About Lovers

I met Glen on the number 7 train. She was with a female friend and I naively made my mind up: whomever was left behind would be my choice. Never did I stop to think that, quite possibly, they could both get off on the same station; after all, they were traveling together. The Universe (what others call God, and some call Life, and, well, you can call it whatever the fuck you want) dictated that one shall exit first, and so I ended up asking her where they were from. I handed her a Penguin’s Nietzsche book to write her number, and explained that way I wouldn’t lose it. I called her the next day and we went out to grab a bite. A few weeks later I was living in her grandpa’s apartment in the City (New York, that is).
I didn’t think at the time how humiliating it would have been for her to go back to her grandfather’s place, after a few months back she had left the nest and claimed her independence. I didn’t stop and think maybe her rebelliousness took me with her and made me live with them and the old fool (may he rest in peace now) accepted. He only asked to be paid seventy dollars weekly. Boys we were and soon I’d take him a 22once Budweiser, and he’d sleep merrily.
The thing was, we had an agreement. We were an open couple. I’d go out with my friends and she’d frequent her friends and maybe we’d meet along the way. Of course, it never works out quite that way. Women tend to grow incessantly suspicious and bitterly jealous for no obvious reason. I mean, I told her about Chris and she never said about the guy she was seeing. Who cares now? Afterwards, when I was already living with Eli and she was going steady with the new guy, we still would escape to the not so distant park and fuck in whatever shadow we may find. As I was inside her, I’d tell her about my adventures and she’d spit back hers. It was truly self-fulfilling.
But jealousy is always stronger and eventually we parted ways. We’re still good friends. And that is something on which we both shined.