At 3:26 of a dismal, Weehawken morning, the call was received
while I stared absently at the Manhattan skyline. Fourteen minutes later,
the call ended as abruptly as it had started.
Terms of separation were agreed to that quickly.
Wife of 12 years could keep house and the Carol King collection.
Eleven of the 12 were excruciatingly boring but there was a child between us.
We had another thing in common beside the 12 stations of the cross and the kid,
we had married too young. The divorce was decreed in Santo Domingo
which shares the island of Hispanola with Haiti.
How's that for a geography lesson. Across the street from the lawyer's office
was a lowlife bar, the kind you see in south of the border movies.
Cornelia and I shared there in Santo Domingo our last margarita.
How's that for a Meryl Haggard ballad! We popped a coin in the jukebox,
and danced in Santo Domingo one last bolero. The locals seemed amused.
I read their thoughts, "These gringos dance like elephants."
"One more for the road?" I inquired of the ex Mrs. Wellington, meaning;
let's have a banger -- meaning; let's have some rough and tumble sex.
She declined.
Boy, did she decline. She declined steep and hard.
Mutual acquaintances informed me that she took up with a toy boy type,
probably something she picked up in Santo Domingo.
In any event, Cornelia took sick
and eventually died of AIDS.
How's that for a kicker!
Luck of the draw, I suppose had spared me,
which brings me to the question;
What is chance and what is kismet?
Conclusion: A stranger entered
may have no exit,
but to exit.
Friday, October 9, 2009
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