A year later, when Leigh left, there were no problems.
She wasn't pregnant.
I'm the only one left in town these days. The others all left for the city and live there. Tommy's done especially well. He's on his way to becoming a lawyer. Good luck to him. I mean it.
Next to that picture on the TV, there's also a photo of Audrey, Marv, Ritchie, and me. We set the timer on Audrey's camera last Christmas, and there we are. Marv with cigar. Ritchie half smiling. Audrey laughing. And me holding my cards, still looking at the most shit hand in Christmas history.
I cook.
I eat.
I wash but I rarely iron.
I live in the past and believe that Cindy Crawford is by far the best supermodel.
That's my life.
I have dark hair, half-tanned skin, coffee brown eyes. My muscles are hugely normal. I should stand straighter, but I don't. I stand with my hands in my pockets. My boots are falling apart, but I still wear them because I love and cherish them.
Quite often, I pull my boots on and go out. Sometimes I go to the river that runs through town, or I go for a walk to the cemetery to see my father. The Doorman comes with me, of course, if he's awake.
What I like best is walking with my hands in my pockets, having the Doorman next to me, and imagining that Audrey's on my other side.
I always picture us from behind.
There's glow turning to darkness.
There's Audrey.
There's the Doorman.
There's me.
And I'm holding Audrey's fingers in mine.
I haven't written a song of Dylan proportions yet, or started painting my first attempt at surrealism, and I doubt I could start a revolution if I tried--because apart from everything else, I'm a bit of an unfit bastard, though I'm lanky and lean. Just weak, too.
Mainly, I think the best times I have are playing cards or when I've dropped someone off and I'm heading back to town, maybe from the city or even further north. The window's down, the wind runs its fingers through my hair, and I smile at the horizon.
Then I pull into town and the Vacant Taxis lot.
Sometimes I hate the sound of a car door slamming.
Like I've said, I love Audrey something terrible.
Audrey, who's had plenty of sex with plenty of people but never with me. She's always said she likes me too much to do it with me, and, personally, I've never tried to get her naked and new and all shivery in front of me. I'm too afraid. I've told you already that I'm quite pathetic when it comes to sex. I've had a girlfriend or two, and they didn't exactly rave about me in the sexual encounter department. One of them told me I was the clumsiest guy she'd ever met. The other one always laughed when I tried something on her. It didn't really work wonders on me, and she quit me soon after.
Personally, I think sex should be like math.
At school.
No one really cares if they're crap at math. They even proclaim it. They'll say to anyone, "Yeah, I don't mind science and English, but I'm absolutely shithouse at math." And other people will laugh and say, "Yeah, me, too. I wouldn't have a clue about all that logarithm shit."
You should be able to say that about sex, too.
You should be able to proudly say, "Yeah, I wouldn't have a clue about all that orgasm shit, ay. I'm okay at everything else, but when it comes to that part I wouldn't have a clue."
No one says that, though.