Dear Connie,
I know the counselor said we shouldn't contact each other during
our "cooling off" period, but I couldn't wait anymore. The day you
left, I swore I'd never talk to you again. But that was just the wounded
little boy
in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first one to make contact. In
my
fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I
guess my
pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's cost me a lot of
things. I'm
tired of pretending I don't miss you. I don't care about looking
bad anymore. I
don't care who makes the first move as long as one of us does.
Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And
this
is what my heart says: "There's no one like you, Connie." I look
for you in
the eyes and breasts of every woman I see, but they're not you.
They're not
even close. Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos and brought
her home
with me. I don't say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the
depth of my
desperation. She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect
bodies that only
youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean,
just a
perfect body. Tits like you wouldn't believe and an ass that just
wouldn't quit.
Every man's dream, right? But as I sat on the couch being blown by
this
stunner, I thought, look at the stuff we've made important in our
lives. It's
all so superficial. What does a perfect body mean? Does it make
her better in
bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I'm getting at. Does
it make her
a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately
attractive
Connie? I doubt it.
And I'd never really thought of that before.
I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later, after I'd
tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself
thinking, "Why
do I feel so drained and empty?" It wasn't just her flawless
technique or her
slutty, shameless hunger, but something else. Some nagging feeling
of loss. Why
did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't feel the
same because
you weren't there to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels
the same
without you. Jesus, Connie, I'm just going crazy without you. And
everything I
do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single Mom we met at the Holiday Inn
lounge
last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna.
She said she
figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't know
what
she meant till later, but that's not the real story.
Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine and the next thing you know,
we're
banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in
the sack. She's giving me everything, you know, like a real woman does
when she's
not hung up about her weight or her career and whether the kids can
hear us. And
all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your
grandmother's old vanity.
So she puts it on the floor and we straddle it, right, so we can
watch
ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad, too. Cause I
can't help
thinking, "Why didn't Connie ever put the mirror on the floor?
We've had this
old vanity for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a sex toy."
Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining
order. I
mean, Vicky's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty good head
on her
shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during this painful
time. She's
given me lots of good advice about you and about women in general.
She's pulling
for us to get back together, Connie, she really is. So we're doing
Jell-O shots
in a hot bubble bath and talking about happier times. Here's this
teenage girl
with the same DNA as you and all I can do is think of how much she
looked like
you when you were 18. And that just about makes me cry.
And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing,
that
gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about
trying it and how
that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you
see how
even then, when I'm thrusting inside your baby sister's cinnamon
ring, all I
can do is think of you?
It's true, Connie. In your heart you must know it. Don't you think
we
could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start
fresh? I
think we can.
If you feel the same please, please, please let me know.
Otherwise, can you let me know where the fucking remote is.
Love, Dan.