1) She hated her own name, and renamed herself Riley. She was a 20 year old singer in a punk rock band, half of her hair was blonde and the other half was black – the last time we spoke, she said she was going to try red and then go back to all blonde. She always blushed when we talked. Her fingers were always filled with rings and she had an unhealthy infatuation with the Green Lantern, Jack Black, and secret identities.
2) She said, “I’m not a bank teller, I do wire transfers at the bank.” She was 75 percent black and 25 percent Cherokee. Her eyes were slanted and on weekends she modeled for small business catalogues. I called her Baby Tyra. When I told her my dad was Buddhist and my mother was Catholic – it became a problem. She loved to shop, she as tall as I was, and refused to wear anything less than 3 inch heels. She was a soft kisser.
3) While this one was just a waitress. She was blonde and wholesome looking, which made her habit of lying even easier. I overheard her conversation with another man, and from my living room she told him that she was standing outside of a hospital. That her mother had gone in and that the family didn’t know what was going on, and she had to go because it was freezing outside and she couldn’t use her cell phone inside the building. I asked her if she wanted another beer and she nodded “yes.”
4) The other was a social worker, who was fascinated with Texas and Oklahoma, country music and karaoke. We had nothing in common. We didn’t have that luxury that many people had to fall back on, so we built it on respect. We told each other what we both needed to hear, but refused to tell one another what we wanted to her – there were already too many people in our lives like that. She was stubborn but she was a nice person who already had a boyfriend, and the conversations became, “Well if I wasn’t involved then…” She was a pleasant listener and had a nice butt.
5) This one was chemist and an old friend that broke off her engagement [not for me, I'm not that desirable]. She’s into martial arts and metal music. On my birthday, she baked for me. We don’t have a lot in common, and maybe it was more a marriage of convenience – she liked romance and attention and so did I. After our talks about how we felt about each in the past, how we regretted how the cards didn’t fall for us – there was nothing left for us to talk about.
6) She had two shades of color on her hair too, and she loved to smoke. She was taller than I was and she loved to laugh, but there wasn't a lot to talk about. Conversations were forced, so we killed the silence with kissing. She was another punk rocker that DJ'd for country music station outside of Cleveland. I'd try to call but everytime I did - her phone was always shut because it ran out of minutes. She was 21 and already had been divorced. It was incredible how a person that had lived such a tough life already could still be so optimistic. Maybe that's what I liked about her.
