This woman I’ve been dating, Marta. Jesus, I don’t even remember how we met. I think it was in a casino. I was shit faced drunk, playing poker and I don’t even know how to play poker, but I’m damn good at it, especially the drunker I get. Marta was sitting next to me, amazed at my winnings and she was maybe as drunk as I was and at some point she said some witty shit like, “a guy like you ain’t married?” and I said, “no woman will have me.”
That was it.
A couple weeks later I found out she was crazy as hell, self medicating on pharmaceuticals she was legally getting from a gay Jew doctor named Klein. He said she was skitzo, but to me, she was just fucked up on the drugs he was giving her. Anyway, I rode over to her house on my bike a few weeks after we met, we had planned to go to dinner, but because I rode my bike up to her front door, she did not hear me arrive, so I opened the unlocked front door and she had a lighter under some aluminum foil and was burning a pill and inhaling the smoke. Smoking some pill. That’s what she was doing, trying to get high.
“What’re you doing?”
“Tryin’ to get high, smoking a pill, ya’ dumbass,” she said.
That was enough to make me start thinking Marta might not be the type of broad I really should be hanging out with. Then, about a month ago, we go out to dinner, me Marta and the doctor Klein and his gay boyfriend, some skinny spic named Johnny. Johnny is all skin and bones and sick looking and at some point while we are waiting for the fajitas in the shittiest Mexican restaurant I’d ever been in, Johnny gets up to use the little boys room and a minute later, Marta has to use to little boys room too, only she says, little girls room, but Johnny has the blurry eyed look like he doesn’t spend a lot of time pissing when he uses the little boys rooms, so I know what’s up.
So when they are both gone, I lean over to gay doctor Klein and I say, what the fuck? He is all fat and shit and he looks at me and says, “what?”
“Those two, they ain’t pissing, they go there to do drugs.”
“So?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s boring waiting for fajitas.”
He was right and all, but there was a moral point to be made, but the fajitas arrived and I was hungry. I did realize later, after we crashed Kleins car into a Blow and Go Donut Shop window that hanging out with Marta had to end.
A few weeks later Marta was in her living room lighting a fire under another piece of aluminum foil and I was in her bedroom, looking at the squalor, food products, skanky clothing, dirty underwear, one pair in the corner being chewed by an obese mouse and I thought to myself “how did I get here?” and I answered that in my head, a bike. That’s when I realized that I could put my shoes on, grab my bike bag and slip out the back door and be done with all this bullshit. Before leaving I needed to steal something, because that is my twisted little kink, I always steal something from my ending relationship, so I looked around. On the dresser, an unopened Snickers bar, I grabbed it, put it in my bike bag and opened the back screen door, which had one of those squeaky springs on it, so I slowly pushed it so it would not get the attention of the Marta, who was still busy burning her pill into smoke form. Soon enough I was on my bike, in the gravel of her driveway and that must of got her moving, because she was pushing open the back screen door, then running out of it, onto the gravel and chasing after me, throwing bottles of various unused pharmaceuticals. I started to pedal as fast as I could while these bottles were starting to land near me, one hit my bag but slid off, and as I distanced myself, I could hear Marta’s last words, “bring back my fuckin’ Snicker’s you douche bag.”
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