it wasn't exactly
that kind of love
from chick flicks
from romance novels
or from that ideal fantasy
that they seemed to share

but somehow
not really understood
by either of them
they became instant friends
after only a few words
comfort was delivered
from some unknown place

a few years later
neither of them remembered
how they had come to meet
how they had come to be friends
but they both somehow knew
that their bond was real

there were feelings
attraction, curiosity, lust
of that, both of them were sure
but life made that connection
improbable
so they left it packed away
on the shelf in the hall closet

he had shared with her
a few times
not so much deliberately
but more conversationally
about his hard fought past
about his old life
in the bottom of a brown bottle

it occurred to her
on cool september morning
as she sipped a the vodka
she left in a glass
on the end table
before heading off to sleep last night
in her easy chair

it occurred to her
as they spoke on the phone
that maybe she was drinking
just a bit too often
just a bit too much
as she wondered why
she hadn't made it to her warm bed
again last night

it occurred to her
as they spoke on the phone
as he related a time of particular fright
when he didn't seem able to stop
it occurred to her
that perhaps her drinking was excessive

she dismissed the thought
listened with much interest
sipped on last night's drink
wondered what that nagging was
decided she might be hungry
for the first time in a few weeks
finished the drink
before heading to the kitchen

she opened the refrigerator
cordless phone on her shoulder
listening with interest
to her friend of many years
moved the bottle of chardonnay
from in front of the eggs

she removed the carton of eggs
and the bottle
as she realized
she was still a little thirsty
from a night on the cold couch
from finishing the glass of vodka
before rinsing the glass in the sink

just a few sips
just before breaking two eggs
worried three would make her queazy
as had happened
the last time she ate scrambled eggs
was it three or two last time?
she couldn't quite recall

the chardonnay nearly empty
she decided to finish it
one of her pet peeves
nearly empty bottle
in a crowded refrigerator

she placed the remaining eggs
still in the carton
back in the refrigerator
noticed the empty catsup bottle
two empty bottles of italian dressing
and a quart of milk
at least three weeks old

she made a mental note
to clean the refrigerator later
still listening to his story
wondering how anyone could fall
so far as to not have control of their lives
felt a twinge of judgment
tossed it aside
as she pushedd the chardonnay bottle
into her too full trashcan

as he finished his story
as she scrambled her eggs
he wondered why she was so distant
she wondered why he stopped talking
more and more, she disliked the quiet
more and more, he worried about her

"Angie?"
She heard his voice
She shook her head
Where was she?

She knew, of course, where she was
In her kitchen
In the house she had lived in for six years
In the house she had shard with Jim
Before his incident
She still didn't like calling it a suicide

"Angie?"
Suddenly, without warning
Angie crumbled
As ten thousand thoughts
Flooded into her mind
Overwhelmed her hard heart
Somehow broke through

The recognition was blinding
Angie felt the weight of a hundred bad decisions
Angie felt the sorrows of her universe
Sam had somehow cut through
She knew she was no longer alone

She decided to celebrate her newfound clarity
She decided to take the edge off
"Hang on Sam. Give me a minute."
Angie poured the water into the sink
Refilled it with the noxious elixir
Swallowed hard

she shed one more tear
as she realized what she had done
a choice made
she refilled the glass
put the phone back on her shoulder
"ok, i'm back, sam."