Dear Connie,
I know the counselor said we shouldn’t contact each
other during our “cooling off” period, but I couldn’t wait anymore. The
day you left, I swore I’d never talk to you again. But that was just the
wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first
one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come
crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my
pride has cost me a lot of things. I’m tired of pretending I don’t miss
you. I don’t care about looking bad anymore. I don’t care who makes the
first move as long as one of us does.
Maybe it’s time we let our
hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And this is what my heart says
“There’s no one like you, Connie.” I look for you in the eyes and
breasts of every woman I see, but they’re not you. They’re not even
close. Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought her home
with me. I don’t say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth
of my desperation.
She was young, maybe 19, with one of those
perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating
can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits like you wouldn’t
believe and an ass that just wouldn’t quit. Every man’s dream, right?
But as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought, look
at the stuff we’ve made important in our lives. It’s all so superficial.
What
does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this
case, yes, but you see what I’m getting at. Does it make her a better
person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive
Connie? I doubt it. And I’m never really thought of that before.
I
don’t know, maybe I’m just growing up a little. Later, after I’m tossed
her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, “Why
do I feel so drained and empty?” It wasn’t just her flawless technique
or her ****ty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging
feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It
didn’t feel the same because you weren’t there to watch. Do you know
what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie, I’m just
going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do
you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge
last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She
said she figured I wasn’t eating right without a woman around. I didn’t
know what she meant till later, but that’s not the real story.
Anyway,
we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know, we’re banging
away in our old bedroom. And this tart’s a total monster in the sack.
She’s giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does when
she’snot hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can
hear us. And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your
grandmother’s old vanity. So she puts it on the floor and we straddle
it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it’s totally hot, but it makes
me sad, too. Cause I can’t help thinking, “Why didn’t Connie ever put
the mirror on the floor? We’ve had this old vanity for what, 14 years,
and we never used it as a sex toy.”
Saturday, your sister drops
by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicky’s just a kid and
all, but she’s got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she’s been a
real friend to me during this painful time. She’s given me lots of good
advice about you and about women in general. She’s pulling for us to
get back together, Connie, she really is. So we’re doing Jell-O shots in
a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here’s this teenage
girl with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she
looked like you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry.
And
then it turns out Vicky’s really into the whole anal thing, that gets
me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it and
how that probably fuelled some of the bitterness between us. But do you
see how even then, when I’m thrusting inside your baby sister’s cinnamon
ring, all I can do is think of you. It’s true, Connie. In your heart
you must know it. Don’t you think we could start over? Just wipe out all
the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can.
If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.
Otherwise, can you let me know where the ****ing remote is.
Love, Dan
