When the mayor of one of her towns got arrested yesterday,
she messaged me on my cell and work phones, getting our temporary boss to do so
as well.
Someone had already broken the news on the web. But she
needed to get something up as well just to stay ahead of the curve.
The fact that she believes the mayor over his critics was
besides the point. This was about being credible.
I helped a little, but not much. She did most of it all by
herself, a remarkable accomplishment for someone who more than once said she
hates hard news.
She later emailed me, thanking me, when in fact I aided very
little, already overwhelmed with my own work.
The strain remained, she clearly scared I might hurt her
again.
And yet, she emailed me late in the day to say she needed a
drink, just a gesture, I think, since she really did not want to reopen that
conversation.
Besides, I know she has already moved on to someone else,
another of the select few, perhaps in search of someone or something that
doesn’t exist.
I get the feeling I ask all the wrong questions when I
should simply put my faith in her and let her take everything where she wants
it to go. I always do or say the wrong thing, tangled up inside like a
16-year-old with out-of-control hormones.
Perhaps, she is partly to blame in picking all the wrong
men, a pool of potential stalkers she can rely on for at least that, those who
have fallen from those she has chosen as the select few to that other category
of demons like me.
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