I hadn’t seen Oscar in over two weeks. Though I continued to go out and socialize with my friends at the bars, I had always kept an eye out for him. On several occasions, I had visited the Plaza on the sole attempt to find him – sitting alone and frustrated on the concrete bench in the vain chance that he may walk by.
One afternoon at home, I sat at my laptop writing, when I heard my name being called from the street below. I went out to see Oscar leaning against a parked car. My thrill at seeing him faded instantly at the sight of who he had his arm around.
He had the nerve - the downright audacity - to come by my place with his new, weasel-faced bitch in tow. That bobby-socked, catholic-school girl, scowling cunt named Zelma.
I shook both their hands and hissed a chilled hello.
“Just stopping by to say hi and see if you are all right.” He said. “Do you remember Zelma?”
“Yeah” I croaked, shaking her limp hand. “How are you?”
She stood there beaming – her frail, scrawny arm wrapped around his hips. Hips that I so many times held onto as he lay on top of me.
I stood there, casually nodding as I listened to Oscar go on about how she had visited him every day, their strolls through the market, the romantic dates of dinner and movies. All the while, me thinking of ways of going Ed Gein on his female. Ugh! Death where is thy sting, you lazy ass?!
I’m not bitter, though. Nope. On the contrary, I wished him the best. Okay, okay - I secretly wished him to catch some lingering, painful disease from that filthy cunt!
However, I was damned if I was going to divulge my discontent to them. Nope, I kept my cool.
As Oscar continued gleefully on how Zelda and him spent their time together, I inwardly seethed, Why? Why do I open up to these characters only to have a barbed knife thrust at first chance into my scarred and withered heart?
Oscar must have had sensed my loathing as he quickly excused himself and Zelda - I stood there and seethed on the crumbling curb, watching as they swaggered away arm in arm.