Death Will Help You Leave Him
“Barbara and Luz, one on either side of me, chattered across me as if I were one of those little tables at Starbucks. The air was soft and smelled of musty oak. I knew a guy who used to brew a homemade beer with oak leaves. He probably still did it. I hadn’t seen him in a while. Bar friends don’t meet sober friends unless they hit bottom and cross over. Jimmy was still my only real friend. Now and forever, amen.
Barbara had a hundred friends. No topic of conversation was verboten. As we dawd...led along, she and Luz covered aging female relatives, boot styles, perimenopause, and the best way to cook a turkey.
I waited for an opening. Even Barbara had to breathe some time.
“Yo. Ladies. Luz, I want to know— are the cops still hassling you?”
“They seem to have given up for now,” she said. “I was afraid, but at least when they came around, I knew they were doing something. Now I don’t know if they even go through the motions.”MoreLess
Barbara had a hundred friends. No topic of conversation was verboten. As we dawd...led along, she and Luz covered aging female relatives, boot styles, perimenopause, and the best way to cook a turkey.
I waited for an opening. Even Barbara had to breathe some time.
“Yo. Ladies. Luz, I want to know— are the cops still hassling you?”
“They seem to have given up for now,” she said. “I was afraid, but at least when they came around, I knew they were doing something. Now I don’t know if they even go through the motions.”MoreLess
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