It had to happen sooner or later. This is the part in therapy when I must acknowledge the worst of my own fears. I have come a long way to get to this juncture. Toxins no longer pass through my body, I have not swallowed one prescribed pharmaceutical in any shape or color, nor have I consumed any alcohol in the last sixty days. How do I feel? Physically I feel great, my body has been cleansed, my back problems will be addressed when I return to the states, and I feel confident that I will over come that issue as well. I am strong and fearless -- a proud warrior carrying the humility of life’s experiences in a small weather-beaten satchel. Emotionally, it’s another matter. I have one large obstacle that I must overcome. In my mind I see the image of an old fashion time bomb made from one pound cylindrical tubes of dynamite strapped together complete with a hand held detonator ready to explode at any minute.
When will the lime green, red haired, freckled-faced monster rise again to sabotage my life? I picture it living under a rock in one of the dark corners of my mind. I can’t rightly say I’m afraid of this monster; in fact I use to know the monster very well. The monster was once my friend and we had many good times together. Like all things, time passes, and the monster and I have changed over the years. I am no longer sure exactly what is lurking under that rock any more – whether it’s the monster or the shadow of the monster. In either case it is terribly frightening.
There was a time, not long ago, that I had no fear of this monster. In fact, I wished it would return on many occasions. I did everything I could to locate it. I would gravitate to the places I thought I might find it. I would make sure I would go out in public on full moons or during other auspicious dates looking for signs that the lime green red haired freckled faced monster had left a mark. I even once tried witchcraft and voodoo when I was lonely and happened to be in the French Quarter after Mardi Gras. I don’t imagine I would ever see the monster in Las Vegas. Vegas is not the place that would attract this type of creature – to superficial. This monster goes right for the wholesome core, everything that is good in the world is a potential host, then without a second thought, with a lightning spin of its lizard head it will rip your heart out and suck up every once of blood with a long serpentine tongue. After only one encounter I would wake up in the loneliness of my bed with my temples screaming from electrical shocks and my throat harboring the lingering taste of poisonous venom. I would tremble from severe dehydration and it would take days before I could move to feed myself or get a simple glass of water.
This reoccurring nightmare started on an innocent Sunday afternoon in 1978. It was a beautiful spring day in Houston. I had just finished the Sunday papers; I was young, fresh and alive with the spirit of a shooting star. My architectural practice was soaring; I had captured some of the largest developers during the oil boom in Texas. I had money, a fast car and the sexual charm of ignorance. The truth was; I was a mere mullet in a vast sea begging to be taken.
I telephoned the lime green, red haired, freckled face monster at 2:00 that Sunday afternoon. I knew that 2:00 was probably not the best time to call someone for a date – but that’s the way I did things then, without much thought or protocol.
“Charlie, hi, it’s me Larry, would you like to go out for a drink?”
“You’re kidding, it’s 2:00 in the afternoon.”
“So what, we’ll drink until the sun goes down, I know the perfect bar to watch the sunset. If we get there now we’ll get a good seat”.
“Are you some kind of connoisseur of sunsets?” She asked with playful sexy laughter.
In spite of my ridiculous timing or my bad line, she went out with me anyway. We met at a place called Ninfa’s in the old part of town, tucked away on Navigation. You can’t see the sunset from Ninfa’s, but neither of us cared and it was never mentioned. We drank pitchers of Margaritas until the cows came home. We could hardly walk out the door by the time the sun started going down but we somehow managed to get to my car.
“Can you drive like this, she asked?”
“Don’t worry, where alcohol is concerned, I have perfect control.”
“Perfect control?”
“Four margarita’s just brings me up to feeling normal, I can drive, don’t be concerned at all”.
“You had six, I had four,” she laughed.
There wasn’t much to talk about. We were both drunk and happy. Life was a ball of tightly woven rubber bands just waiting to be unraveled and bounced around the room for pleasure. I started unraveling her rubber bands, one at a time beginning with the red cowboy boots, then the lime green summer dress, and followed lastly with her white silk blouse. She wore no underwear or makeup. Her hair was red and curly and dropped to her shoulders. The freckles on her breasts matched the ones on her face. Charlie was just the right amount of overweight – which made her voluptuous and I couldn’t help but give her the nickname, Chuck.
That’s the monster – I can’t get rid of that image and the desire to find someone to get drunk with at 2:00 in the afternoon. Then I want to spent the rest of the night making love and laughing and talking about dumb stuff like what’s your favorite donut and where do the stars go to hide in the daytime.
As long as I have that memory I’ll always want to go back to that special place in my mind where life was simple and fun and sexy, and love was weighed by the sticky stuff that’s gets wiped all over each others bodies and tastes like the nectar of the Gods.
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