I’d met Salome through a friend from work when we went out drinking. They were friends from college. She’s beautiful in a thin sort of way, but not unhealthily thin. She dwells in intellectualism which I think was the draw for her. I just thought she was sexy.

She’d agreed to go out on a date to see The Hobbit on my birthday. To see how terrible it would be compared to the book.

“Did you ever watch the 70s animated film?” I’d asked.

“Oh my God, yes! So bad.”

We’d spoken a couple of times since then. She and I both had finals. Hers were legit tests in difficult classes. Mine was just more poetry. More writing.

What I’d gleaned about her was she would make first moves in an impatient sense. That type of girl. I had to beat her to the punch. I spent the week ensuring I was groomed, trimmed, angular. Hard as rock. This girl would splash against a cliff.

Then there was news yesterday morning. Real sad news. Most days, I handle it, especially if someone else needs that. But there wasn’t anything to do. I wasn’t going to be on for the date, let alone in a place to close it afterward. I didn’t have the energy for it. From rock to beach sand. I’d be particles beneath her waves.

I called her, explained. Remained adamant. “I’m going to be a bummer today,” I said. “I won’t be much fun.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright. What about this weekend?”

“I have to work through it. I just think I need to mellow out.”

It was silent for an extended moment, then she said, “Okay. Call me if you need anything?”

“Sure. Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hung up and thought, Am I going to be one those fucks? Those sad in the pants limp dicks who bemoan every other damn thing?

I knew I would be. Not openly, not honestly, but I would be.

The craft beers flowed at a bar near to the motel where I was staying. I drank a few pints alone and pissed into the trough in the bathroom. The mirror on the wall had scrawls all along it. Lots of gang bullshit, some names. There was a “Megan” in a corner and something about love. Piss wall poetry. I thought about Salome. Her bony hands and dark curls. My dick became semi-hard and I wished I’d gone on the date. I purchased more beer after I left the bar and went home to the motel.

I laid in bed pantsless and thought of her when I was too drunk to stand. The many things I could’ve done but didn’t. Grief is an awfully complicated thing.