NaBloPoMo 7.7

I didn’t plan to steal anything that day. In fact, I had never stolen anything in my life. OK, that’s not exactly true. I did have a plan. It wasn’t a plan to steal; it was just a plan to get what I needed. Man, nevermind. I didn’t plan to steal anything.

I needed to get to California. I didn’t know where to go; just knew I had to go, had to be there. Phoenix was a dead-end, man. There was no music scene; no people worthy of being in a band. No one is serious about music. No ambition, no dream. My friends just want to party and smoke out. I do that, too; and I have dreams – a band, me making music, gigs every night. California, that’s the place to be, man…Los Angeles or any place around there would surely have a place for me and my bass. I can get myself to California; then what…?

That’s when I met her. We struck up a conversation on some party line. She lived in California – a city called Riverside. She had 2 jobs, a house, a car and no self-esteem. It was perfect; she was perfect. Within twenty minutes, she had given me tons of information – and her phone number. This was the perfect scenario, man.

We talked throughout the night, every night. She was desperate for affection and sex and love. I hate to admit it, but I used this to my advantage. Whatever, dude – gotta do what you gotta do. We would talk, I would dangle some sort of compliment, she would eat it up then I wouldn’t call her for days. She would call; she would always call – early morning, late night. I would sit there, listen to her messages then delete it. Her tone went from casual, to frantic, to distraught and then apologetic, like she’d done something. This went on for weeks. By this time, it didn’t matter what she looked like or what I looked like. I had her, man. And I was moving to California.

Let me say that I am a master of twisting words, manipulating them and, in turn, controlling people. It’s twisted, circular logic. A girl with no self-esteem is very easy to manipulate; especially this girl. I contradict myself, get her all turned around and she ends up agreeing with me, no matter the topic or how strongly she disagrees. She was thrilled with my plan to move to Riverside to “be with her.” I had her talking about all the things “we” could and would do and see – the beach, the mountains, the desert, her favorite places. I was agreeable – sure, babe; I’d love that, too, babe; I want to kiss you under the stars, babe – quoting that Eagles song. Damn, that was just too easy. When she pushed back at my moving in with her, I was surprised. I was also ready for her resistance. My voice took on a harsh tone; I didn’t raise it or yell. It was clear I was angry. I called her a tease (You said this is what you wanted – me out there to do all these things with), said she was mean, called her a liar, called her selfish. She was flustered; couldn’t get words out to make her point – or any point. Then I dropped the three little words on her, man – “I love you;” let that hang for a minute…”but you don’t love me.” She started crying. “I do love you…” I kept the stern tone, talking over her as she uttered, sputtered and cried. She caved in, of course; I would be moving to California, baby! And moving in with her. Done, man. Perfect.

Over the next year and a half, I was able keep her under control easily. The stern harsh tone worked best on her. She didn’t know how to deal with me being disappointed. She just wanted to please me, man. If I didn’t like the TV program, I would say so and she would apologize. If she liked something, really really liked something, I would dismiss it (and her) as being stupid or not worth my time and she would apologize. I bought her the new Gin Blossoms’ cassette, telling her the band is from Phoenix and I’d heard they were good. She loved it; played it all the time. When she would ask me to listen to a particular song, I’d scowl and call the music crap. “How could you listen to that crap? That’s not music. That’s crap!”

Yeah, sometimes I yelled and threw things. She yelled, too, so that didn’t work for me because I would want to hit her. I would see red and come so damn close to hitting her with my cane. I had to throw shit or hit something else. I broke out a closet door one night; and knocked the bathroom door right off the hinges! Damn, I was pissed. I don’t even remember why, dude.

I complimented her once in a while and crushed her often. It wasn’t too hard to be nice to her, any little thing from me made her happy. She craved physical affection; she ached for it, man. I would touch her then I’d shun her. She would even beg for it – that was a trip. Never has a girl begged for it, man. But, she did. Yeah, she did. She begged. Oh, man – one time, we were making out and her mom called. I told her it was a ‘sign from God’ telling us we should wait til we were married. It was total bullshit! It worked though. That was a good one…

Food was another way to keep her in control. I would buy Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey ice cream, telling her “I thought of you today. I love you.” Then, blast her shit for being fat as she ate it. I would read then throw away her mail, I didn’t tell her when family or friends called and I gave her mixed messages – give her food, call her fat; tell her I love her but refuse to touch her or sleep in the same bed. I took her car for my own use, forcing her to carpool or miss work entirely. I used our bank card and money with complete disregard, causing checks to bounce; which resulted in us being kicked out of our apartment. Whatever. This girl was so twisted up!

Damn, this one time…oh, man, this was sad but funny…I bought her an emerald ring for our first Christmas together. She totally loved it. I told her it was an engagement ring until I could get a decent one for her. One night, after late night band practice, I stopped to buy weed. I didn’t have enough cash, but my dude said I could bring the rest in the morning. When I got home, she was asleep of course. I took the ring, hid it in my guitar case. The next morning, before work, she was tearing up the house looking for the ring, but she didn’t tell me that’s what she was looking for. When she was ready to walk out the door, I said “Lemme see your ring, babe.” She stammered and tried to leave. I took on that stern tone of voice. Man, I ripped her up! She was shaking and so upset. I slammed the door on her. A few days later, our roommate showed her the receipt she found in the trash that showed I returned the ring, got my cash back. That was messed up.

So, no, I didn’t plan to steal anything that day; but I did. I broke her down and I stole her soul.