Her Love Was Strong

For something other than me. Wine. That was her first love. “Cocktails,” her second love. I think I placed ahead of beer, but I’m not certain. Somehow, I convinced myself I would make a good partner. She would say that dating me would probably extend her life. It was not a healthy relationship.

My time in Al-Anon informed me that I could do it if I wanted to. I could love and stay in a relationship with an alcoholic if I wanted to. But the choice was mine. Their decision to drink was never mine. In fact, my influence was marginal. Moods appeared to drive the intake, for the most part. That part, I understood. Moods. That’s part of my world.

But the pairing of her runner’s body and my optimistic romantic was not a fruitful mix. She loved the poems. She drank each night. Arriving home from work with the same hilarious refrain, “Cock-Tails!”

I was amused for a while. I was optimistic for a few additional weeks. I was a drinking companion for a month or so.

In the end, she cited her need to travel and my lack of sufficient resources to pay my way for monthly escapes. “What are you escaping?” I asked. “I love it here. I don’t want to travel every month.”

“I can travel twice as much if I don’t have to pay for two of us.”

The man she married a year later, was also a musician/artist type, but this time without kids. I hear he’s a lovely man and they are very happy. I don’t know anything else. Travels. Drinking. Before I blocked her on Facebook I saw them posting bird photos together.

Read more Short-Short Stories from John.