time.
    “Melinda isn’t here. Her flight was delayed. She’ll be here late tonight.”
    “Ok. Have a great day!”
    “You too.”

    Friday morning’s knock on the bedroom door was answered by “Melinda is here.”
    The workday flew by. With the holiday, and two days vacation, plus the five day break in service, plus a Sunday, I had nine days off. Nine days. I needed rest. One more day to go.
    I had hoped to not see Melinda. Maybe she’d be out dating and fucking, only to show up at Stephanie’s after the move. I could only hope.
    There she was, sitting at my desk, piling on makeup. Her four hundred pound body jumped up to embrace me. I stood back, but hugged her nonetheless. I moved out of the way of her kiss though, and went for the fridge to put away my beer. She went back to piling on makeup, preparing for her date.
    There wasn’t a huge amount of time. We had to move almost everything Stephanie owned. We didn’t want to do it on Saturday night. It would be too rushed.
    Melinda left for her date. Stephanie was pissed. Melinda was supposed to help. I was relieved for it to be just me and Stephanie. Everything went in one trip.

    I came home to a drunken Melinda on Saturday. Her makeup was caked on. Her massive body grabbed mine as soon as I came in the door. I wrestled free and opened a beer. She sat looking at me glowingly. I was relieved when Stephanie rolled in.
    I sat in my usual office chair near my laptop. Stephanie sat in her usual spot on the couch. Melinda sat on the other end. As alcohol flowed, conversation followed. Mostly it was me and Stephanie talking, reliving fun times. Melinda sat there like a sore thumb. I couldn’t believe the difference in size between them. Melinda was three times the size of Stephanie. Maybe four.
    There was a certain look to Stephanie. She glowed so bright sitting there. She had come so far so fast. A full time job and an apartment in such a city as Seattle. Good income. Opportunity for better. No more stitching together ragged clothes. No more crying about poverty. She had made it.

    I was surprised when I came back from getting a beer. Stephanie was sitting in my chair. “The King’s Seat.” She was facing me with her eyes welling. She called me closer until I was standing right in front of her. She looked up at me with Doe eyes and grabbed both my hands.
    “There’s something I want to say to you... Thank you for everything you’ve done. I just can’t say enough... You could have thrown me out many times. But you didn’t. You kept giving me chances and helping me. We had our fights, lots of them, but you always were there to help... Now I have a job and an apartment...I’m not poor now. And I owe it to you...”
    Her crying overwhelmed her. She shook her head. “No, I have more to say...”
    I held her tight. Her crying intensified. I held her tighter.
    “Wait...I have more to say...I...I...I...”
    Melinda came thumping over and put her massive arms around both of us. She spoke heavily.
    “Ok. Enough of that. This is a party! Come on, come on...”
    She pulled us apart. Stephanie headed for the bathroom.
    “I...but...I wanted to...I...I...”

    More booze ran and cheers made. Soon it was time. The mood was high. It was no longer tears. The two former Kentucky girls made their way out the door, giggling and laughing. I slowly went for another beer. I saw a small baggie of pot on the floor. I had to catch Stephanie. She would be lost without it. I ran out into the streets without shoes.
    “Stephanie! Stephanie!” echoed off the buildings.
    She turned and looked from a block away.
    “You left your pot!” what the hell, it was now legal.
    She came back into the apartment and got it. She bent over to pick it up.
    I went to say “You take care.” and get another hug, but choked up.
    She walked out the door.

    The trip went too fast but too slow. Each moment seemed to drag on, but each day seemed to fly. Not much happened. Before I knew it, it was time to come back.
    Stephanie had texted after only a few days. She was having trouble with Melinda. A lot of trouble. She said she missed me, and wanted to know when I would be back. She needed to talk.
    I arrived late on Saturday. It had been tough to leave, not knowing when I would be able to visit Pennsylvania again. Now it would be tough to come home to an empty apartment. I was no longer used to being alone. Five beers and pizza rolls made it tolerable enough to sleep. It still felt like Stephanie was still there, snoozing in my bed.
    Sunday evening brought her there. Song Ming had dropped her off. Someone had let her in the outside door. I had left the apartment door unlocked. I was pleasantly surprised to see her walk right in.
    Stephanie came on like a hurricane. Her arms nearly squeezed the wind out of me. Her body quaked as she gasped.
    “Gawd I’ve missed you! We have so much to talk about!”
    We sat in our usual spots, talking and laughing. She glowed so brightly. As I got up to get another beer, she got silent. I could see her mind working overtime. She got up and came at me, holding me frozen in time and space.
    “I...I...I love you.”
    It took me a moment. I had let her go, and she came back? What?
    “I love you too.”
    The words saddened me. I wasn’t sure I meant it. I wasn’t sure what I meant. The last time I said those words was with Samantha. I had meant it then.
    We embraced for a long time. A very long time. I knew I could have made love to her, but...

