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It's not like she didn't get anything out of it. She was a prostitute who got to feel hope for about five months. That was nice.
She got out of the inadequate bathtub in the charity house vowing three things: her next life would have a fireplace, a plentitude of hot water, and a man who loved her as beautifully as she loved him.
Like that book by Armistead Maupin though, you can have two out of the three but never all three.
She was so very lucky. She had everything she had asked for from the last lifetime. She had despised contemptuously her second husband - thought he was both boring and cowardly. He beat and choked her thought and finally showed her who boss was.
She was learning a lot who boss was and learning all the time that it wasn't her.
Her last relationship defined "the girlfriend experience" - the most requested menu item in the prostitution book. She embodied the person who adored, but then she felt like the aging Japanese hooker from 1400's Japan who gave blow jobs because no one wanted to be with their bodies.
Hers still had a lot of life on it. When she masturbated, she liked to imagine she had a shape like a soft warm cello.
She could NOT resist saying he had played her like a Stradivarius fool. Why not? who gave a fuck. She was alone in fucking Macon, and she had no cross puzzles to distract her - and she wasn't going to join a fucking gym just to do something.
The dried daisy was to her left always. She wondered what she'd say to the sun if she ever had balls and opportunity:
1. Did you ever have the slightest inkling that you might actually love me?
2. Were you constantly on the dating apps looking for better?
3. Are you girls who are "friends" really just friends with benefits who you mutually tag when loneliness dictates?
4. What did you think of me? was I just a lark? an ephermal distraction
5. How many lovers have you actually had? Does this happen a lot?
6. Why did you and your wife break up? Did you cheat? did she?
7. What do you want?
and on and on....
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