When all else fails, doctor the truth up for entertainment value.

"I was out last night and had some stuffed flounder
that reminded me of your mom's. That was always my favorite
recipe of hers. I still remember the time the two of you made it
on my birthday years ago."

I like to catch 'em off-guard
with a random opener like that sometimes,
its the equivalent of having pole position in a race.

"Wow," she says, "long time no talk. How've ya been?"

I stubbornly ignore her question
like I foolishly ignored her love
at the end of our time together and get right
to the meat:

"He doesn't need to know the whole story, Beth."

She flounders for a few awkward syllables.

"Whattaya mean by that?"

"Oh, you know...the minor details."

Again, more floundering. I stoop down to the level
I'm pretending
not to be at for the time being
and get good and specific.

"Look, he was my friend long before he was your lover."

A series of rhetorical questions that might've worked
seven years ago when we were an item
and not the present strangely familiar strangers
like the thumb tack on the floor and the somnambulist,
followed by a request to explain further.
(Apparently 'specific' varies according to gender.)

"We always hate the ones who've done our women
wrong in the past, and we all know my modus operandi.
Keep it vague for my sake, OK?
I'm tired of losing friends over women."

Suddenly it clicks in her head and she swears to leave me out of it,
whatever picture she intends to paint when the time comes.
I have enough shame to live with as a result of the last few years
and thankfully she respects that
which is far more than I deserve.
I counter with a truthful blessing:

"I'm happy for the both of you. The more I think
about your personalities
the more sense it makes. You guys deserve each other,
in a good way."

I practically watch her blush though we can't see each other.
Yeah, that's the reaction I wanted; let her know he wasn't lying
about how surprisingly supportive I was when he broke
the news to me
at the bar that night:
my high school sweetheart fell for him
and vice versa.
It must've come as a shock to them, but nothing
shocks
me
these days.
Like I told her, I've lost enough friends over women.

We make small-talk for awhile.
Then she decides to try to return the favor
by hitting me with a back-handed compliment of sorts:

"Dave, you were right about Liz."

I keep talking like I didn't hear her, to no avail.

"She's a bitter back-stabber."

More rambling on my part.
Anything but the "You told me so about so-and-so" speech, not now.

"I see her for what she is finally. You're a good judge of character."

Oh Lord, haven't they learned that giving someone like me credit
for mere observation (which is all any of this is)
is just more pissing in the wind?

"Well, let's just hope that's true and I really did place my bet on the right new couple."

There, I disarmed it with a positive spin
for the time being,
just like I always do
for the amount of time it takes to end the conversation and get away.

"Goodnight, Beth."

"Ditto, Dave."

Click.

But for Christ's sake,
Why can't they just let me be wrong when I want them to?
I'd like to believe that the cynic in me is as terribly mistaken
as the realist.





Currently reading:
"The Night Torn Mad With Footsteps" by Charles Bukowski.