It was a relapse…
It was a relapse, replay, redundant, revolting. She (me) sitting there in the diner out in the middle of the desert drinking coffee and eating a muffin, waiting for the laundry a few feet away, he (him, you know the one everyone loves) glaring at me. Like “what the f… are you here for?” Dunno really. Shared 10 years with you, its 108 degrees at 9 in the morning… I’m doing laundry, wanted to see if we could relate to each other in some way other than you screaming at me and me retaliating.
Jim, the 72 year old tubercular cook, glaring at me too… what is it with this guy and the grump. Is it my sex, my race, my fuck you if you don’t like me attitude?
We’re living out in Panamint Resort really a roadhouse but don’t tell anyone. My other decided this was the most suitable job for him, living in a trailer in Death Valley. Don’t want to wait table in N.Y. anymore because the H is too tempting… so let’s go out into the middle of barren wilderness where half the staff is hooked on painkillers… hmmmmmm.
Well they have WiFi afterall and the family that owns it is really gung-ho and on the up and up… you know, military and Mormon, can’t get any whiter than that… so little ole Latina me isn’t fairing too well and Mr. Good-Looking Charming Agreeable boyfriend is coming up Aces.
Somebody throw me a line… Can I tell anyone how this guy has berated me, put his fists up to my face, threatened me…. 0r should I just leave? But I love him? This is why I stay?
Gloria O’Byrne is an itinerant wanderer with quasi bases in Miami and New York. She has worked many years in editorial-type capacities before becoming a freelance translator five years ago. She has traveled extensively through Southeast Asia, South and Central America.
