Last night was exhausting beyond all comprehension. I had just managed to hide the laptop before He entered slamming the door behind him. He didn’t say anything when he entered the camper, he just cried. He cried, and cried, and cried.
The camper is small. It has a long galley with a tiny kitchenette in the center. There are a set of steps that lead to a cot that is separated from the galley by a thick floral curtain that reeks of cigarette smoke and dirty feet. Is this what fear smells like? At the opposite end of the galley there is just enough room for two chairs and a T.V. trey with a small television poised on top of it.
He left me alone to watch a VHS copy of Girls Gone Wild while He hid on the other side of the curtain. Fifteen minutes behind the curtain He began to play the song Sister Christian by Night Ranger. This is when the bawling began. He became hysterical. The song played over and over for at least three hours. Occasionally he would scream the word motorin’.
When he finally came out from behind the curtain his face was so swollen and his eyes were so bulgy I could barely recognize him. He looked more like William Shatner in his older years. For the rest of the evening he was unintelligible, but it did not keep him from trying to communicate with me.
After a hearty plate of Spam and pork and beans he sat with me and watched the Girls Gone Wild video. He wept while batting at the obvious erection through his stained overalls. Without any warning he vaulted from the chair and retrieved a banjo from the miniscule bathroom in the corner of the galley. When the video was finished he played Open Arms by Journey on his banjo until I finally fell asleep.
When I woke the first thing I noticed was He had changed my clothes. This dress is filthy white lace with large sweat stains on the armpits. He has somehow managed to bobby pin cheese danishes to the sides of my head. I look like a white trash bridal Princess Leia. Don’t know if he is going to eat me or fuck me…
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