Love Letter

Love Letter­­­­­

by Jade Bové

You were perfect. Almost too perfect. Like a porcelain angel with black wings. You were one of those girls who seemed like she was one of the guys but still retained your femininity and sexuality. You would cuss and drink whiskey, fart and smoke cigarettes, and laugh at the kind of jokes I would only tell around my work buddies at the hog plant. I used to watch you from the sidelines, till I decided that I had had enough of all the other drunk asshole-douche bags hitting on you, taking advantage of you and your generosity. I was tired of you getting eyeballed and groped by these fat hairy truckers who stopped at this lonesome tittie bar out on the inter-state. Sure you had your faults just as the rest of us do, like your meth habit and the baby at home, (thanks for letting me take care of him by the way. It was a real treat) but you were something else. Long raven hair, full, pouty, strawberry red lips, and skin the color of bleached bone. I loved tracing patterns, with my eyes, in the small scars that criss-crossed your calves and forearms, the older ones more haphazard and rugged than the fresher pink ones. The craterous cigarette burns that dotted your torso were so artfully placed that they served only to enhance your beauty. There was an elegance and a precision about their placement that told me you knew how to handle pain and maybe even liked it.

I remember the first Halloween show that you did that Snow White routine. That really drove all the guys wild. Like a bunch of hogs during feeding time, or just before they went to slaughter. I remember you had a thing for the Disney princesses. For each month’s holiday you’d dress up like one of the little strumpets and do a routine for the beer guzzling truckers, and give a few free dances to some of your regular customers. I was always too shy to go up to you when you put on these shows. I liked to watch from the bar. I was never one to bring much attention to myself, unlike the swine that drifted in here night to night or week-to-week depending on where their freight was going.

I loved to watch you. I could see in your face that you didn’t like your job. But it was a living and we all have to work. Never smiling until the last minute when some fat fuck caught your eye. You were always looking away from the guys on sniffers row. I knew that you were looking for me. Whenever you looked at me I’d give a wink and a nod, like my granddad taught me, and raise my glass to you. You’d flash a toothy grin at me, one that would touch your eyes, and then let your face droop back to that look of dull boredom. When you weren’t looking at them you were looking at the floor or at me. I got the real smiles, they got disdain stretched across your face. That’s how I knew that we were destined to be together. I could see it in your face that you didn’t care for the kind of swine that came in here and paid for your attention.

I remember a couple of times you were not in a good mood. One time stands out in particular. A bachelor party had come in, remember? The groom was wearing a pink wedding dress as part of a prank or some weird city boy hazing ritual. I could see Jezebel’s fire behind your eyes that night. I never asked why you were so angry that night but you sure let that city boy have it. When his friend put him up on the stage tied to the chair in front of the pole, I had no idea what was in store. That poor boy didn’t either. I remember that you were on an Iron Maiden kick. You started dancing for this city boy. And were getting caught up in the music and the tempo. This is what I will never forget, the way you did that poor dog. You got up on the chair, grasping the pole above his head and began smashing your crotch in his face and his head snapped back slamming into the pole. At first it was kind of funny, even a little erotic, but then when the song was over and you didn’t stop and started screaming at him. The bouncers rushed in to drag you off. You clawed one of them in the face pretty bad. The city boy’s friends were terrified. They grabbed him down from the stage. The back of his head was busted up pretty bad. Looked like when Big Roy takes the bolt gun to a pig at the plant. You fucked that boy up good. I slunk out side to help those boys get their friend to the hospital. I put their friend in my van and took care of him while they went back to the city with the party bus. I remember thinking that night that you were going to be perfect. There was no doubt in my mind that you would love me for who I was and that wee were going to be very, very happy together forever.

