PriorityPosted: July 5, 2015
Ten months ago. Late night. Texting.
They had shared a moment earlier in the day. Her parents staying in the tiny Suess house with her were pushing all her buttons. She had reached out to him for advice, comfort and he had supplied. It was a warm hug for her.
Now, she retreated to the back of the garage, sat on the step, smoked and drank Red Caboose Cabernet Sauvignon straight from the bottle.
He liked her. She was sexy, funny, smart. He cared, in a way, but in the way he cared about several women. He drank Stoli and Fresca, sitting in his ox blood chair.
They had texted for hours.
He knew he was drunk. Tired drunk. They had been keeping each other up every night. He wanted to collapse in the bed and dream vodka dreams.
She wanted him to call. She pushed. He refused. She pushed more. Finally, irritatedly, he aquiesced.
“Why haven’t you driven down here and met me yet?” She was 2 hours away and they’d been talking for almost a month. She thought, justifiably, it was time.
He snapped at her: “Don’t you think if you were a priority I would have been there already?”
“Fuck you, Kevin.” Even now, this many months later, he could still hear her voice. She hung up.
He texted a drunken apology and went to bed.
Over the next week, they reconnected.
Today, thinking about her, he realized how far he had come, how far she had taken him. She was a priority. More than a priority . He missed her, but in a good way. It made him smile to think about that night and about how over the coming nights and weeks and months she had captivated his heart, his mind. She truly had all his heart.