Lonely Woman Blues

I need a man.

This sentence actually ran through my mind last night as I tried to haul 2 loaves of bread, 2 bottles of wine, 8 gifts, 45 turkey meatballs, and my purse through the pouring rain up a steep set of wooden steps to my truck. This involved opening and closing two doors, turning on and off two lights, keeping my hood up, and then opening and loading the truck.

Hefting the load up in one trip, the poignancy of my yearning struck me. I really did need a man. Or someone, for god’s sake, to just fricking help me get to the two parties I attended last night.

As it was, the items I was carrying took a great deal of time to prepare and cost a good bit of money. I huffed up a few more steps, that much closer to the truck, and contemplated what it would be like to not only have someone to help me carry things but also, to split the bill.

Warming the truck up, my thoughts continued as I sat in the dark cab by myself, a host of goodies arranged on the floor. I wondered what it would be like to have someone to go to these parties with—a warm hand to hold, somebody else in the room who knew me well enough to know when I was ready to leave and when I might like another glass of wine.

The realization was enough to wrack my whole body with sobs, though after a brief moment I forced myself to stop. I was already late and smeared mascara wasn’t going to speed anything up. I shifted the truck into gear and pointed down the mountain.

The headlights shone across a dark, wet forest, patches of lichen lit up along the rocks like Nature’s road signs. Which way were these signs telling me to turn? I looked to my right at the passenger seat, thinking this is when I’d ask someone’s advice. The seat was empty.