“… zero to 60; can it outrun her memory?”

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[It’s crept into my mind often, as of late.

 

This particular memory that’s carved into my brain like a Purple-Heart recipient’s scars.

 

Thus (taking its consistent resurfacing as a sign), I share it with you, dear reader, in the hopes it shall be of some help.]

 

 

 

 

It was well after midnight and I sat four or five houses up-road from her place.

 

I stared purposely through the windshield of my truck.

 

I was going to catch her cheating on me.

 

 

 

See, my gut told me she was being unfaithful.

 

The suspicion writhed, restlessly, deep in my abdomen; twisting and turning like an agitated serpent.

 

My instincts screamed in my head.

 

Sirens to the naivete lashed, like Ulysses, to the mast of my stalwart character.

 

I would heed them – and feed them – all.

 

I was prepared for war.

 

 

 

However, it was then that my strategist’s nature found its way to the surface of my thoughts.

 

Escaping the drowning pool of my vindictive rage, it asked:

 

What goal is to be achieved in this battle?

 

No general deserving of his rank fights for a purpose unworthy of bloodshed.

 

So, Sun Tzu of South Jersey, what exactly is to be gained in this conflict?

 

 

 

I sat dumbstruck.

 

I’d no satisfactory answer to give.

 

Self-righteousness?

 

Smug confirmation of victim-hood?

 

Justified indignation?

 

 

 

Which of those validated my efforts?

 

 

Neither a chest of doubloons nor a suitcase of $20s could buy back the seconds, minutes or (eventually) hours I’d spend attempting to snare her in her duplicitousness.

 

My time was more precious than any fleeting gain I may – or may not – garner by my jealous actions.

 

 

 

Most of all, however, I thought to myself:

 

If I trust her so little…

 

If I am so certain of her faithlessness…

 

If I doubt her honesty so much…

 

Why am I even desirous of her?

 

 

 

Quite frankly, if things have devolved to such a degree that I’m waiting in my vehicle in the middle of the night as if I were on a drug stake-out-

 

I should simply find someone new.

 

Hell, I could throw a rock, at this point, and hit a random woman that I’d trust more than my current paramour.

 

 

 

So I turned the key in the ignition.

 

Put my Rodeo in gear.

 

And drove off into the night.

 

Headed toward the sunrise of a brighter, new day.

 

 

 

 

 

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