I couldn't believe she had screwed me again. What? Did I have"Thestupidest dyke this side of Texas"written on my head? It was all soclear. I loved her and she dogged me big time. I deserved a lot ofthings' but no this. I was ready and willing with her. Iwould have done anything she asked. Maybe that was the problem.

I walked home that night. She followed me for a block' then turnedback. That's what I was worth to her, a block, a fucking block. Oh Ihurt, I hurt big time, more than ever.

When I got home I shot back two tequilas' which did nothing. Pain oozed from my brain. I found a joint in my bathroom drawer and sucked hard on that for ten minutes. Again, I was as straight as Bush's first grandchild. FUCK, my heart was BROKEN. I desperately wantedto get to the part where I at least knew how to fix it or at leastknew how to make me temporarily feel better. This was going to be along night.

I sat on the couch. I sat on my bed. I sat on the floor. I sat onthe toilet. I sat in the shower. And I sat on the porch. I didn'tcry. I just went from place to place and sat, sighing and everyone once in awhile gasping. I was miserable.

About midnight, the phone rang. I didn't answer it. No message wasleft. Screw her, she could have at least left a message. A hello, a howyou doing would have been nice.

Should I call her back and just yell, "Fuck you?" No, that's chickenshit.

So I got in my car at 12:30 and raced to her house. I wantedto hit her. I did. I don't think I've ever wanted to hit anybody,except my sister when she bugged me, but never as an adult. It wasevident; I was going to hurt Christine.

No lights were on in her apartment when I parked. I thought maybeshe's sitting in the dark trying to figure out how to fix this becauseshe had to have me back. That's what I wanted, for her to squirm.Because I wasn't taking her back, not this time. She had gone toofar.

But what if she were desperate and had to have me back, what ifshe promised' what if she knew how wrong she was and at this veryminute was writing a letter about how much she loved me? Maybe, justmaybe in a few weeks I could...love.

I got out of the car and slammed the door, hoping a light would pop onin her house. Maybe she was crying silently in the dark.

I walked back up the sidewalk I had ran down a few hours earlier. Ileaned against her door and heard nothing. I peeked in the window,nothing. Maybe she was taking a bath to calm her nerves. Quietly, Iknocked as not to wake her neighbors. "Christine'" I cried softy.Nothing.

I slipped around back and looked in her bedroom window. Her shade wasopen and when I looked inside there she was...sleeping like a lioncub.

Rage is a funny thing. It overtakes you like a shot of morphine. Iwatched and heard myself as I raised my arms and shriekedindescribably. Baneful energy pushed my hands through the window,sending shards of glass onto Christine's floor. She sat up screaming and I ran to my car and drove home.

The message light was blinking when I came in and the phone wasringing as I sat on a stool in front of my kitchen sink picking the fewglass out of my arms. What had I done? I was out of my mind and Iknew I could never see or speak to Christine again.

The next morning my arms ached, but they were wrapped and taken careof. I had some coffee and needed a friend. I thought of Greg andhoped he didn't get married. I called him and left a message that Imissed him and I loved him.