Another night, I remember, a couple of the truckers got a little too grabby. You didn’t like the rough hands touching your smooth as butter skin. I didn’t appreciate it either. They didn’t know it yet, but you were mine, and mine alone. You started shrieking like a harpy at them and calling them all sorts of colorful names that should never have to pass over such gorgeous lips. You even tried to toss a bar stool at them. Your throw was limp at best and the stool landed on a table sending a cascade of broken glass twinkling and tinkling to the floor. When the bouncers got the two animals out into the parking lot, I went out to watch and wait. The bouncers gave the two a good roughing up, but I didn’t think it was enough. They had touched my porcelain angle, they had scuffed the lacquer smooth finish with their oafish paws. I couldn’t let that stand. I was going to show them that there were consequences that were much worse than a light thrashing for guys who get too grabby with the girls. Later, when I was washing the blood and hair from my hands and forearms, I found one of the guy’s teeth in the rolled up sleeve of my button-up denim shirt. I was proud of what I did, I felt chivalrous. I got a nice big rig and rusted out Ford pick-up that I could sell for about ten grand. That’s how I paid for your ring. Remember when I told you that story? We were driving away from Reno just after our wedding night. You had asked where I got my money from. I told you not to worry about it, but you were persistent. Kept bugging me the whole drive south to Death Valley National Park. I didn’t want you to be worrying about money because it’s not the wife’s responsibility, it’s the husband’s. Then you gave me those puppy dog eyes and I new I couldn’t keep the truth from you. When I told, you said that it was very romantic and that I was a regular Bossa Nova. Sometimes you could be so stupid it was cute, but I knew what you meant. I always kinda saw myself as more of a Don Juan though.

The night I introduced myself to you was a magical night. Do you remember? It was a few weeks after I sold the pick-up and big rig. The moon was full, the size and color of a sow’s ass. I could smell the electricity in the air over the tire fire that was raging over on the other side of the inter-state. When I walked through the parking lot that night, with the tire fire raging, the noxious smoke roiling into my breathing space and the neon lights of Clovis’s Truck Stop and Family Eatery spilling eerie half light onto the asphalt, I thought briefly that this is what hell must be like; stinky and oddly lit with a tittie bar full of fat hairy swine. I let the thought slip away because I had other, more important things to think about and do that would take all of my concentration and bravery. There was no need to dwell on it further, I knew that I would be seeing it again soon enough. You can’t live forever.

I lit up a cigarette to calm my shaking hands. I always get anxious before it starts. You know that. I pushed open the plastic padded double doors to the strip joint and made a beeline for the bar. The cigarette wasn’t doing the job. This was going to require some Canadian Club. I felt the comforting warm and fuzzy feeling wrap its arms around my brain numbing some of the more fantastical and deranged thoughts, as I placed the empty shot glass on the bar. The butterflies in my stomach were letting out their death rattles as they drowned in the sickly sweet Canadian brown water. Taking long and confident strides towards sniffer’s row I noticed that you were entertaining an older gentleman. He was pudgy and pink and balding. He was soft. I could tell that he never had to work hard for his money. His type was one of three on the top of my list. Fat rich guys who haven’t done an honest day’s hard labor, getting rich off the sweat of someone else’s back. Then there are the arrogant college boys with white baseball hats, collared tee-shirts, and those flippy-floppy sandals who think they’re better than me ‘cause they use fancy ten-dollar words and drink imported beer from green bottles. And then there are hitchhikers. Bunch of goddamned hippies who need to get jobs, buy cars, eat meat and be real Americans and drive every damn where. Besides, nobody cares who they are or where they’re going.

But this is about you and us and I have gotten away from the point, I told you all of this before, when we were headed out of Utah and towards Roswell. (I never did quite get your obsession with the aliens. I always figured if they could get past the fence and The Minute Men, good for them)

The fat, pink man dressed well, dark blue sports jacket, gold watch, gold cuff links, gold tie clip, a rich C.E.O type with a white collar on a cornflower blue shirt. Why the hell was he in this sty? I remember thinking. It didn’t really matter though. I left you alone so you could make your money, but I took note of this man. I had plans for him.

I lingered around some of the other dancers; all the while I never let my gaze drift from you for too long. I kept a mental list of all five of the boorish prigs that paid for your company that night. Enjoy it pigs. Enjoy it, you slop wallowing, bottom feeding swine. I remember thinking, getting angrier and angrier. This is the last time you’ll ever get this kind of attention from her again. The last time you can pay for her kindness. After tonight, you’ll just be a memory and she’ll be all mine. I had worked myself into a curious fever, my brain felt like the smoke choked parking lot outside and I realized that it was going to be a very busy night. I needed to relax so I let myself drift through thoughts of us living a happily married life and lost track of time. You had moved over to talk to one of the other dancers. I signaled for another whiskey, downed it and got up to make my move. I had taken two steps when I noticed the CEO walking out the door. His face was shiny and he had sweat circles under his arms. I could smell his fear, Old Spice and cheap scotch. I knew that he knew that he wasn’t supposed to be here. I followed him out to his car.