    Melinda had turned into a nightmare. Not exactly a shock. She had eaten everything and drank everything, then ran off with guys. Melinda had stolen money from Stephanie’s purse. Three hundred. That made the rent check bounce. The landlord was pissed. Stephanie hadn’t eaten in two days. We made sandwiches.
    Melinda had told everyone in their hometown that the only reason I had helped them out was that I wanted to fuck both of them and their mothers. Really. That Stephanie only had money because I prostituted her out. Melinda said we both demanded she do the same. Guys from Kentucky were ready to come find us both. It was humiliation.
    Then Melinda stole more from Stephanie and took off to stay with some guy, saying she’d be back. She had the keys to their apartment. Stephanie didn’t feel safe there anymore.

    I handed Stephanie her old key and told her to stay with me. I agreed to lend her money to cover rent and food, but only if she stayed at my place. Not one dime was to go anywhere near Melinda. Not one. Not even a chicken nugget. After that month though, Stephanie would have to figure something out. I wasn’t going to lend an endless supply of money. Even if it meant that she moved back in with me.
    We spent the night together. I’ll leave it at that.

    A few nights later, as we bitched about Melinda, I came up with a really stupid idea. When I had moved into my apartment, there was an old plastic fake engagement ring left behind. The former tenant had been a part time actor. I still had it somewhere. Stephanie could wear it and tell Melinda that we got engaged and would be buying a condo together, and thus Melinda had just two months to get her own place. We both laughed and agreed to pull the prank.
    I found the fake glass ring. Very traditional. I handed it to Stephanie as she sat on the toilet pissing. To my alarm, she gleefully and loudly proclaimed, “It fits perfectly!”
    What had I just done?

    Saturday night had us doing our usual. It was nice. Then came texts. Melinda. Fightings. Intensities. Song Ming began texting. Everything was unravelling.
    It was supposed to be that Stephanie would have her long time friend Melinda living with her, hang out with Song Ming, and have me, in addition to meeting more people. Now Melinda was gone, there was trouble with Song Ming, and Stephanie was broke. I was the only person she had left. We held each other as she cried. We would end up being together all Sunday too. Song Ming didn’t want to see her.
    Mondays were Stephanie’s days off. I dared not wake her when I left for work, aside from a soft kiss. I got through the day, and came home to an empty apartment. Before long, Stephanie came rolling in. She was wearing one of my Steeler shirts. It brought flooding memories, as it was the very shirt Samantha had worn right before we separated.
    “Well, the rent is paid. I’m totally broke now, but I have the rent all straightened out.”
    I handed her a twenty. She shook her head no. I took it back.
    “I don’t want to take any more from you.”
    I sat down with my beer. She poured a glass of wine. I offered her a smoke. She declined and rolled a cigarette.
    “I have to tell you something. You’re not going to like it.”
    I chugged the rest of my beer, got another, and lit a smoke. She can’t be knocked up. Not by me anyway. I’ve been snipped.
    “Song Ming is a guy. His American name is Andrew.”

    The whole time. Nothing but a lie.
    I sat there, staring ahead in the distance. The whole fucking time. All a scam. All fake.
    “We had a deal. You lied to me this whole fucking time. You used me. I did nothing but help you, and you pulled this?!”
    “I don’t blame you if you never want to see me again..”
    “Well, that’s a start. What about the money you owe me? You can’t afford to pay it back. And...so...let me get this straight. I told you from day one that I would never tolerate paying for some guy’s girlfriend, yet that’s what I was fucking conned into...and where was he? Why did you have to turn to me to save you? Not him? Why?”
    “He’s a student. He can’t afford...”
    “So that cunt has to have me pay for his fucking girlfriend?! I paid MY OWN FUCKING WAY THROUGH COLLEGE! I put life on hold while doing it. I didn’t con some guy into paying for my piece of ass. Your guy is a sheltered, sniveling cunt.”
    “He’ll have a great future...”
    “As a con man...he should run for office as a Republican.”
    I continued.
    “Stephanie. Remember who you turned to time after time after time? Who was that?”
    “You.”
    “Why?”
    Tears.
    I asked her to go pick me up some beer so I would have time to think. She eagerly rushed out the door. I gathered her remaining possessions and bagged them up. When she returned, her eyes swelled at the sight.
    The fight went on. Eventually Stephanie stormed out, slamming the door to where it rocked the building.
    I got another beer. There sat Stephanie’s bags, including her food. I put it away and finished my beer. Sleep came easier than I thought.
    Hell gripped me the next day. No one should go without food. I relented and texted her about the stuff she left. She asked me to check the couch. She was missing her state ID. It was under the couch cushion, placed perfectly in the center. Perfectly. I texted her back that it was there. She said she’d be by the next day to pick her stuff up.
    I looked at her picture on it. Every hair on my body stood straight up. With blond hair, she looked exactly like my ex wife Stacy. Exactly. Twins. It all made sense now.

