I swear, you people are beginning to spoil me. Don’t know how to deal with it…kidding. Anyway, I do want to let you all know how much I appreciate the responses, and that I want to welcome all my new subs. I won’t let you down…not that you expect to be, I mean come on…it’s me. I think for the time being, my blog is going to take more of a column format. Still pieces of my life, but something that centers it around the world that I see.
Do Older Women Still Taste Like Ice Cream…Or Is It Just Bitter?
Have you ever hated to look at someone because when you do, you immediately start to daydream? Now I don’t mean some model, or maybe I do. But not on the level of, “ooh…he/she is so fine”. I mean really hate to look at them because that part of you that is neither an organ or a feeling starts to ache…that’s right…pride.
I feel that with a couple of people. I mean I can’t stand to look at them, and by look, I mean to take in every inch of them, every body movement, every glance, every nuance. Why? Because I can’t have them, or maybe it’s because I can have them, but I shouldn’t want to have them, you know things like that. It doesn’t just happen to me, it happens to everyone, somewhere, sometime.
I met her while working my little summer job this year. Helen is one of those that just punches pride so hard you just can’t stand to look at her, and I mean look at her.
For some reason, I have always had a thing for older women, not necessarily a mommy reflex, or something latent like that, I think it is the world weariness. Maybe I just have a thing for women who have been through the shit, puts us on an even playing field…maybe. (There’s your self-contained point of refrence, come back to it if you need to.)
Helen is a 38 year old woman who is divorced, but living with an alcoholic boyfriend and her 18 year old bi-polar son, who likes to fuck 14 and 15 year olds. That is the harsh reality of her life, and she doesn’t mince words about it, not to me at least.
How do I know all of this? Because I wanted to get laid, basically. Let’s begin at the beginning, shall we?
I had worked across from Helen in a different department, but not far enough that I didn’t notice her, or her legs. (Yes, I’m guilty of being a man.) I never really said much to her, because to be honest, there wasn’t much to say besides the errant hello. Other than that, though, is the fact that we seemed to always trade glances. As she was a supervisor in the department she worked in, I took those glances with a grain of salt..and suspicion. (I am overly suspicious of those in authority, call it a complex.)
After a few weeks, the department I worked in ran out of actual work to do, so in order to give us something to do, the people in my department were shipped over to her department. Now the thing that made me laugh was the “supervisor” coughmanhatinglesbiancough made an effort to warn us, especially me, that Helen wouldn’t put up with any shit from us, as if to set some sort of tone…whatever, I thought.
Soon enough, Helen and I were on speaking terms, and that meant that she was closer and closer to me every day, and I had no choice but to look at that knockout body of hers…so much that yes, it finally began to hurt to look. It became that I would look forward to coming to work just so I could check out Helen. Then one night, it changed.
After work on Thursdays, some people from the job would go over to a little tavern in Waynedale called The Hook and Ladder. Nothing more than a hole in the wall, but the drinks are cheap but strong. Well, one of those Thursdays, Helen and I were the only ones who showed up, so we drank together.
Liquor and beer usually open people up, and boy, Helen was no exception. In one night, I learned everything I could have ever wanted to know about her, and alot of things that I probably didn’t even want to know. More importantly, a friendship was formed.
When I drove home that night, I was intrigued that someone who didn’t know me all that well would just open up. I realized even then that she just needed someone to talk to, someone who wasn’t at home, because at home, there was nothing but disappointment.
So how did a finalist for the Miss Arizona crown end up as a divorcee with an alcoholic boyfriend who is essentially unhappy, and not really willing to change? Well, I later found out from her that she too is bi-polar, but not nearly to the degree her boy is. No, Helen’s problem in life is that first she married young out of lust (18), he was a good man, but being so young is never the foundation for a solid relationship, and as men tend to do, his eye wandered, and his pecker followed.
Being the strong defiant woman that she is, she moved from Arizona to Fort Wayne, to do the “brand new start” thing. It’s been working, but not working at all. Eventually, lust brought her to her current boyfriend who is nothing but a drunk, but he is a financially solvent drunk, ie: he knows how to bring the money home.
Long story short, he’s run her through the wringer for some time now, abusing her mentally and physically (she fights back, and apparently kicks his ass more than he does her). She’s left him many times, but he always seems to come back. Every therapist she’s gone to (and she’s gone through a couple) tells her that the problem in her life is him, and if he’s gone, her life will improve. For some reason, she can’t do it. She tries passive aggression such as using the knowledge that he despises body piercing, so she went and got a nose ring.
Helen’s no angel either. At 38, she looks like she is 28, and parties like she’s 18. She loved the dangerous types, and as a fault, still does. She told me about a guy back in Arizona who is waiting for her to call him and tell him she’s his. He’s a straight shooter, doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, has a big house, and a good amount of cash. She showed me the diamond bracelet he sent her a couple of birthdays back, so I believe her. The man has offered her the world, but she can’t do it. Going to him would mean living that same lifestyle, and she simply hasn’t gotten the partying out of her system yet.
I can’t hold that against her, because I think I understand where she is coming from.
Helen’s been so browbeaten for so long, that her self-esteem is at a real low. She hears everyone tell her how gorgeous she is, but she doesn’t buy it, so she dresses down most of the time. She rarely wears make-up, and could be by many standards the oldest tomboy I have ever seen. But all things being equal, there is something about her, that I can’t put my finger on, nor could anyone else, I wonder.
It makes you think though. How do you know that you’ve taken that wrong turn until you hit the dead end? It shows the price of a mistake, it shows what can happen to a life when caution is thrown to the wind.
Even though I’ve quit the job a few weeks ago, I still meet up with Helen over at the Hook and Ladder, I still do it because I like to drink, primarily, but mainly it’s because I know she needs someone who will listen, and listen without prejudice. People need that sometimes. We all do.
I’d be lying if I said that I won’t miss listening to Helen rake over the coals of her life every Thursday night, I’ll miss those legs. It shows the true fragility of people in this world. You’ll go everyday banging your chest about how much you like to be alone, how independence is the key to happiness, which is true up to a point, but it still remains that no one puts enough significance on the compassion of others.
It’s important to know that people still give a damn, because if they didn’t, if at least one person, no matter how insignificant, didn’t care, then why the hell do we bother?
It’s alot to swallow, but I trust you…to care.