Twenty minutes later I was in the bathroom dabbing the sweat from my brow, trying to pretty up for you. That one hadn’t exerted me as much as the last few had. I was still in great shape for a 38 year-old. It’s comforting to know that my high school wrestling had stuck. I was feeling pretty good. I even had a little chubby growing. I went back out to the lounge and saw you standing alone by the bar. Perfect. You were perfect. The night was perfect. Nothing could possibly spoil it. I signaled for two drinks and slid up next to you and introduced myself. Your eyes sparkled like green pond water on a sunny day. I remember you asked me to buy you a drink. I remember the coy smile you gave me when you turned around and saw your Jack and Coke already sitting there. I was clearly more than you had expected. You knew that I was a catch and that you would be a fool to ignore me. I was and still am a gentleman after all.

The old man who sold roses out of a five-gallon plastic bucket came in. When you had turned away to talk to one of your friends I bought one of the roses and stuck it in your empty glass of ice. Then I ordered another round. When you turned back around and saw the rose your smile could have killed me dead and I’d have died happy. You were radiant, especially when the spotlight bounced off the baby-oil slick that covered your body. Your perfect toothpaste-commercial smile could have lit up the whole dank and dark bar. Imagine my surprise when I found out they were dentures. You were always good at making me laugh with your jokes and little pranks. Like when you left your dentures in my water glass that one night on our honeymoon. Sorry you had to wear sunglasses after that for so long by the way. You were falling in love with me, I could tell. I knew that it was going to be a wonderful honeymoon. Absolutely nothing was going to ruin this for us now. It was destiny, it was fate, we were meant to be together. You asked me if I wanted a dance. I declined. I told you that there would be plenty of dancing later, then I asked you when you’d get done working. You winked at me and said that you aren’t supposed to tell. But we both knew that I knew that you knew that I knew you’d be done at three. I knew that you wanted me to come back, your winks and light touches on my legs had told me so. Each time you brushed your tits against my arm betrayed your feelings for me. I told you I had to run some errands but that I’d be back and we’d party some more later and make some sweet sweet love. You laughed and said “I don’t think so” a little sarcastically and went into the back dressing room, shaking that sweet fanny from side to side for me. You had a light sarcastic streak, which was part of your charm. God I loved you. I still love you, which is why writing this hurts so much.

As you walked away, I saw two of your other customers headed towards the door. They had white hats and flippy-floppy sandals. Round two was upon me. I needed to get up and move around a bit anyway. I had a few too many Canadian Clubs and my head was feeling a little cloudy. Some fresh air was all I needed. Besides, I needed to get my wedding gift and the van ready for you. I walked out the door about a minute after the two jackals who were howling with laughter. One of them was talking about how badly you had wanted him. The other one was a slobbering mess, his sentences punctuated with gibbery laughter. I knew they weren’t your type and that you were just being polite. They were easy to find through the oily smoke and strange half lighting of the parking lot. Drunks are suckers for helping out with changing a spare tire. Two at a time was little difficult but my love for you was my strength and let me handle the two of them. Three down, just two more and then your wedding present would be ready.

I went back inside and freshened up in the men’s room. The cologne dispenser was empty so I used the air freshener cake hanging on the wall. It wouldn’t do to greet my future wife smelling of sweat, booze and someone else’s cologne. Lighting a cigarette as I walked back out to the lounge I took a survey of who was still there. It was getting near 2:30 in the morning and it was a Tuesday so the herd had thinned itself out a bit. That was fine by me, the fewer swine in here hogging your attention the better. There were just the three closing dancers and you, the two bouncers, the bartender, the D.J and seven or eight fat truckers. I couldn’t see the other two vermin on my mental list and the truckers were looking at the other girls.

