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John Doe 81, Boston (From the collection John Doe: Yeah I Fucked You)

It’s like this–he’s after me, all eyes all suggestions but he’s with her so I think oh so honorably no no no I can’t. I see them around in the bars, they come to see my rock band. I’m the singer. He winks and tells me I’m a star from the constellation Isis and that he’s written a play about me. But she is so nice to me. No no no I can’t. I don’t want to hurt anybody, he’s got the seven year itch. This kind of secret foreplay goes on for about a year. OK this is going to sound complicated but I had to leave town over my bust up with S. I went to the desert for six months and went mad, running around naked with gila monsters and scorpions. When I returned I was still half mad and not looking so good. Something snapped inside of me. (Banging another girl’s boy had been a cardinal sin in my patchy list of ethics but after losing my mind in the desert the cardinal flew away.) I ran into him on the street soon after I got back to town and I didn’t care anymore about ethics only dick. He looked at me like I had been in a car wreck. I scared him because my soul was disfigured. He put me off.

Finally, he invited me to a cast party for a play he was directing and said, “Sure baby, I still want to.” He looked nervous. Everything had changed. This pissed me off. I mean he’s banging other girls behind his girlfriend’s back and with my new attitude goddamn it I was going to get some too. So at the cast party I sat on a couch and drank. He avoided me. As he passed by once I drunkenly asked loudly, “When?” Startled, he answered, “Soon.” She saw and heard us. She walked up to me, I’m thinking uh oh, here it comes, we’ve been found out. I wince as she bends her face down to me. She smashes into me with her body and kisses me. I’m so surprised I kiss back. We start making out in front of all his friends and his actors at the cast party. Here is this nice girl whom I’ve been feeling guilty about coveting her boyfriend and she’s slipping me the tongue. Later after the actors leave, the passion play begins. He’s on me she’s on me. He she me we.

Well just as I suspected, it all went to shit. He freaked out and wouldn’t talk to me anymore. I have no idea whatever happened to the play he wrote about me. She moved out on him and we carried on for a few months but it terminated after she moved in with another guy named John.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jeri Cain Rossi is author of Red Wine Moan and Angel With A Criminal Kiss. Her writing appears most recently in the anthology New Orleans Noir.

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First published in 3:AM Magazine: Friday, August 3rd, 2007.