    I was actually sad about it. This would be the last night we’d see each other. We had been close, or so I thought. This was it. She came over sheepishly. I poured a glass of wine and handed it to her. Might as well go out as we came in.
    Small talk gave way to heavy.
    “So, this is it. The last we see of each other. Cheers.”
    “Well, I was thinking. You’re about to go to seven days a week working. Maybe I can work off the money I owe you by cleaning your place. We’ll hang out and drink and I’ll clean.”
    It kinda made sense.
    “I’ll think about it.”
    “I don’t want this to be the last. I lied to you, but I really enjoy...”
    “I have a hard time believing that.”
    “Ok. Let me know. But can I come over Saturday? I’m very tired tonight, and all this has been hell. I can’t stop crying. Really...That way, if there is anything I left behind...”
    “Alright. Saturday it is. Beyond that, I have doubts. I just don’t think I can get past it.”
    “I understand.”

    I resolved to say goodbyes on Saturday. I hoped she would crash one last night for old times’ sake, and Sunday would be kind of like old times. She’d help me clean, then get ready for her usual Sunday, and leave as if it was the usual. That way it wouldn’t seem like she was leaving. She just wouldn’t ever be home again.

    She was late on Saturday, but came bounding in. We talked as if nothing we happening, but it was time.
    As I got up to get another beer, Stephanie announced that she couldn’t stay long. I stopped right where I stood. This was goodbye, after all. The last.
    Oh well, it is what it is.
    We drank and talked and laughed. Great times were remembered. Bowls lit again and again. Soon we gathered her remaining things. Much fit into her backpack. There were two bags of food. She’d have a long road again. I knew that road all too well. At least she’d be well stocked to start out.
    It all sat there waiting.
    She offered to come by Sunday evening. I said I didn’t think that was a good idea, but didn’t rule it out. She then said maybe. We both knew. Neither wanted to say.
    “Ok. Lemme roll another cigarette, then I have to go.”
    “Why not stay for one last smoke? That way you can finish your wine.”
    “Ok. But can I check my email real fast? There’s something I want to see. It won’t take long.”
    “Go ahead.” I went to piss.

    We sat and sipped our drinks. Smoke billowed through what had been our apartment. Our laughter echoed the last.
    “I’ll be by tomorrow.”
    “We’ll see.”
    She stood up and went to piss. I stood when she got out. I still had on my sweat stained uniform. She was wearing far nicer clothing than when she had first arrived.
    We embraced tightly, sighing and breathing heavily on each other’s shoulder. Whenever one lessened their grip, the other found new strength.
    On and on the holding went. Neither wanted it to end, but it was time. Twenty two. Forty.
    As she lessened her grip, I leaned in;
    “When you leave, close the door softly, so I can watch as you go...”
    The sound of shock and tragedy poured out of her;
    “What?!”

    Hot tears poured from her, soaked through my sweat stained uniform, and ticked my chest hair as they ran past a heavy heart. Humid gasps blasted my shoulder.
    When the embrace broke, Stephanie looked straight down. She turned her back to me and picked up her stuff. I went over and sat in my chair and watched as she made her way to the door. It opened softly. She backed out looking down the whole time. She did indeed close it slowly, softly. I watched as it cruelly hid her young, beautiful face forever. It clicked.
    The outside door always closed with a bang. Almost like a gunshot. I sat watching exactly where she had been seen last. Just moments ago...
    There it was; BANG!
    A love and a major life chapter for both of us had been murdered.
    I raised my bottle high into the air.
    “Have a great life, Stephanie.”
    Yet another woman had left my life.
    The bottle went down in three chugs. The apartment was empty. Life was empty. A shining star in the empty night sky had breathed its’ last.

    I chatted with people online and sipped beer. I knew it was a story to write, but it might be too long for publication. I cried a bit. Despite it all, I would miss her, or at least I would miss who I thought she was.

    An hour later, I saw that she had left her email up. I was going to click off of it, but one email caught my eye. It was between Stephanie and Stacy!
    I didn’t read it. I didn’t want to know. I had been down that road. Some things are best left unknown.

    A week later, I was on my old route. It was a dark rainy day. I was in the shade of large trees along a major street. A car beeped. I waved, thinking it was a customer. I looked up and nearly shit myself.
    There was a gold Toyota Corolla, almost identical to the one Stacy and I had owned together when we split. She had made a huge deal about it being the last thing we held in common. Behind the wheel of that Corolla was Stacy and her hubby. They were waving to me.
    They had last been known to have been in Colorado. They somehow had noticed me in the dark shadows along a busy street thousands of miles from where they had made a home.

    I found myself standing there in my sweat and tear stained uniform, doing my route for the very last time, pummeled by the ice cold rain, while smiling and laughing like a madman, all alone in the world.
    It was the only way such a story could have ended.

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