I got another drink to take the edge off. I was still feeling the rush of anticipation. I couldn’t wait to show you your gift. I waited at the bar for you to come to me or for the two vultures to show their scaly faces. When you showed up first. I decided that three would be good. It’s a magical number. In all the old fairytales everything happens in threes. And I wanted us to have a fairytale life together. When you saw me you sidled up just like a dog who knows that it is doing something that it isn’t supposed to, but acts like it isn’t doing anything wrong, while keeping one eye half on its owner. That was good. You knew how I liked my women already. Coy and aware of who was in charge. That would save a lot of time I would have had to spend on training you. What a wonderful woman you were already. We were going to be so happy. I couldn’t wait for three o’clock to roll around. You asked if I wanted to buy you a drink and asked me my name again. As if you didn’t know. What a cutie pie you were, trying to play hard to get and pretending that you didn’t know me.

We chatted for a while longer. You kept “accidentally” rubbing your boobs against my arm and touching my inner thigh. “Oops…” you’d say, and flash a grin when your hand got too close to my junk. So god damned adorable the way you played the innocent. You were really good at flirting with me, you knew just how to get my engine roaring. Then the D.J. called you up to the booth. You requested some bands I hadn’t heard of. I remember how perfect the songs had been though. One was about a perfect day and the other had a haunting chorus that just chanted the word voodoo over and over. I will remember and cherish the sounds of those two songs forever. They will always remind me of our first night together. This night was getting more perfect by the minute. I couldn’t wait to show you your wedding present.

When you came back over to me I looked at you sheepishly and told you I had a present for you in my van. I asked you if you wanted to come back to my place for some drinks and some fun. I felt like the devil was in me. It felt good. It’s the hot part I like best. The hot waves that beat with my pulse. You hesitated, but I flashed you my award winning smile and I assured you that it was going to be magical, that you would love it as much as me. You glanced at the bartender. He said something like he’d walk you to your car if you wanted, but I think he was just jealous that you were obviously in love with me and not him. It only took one more please to seal the deal. I always told you that it was fate. You gathered your things from the back and we walked out into the hellish night. It was really hot. I remember you saying so and that the summer heat made you hot. I read between the lines and got your meaning. I’m no dummy. I hope you remember how fantastic a time we had that night.

There was a storm brewing off in the distance. The sticky southern air made your hair frizz and curl. Adorable. I pointed out the lightning flickers to you off to the west. You said it was pretty and asked if I had some coke. I did but it was in the back of my van along with your wedding present. You gave me a funny look when I said wedding present. It was a long walk to the van and I told you that I had been watching you for a long time. I told you that I was falling in love with you and that soon enough you would love me too. I started walking faster pulling you along. Sometimes I wish my hobbies didn’t require me to park at the very ass end of the parking lot in the shadows behind the idling big rigs. Your stripper heels didn’t help get us there any faster. I remember you whispering under your breath that I had better have some damn good drugs and a wad of cash ready. Ever the optimist you were. I said I did and that I also had something better.

You were shivering, despite the heat, when we walked up to the van. You asked why I parked so far away and I told you it was so I could have a nice walk to clear my head after too many drinks. I asked if you were ready for your present. “There better be some fantastic drugs in there, and big wad of cash” you said again. I told you to relax.

I pulled open the sliding door to reveal three of your customers hogtied and gagged. Their eyes were rolling wildly in their skulls with fear. The CEO was squirming to get loose and failing. I never forgot the knot tying lessons from boy-scouts. One of the college boys was passed out in a puddle of his own vomit. The other one was staring straight at me, frozen like a deer in headlights. I giggled, excited for you to open your presents. I looked over at you and you were trembling. I asked you if you were okay. Then I realized that you probably wanted the drugs I promised. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my special cocktail, part Meth, part L.S.D. and a touch of testosterone. I gave you the pill and then handed you the hunting knife. I told you that these swine were for you to butcher. I told you I had seen the glares that you wore and how you only smiled at me. I reminded you of your past assaults on the swine and that now was your chance to get even. I told you that this is who you were and that you could do this, you had been preparing for this moment for your whole life with the little cuts and burns, and the assaults on customers. You could take control and take it all out on them instead of your self. The look of bewilderment on your face eased into acceptance and then something I had never seen before, something I still cant put my finger on.

