I had sent the Valentine’s Day card in the mail. She barely remembered me now. Now, she was married, living on the other side of the country, trying to gather from within her a faint memory of what it was even like to be with me. That is, if she even wanted to remember that.
I was scum to her. God had somehow blessed me with this half-god, half-model body, and I used it to its advantage. I could score a job at any company. I could get into any club. I could date any girl. I could fuck any bartender, stripper, high-schooler. You named it, I did it. Why? I guess the true question is, “Why not?” Do you know what happens after you die? Have you ever known someone around you who has died? Have you ever looked down that dark tunnel ahead of all of and say, “Well, why not?”
You may say that you know there is a heaven or a hell, but the real truth of the matter is that you don’t know. You don’t know if there is a heaven, but it’s easy for you to describe it to me. It’s the place where we are all going to go when we die, right? It’s where you, and your grandma, and your first dog, and everyone you have ever even felt a hint of love will be, right? You don’t even know what hell is either. You may say that it is the place which is a manifestation and a reflection of all the sins you performed on earth, but you don’t know that either, do you?
If I want to do a line of cocaine and fuck a beautiful twenty-year-old girl, whose to stop me? What inclination inside of me wills top and say, “Hey, this is wrong,”? What part of me will decide that I am not having the time of my life, that I should say no to the coke, not fuck the girl with the big tits, and go home, uncaring, impassionate, unknowing of the world. What if I told you that there was nothing in my body that told me to stop? What if I told that I could easily walk into this situation and go straight for what it is all about? What if I told you I didn’t regret it afterwards, that cheating on my girlfriend—whom I frequently tell is my “soul mate”—did not affect me in the slightest? I didn’t care. She was a bitch anyway. What if I told you that? What would you think?
Because it doesn’t bug me. And so what if one day she found out I fucked around on her at every chance I got. So what if she left me to go marry some lawyer in Chicago who will father her children and buy them season tickets to The Cubs and The Bears. So what?
That doesn’t mean I don’t love her.
I guess it felt kind of like a Hallmark commercial when I put that stupid valentine’s day card in that big blue post office box. It was even snowing. Why do they always have Valentine’s Day in one of the coldest months of the year? Shouldn’t they have it in a warmer, spring month? February is still considered winter, idiots. The card simply read, “I’m nuts for you.” There was a picture of a squirrel holding nuts. I knew she think it would be funny. I knew she wouldn’t call me. I knew her husband would be pissed I was sending it, but who cares?
I was stupid to cheat. Even though I can fuck any girl I want, the space next to me in the middle of the night is always empty. It’s the space where she slept for eight years, but now, none of that matters. It’s over. I knew she would laugh when she saw the squirrel. None of those other girls had a sense of humor like her. I guess that’s why I kept her around.