The U-Haul Diary by K B Draper

Author:K B Draper [Draper, K B]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781105152153
Publisher: K.B. Draper, LLC.
Published: 2014-12-06T05:00:00+00:00

If you love someone let them go; if they return they are yours forever.

If you keep letting them return …

Umm, yeah I got nothing.

Loren September 2000

I was supposed to be meeting Stacy, Little Jo, and Sheila for drinks but, as always, I was running late. I jumped into the shower, having time to tend to only the top three essential areas: Butt, hootie, and head. I was applying conditioner when my phone rang. Knowing it was Stacy calling to inquire where I was, I blindly reached out of the shower and grabbed my phone. “I’M COMING. I’M COMING. GEEZ!”

“Good to know,” a voice, not Stacy’s, but just as familiar, replied. It had been nearly two years since I’d heard from Loren. Why was she calling now? Probably like all good predators, she could sense when her victim was wounded, vulnerable, and weak.

“Loren?” I said softly.

“How are you?” she asked.

HANG UP! HANG the FUCK UP! Ahhh man … Why am I not hanging up? “Okay. You?”

“Okay. I’ve just been thinking about you lately and wanted to see how you are.”

“I’m fine. It’s been two years. Why are you calling now?”

“I’ve missed you. Can we get together? I want to see you.”

NO! HELL NO! “Ummm … Sure. Yes, I guess.” Oh my God, who is this talking right now? To-do list: Make an appointment with a priest for an exorcism.

She talked for a little longer and we said good-bye. I remained sitting on the edge of the tub, wondering what I had just done. I must have stolen candy from babies, kicked old women, slapped nuns, and tortured kittens in a past life because that was the only viable explanation for why God was punishing me in this one.

The phone rang again. She must be calling back because she forgot to ask for money or a vial of my blood. I answered tentatively, “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Stacy’s voice boomed from the other end.

“I’m coming. I’m coming! Geez!”

I toweled off, grabbed the hairdryer, and began to dry my hair. What the hell? I jumped back into the shower, rinsed the conditioner out of my hair, and redid the butt and hootie routine just in case it was actually a “do” versus a “redo.”

Loren called the next day. “Can I come over?”

“Sure,” I replied.

To-do list: Move up the appointment with the exorcist.

Loren showed up an hour later. She looked the same, same big smile and same big personality.

“So how’s Whitney?” I asked as I motioned for her to take a seat on the couch.

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to her in over a year.”

Fleetwood Mac’s “Little Lies” began playing in my head. “Hmmm.”

“How about you? You been seeing anyone?” she asked.

I decided not to reply, “Yes. In the two years of your absence I found the love of my life, lost her due to my own insecurities, and she moved to another state with an over-caring nurse taking my heart with her and leaving me broken, numb, and empty, and as a result I apparently am now susceptible to bouts of stupidity and self-destructive behavior (i.

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