I’m not sure what I expected. I knew that you would be delighted with your present, but I hadn’t anticipated your reaction. I thought you would have been timid about it even shy and ask for help. I thought that we would maybe share a tender moment before things became considerably less tender. What I did not expect was for you to lunge at them in a rage unrivaled by any of hell’s furies. The knife was a silver blur in your hand as you stabbed and slashed and sprayed arterial fluid all over the interior of my van. I was so happy. We could finally be together. This was perfect. This was true love. You had exceeded any and all of my expectations. We were able to share everything together. You were so beautiful that night. I will never forget how the blood collected in the faint, fine lines of your face, turning it into some visage of demonic beauty.

You stopped after awhile, after your fury had subsided. There was not much left that resembled the animals. You had chopped the hell out of them and even jointed one of them. You told me, then, that your daddy took you out hunting when you were young and had to learn how to dress the animals. I was in awe. You wiped the blood from your face. I lead you towards the front seat and buckled you in. You were exhausted and now it was time for me to take care of you. I went to the driver’s side and hopped in. We went home and made love on the floor of, what was then, our home. After that I bathed you and gave you a baptism for the damned. Then we made beautiful love again.

We disposed of the bodies later that morning and left town after that. Remember what you said when I asked where we should go first? It was the perfect choice. Reno. We had to get married. It was our destiny. We had to go there and have a proper shotgun wedding. Just before we got to the chapel I told you I had another surprise for you. I could see the devilish glint in your eye when I said surprise. I pulled over on the side of the street and popped the trunk and followed you around to show you what I had. You looked confused when all you saw was the beginning of our collection, our shared trophies. “Look under the mason jars”, I told you. I saw your big doe eyes go all weepy when you saw the strip of pink cloth. You crushed the wedding dress to your chest and started crying. It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever given you you told me. We sauntered into the chapel as if we owned the world. You asked the dolly pardon look-a-like for the dressing room to change while I set up our Elvis Presley wedding. We celebrated by collecting a runt from a heard of Elvi that night. We had to keep a low profile after all.

The following two and half years were amazing. Going wherever the wind and a full tank of gas took us. I will never forget the bond that grew between us while roaming the county’s various truck stops and tittie bars. Our collection grew and grew.

I guess I let it get a little out of hand. We started getting sloppy. It was when you started going out on your own collecting runs that I knew the honeymoon was over. It was my fault really. I failed you in our relationship and I am so incredibly sorry. I have always had trouble with communication. Communication with women in particular. I never fully explained the rules to you. There are a set of rules that govern the chaos that we succumb to when we go collecting. The first rule is don’t shit where you eat. No collecting where you or your family lives. The second is never make the next collection within 150-miles of the last one. The third, and probably the most important, the one that you broke, the one that broke my heart. Two as one was acceptable, but two separate collectors in the same state was against the rules. You got the bloodlust in you and started going out without me. We were a team. You called me your partner in crime and that felt so good. It felt natural and true. When I discovered that you had started your own collection I knew that the honeymoon was over. A two-year honeymoon is a long time by anyone’s standards, but you fucked up. I fucked up. But my survival instinct kicked in. I’m only human after all.

That’s why I surprised you in the shower yesterday. I wanted to see you as you are, natural, not all dolled up in your princess costumes. The piano wire cut my hands pretty badly but I wanted to see your face one last time. The hunting knife would have been the wrong tool for you. You deserved better. Something cleaner. Something poetic and musical.

Now before I start filling in your grave Denice, I want you to know that I love you and that I will never ever love another as much as I love you. Nobody will be able to share with me what we shared. I know that you are a little scared and that you are probably in a dark place now, and that is a frightening place to be. I’ve watched many others go there. If you are still near, if your soul is still near by, don’t watch. Just head into the tunnel, after the darkness you will see the ruddy glow of the fires of passion that my love has created for you, on the other side, to keep you company till I can be with you again. I’m burying this letter to you with you so that you will always remember the day we met and how much I love you.