A Novel Harm Reduction Strategy.

 

When we reached the bottom of the stairs, I remembered that I'd once shown her a picture of a man whose name sounded very much like a word which most people are hesitant to use, at least not if they were meeting a new acquaintance for drinks out of state. Later, at my parents house, she went through the motions of appearing aloof, all the while patiently scheming whenever I re-entered the vestibule to retrieve one or another item from my coat which was hanging there, where I'd placed it in shame not hours before. I'd been counting on her for more than this and she didn't let me down. She didn't even let me go on believing that my version of a somewhat important event had a ring all its own. I could go on explain how and why it came to be that I repeatedly had to wash nickel dust off my trouser leg while she bandied her alternative sexual theories in the company of some very dubious characters, but that would be redundant, at best.

Each of them had slid down a ramp in a crumpled sort of manner which only added to my feeling of betrayal. One of them (the shortest of the three) carried a laminated Authorization Letter. Whenever I opened my mouth to issue a studious bromide, he'd wave the letter in my very face, as if that somehow excused their role in helping my wife limit her role in an admittedly temporary process to no more than a few seconds at best. When, later that month, I found what appeared to be some telltale office supplies in the hutch they shared with an alcoholic dentist, I resolved to take the calm approach of a seasoned observer of human frailty which I know myself to be. At least on a day like this. But, when people lie to your face and bring up all kinds of nutty subjects which nevertheless fail to get to the heart of the root of faulty decision-making, then there's a word for that. It's not a word that'll win me any friends in high places. But, at this late date, is anyone under the erroneous impression that I still care? Because, if so, please. Okay?

When I dared to show my face at the local constabulary, my voice took on the pitch of a recondite Pastor. I had mixed all the ingredients in a glass bowl which we'd received as a Holiday gift from her parents' therapist. She notified me via an errant text message that the crucial element was not to be found on this, or any other, major body of water. I pleaded with a well known winner of the Stewardship Award to have her brought into compliance at his own expense. This led to a a very telling screaming match in which he threatened to have me short-listed for the Booker Prize. I'd known from the beginning that this was a major misstep on the part of his Advisory Council. They never stopped looking for ways to have me implicated in a shocking water event of the first magnitude. I've tried like the dickens to help her get over the loss of her puppy. All I've got to show for my efforts is a stained necktie. Anyone out there considering issuing a stop-payment order should perhaps sleep on it. There couldn't be any harm in that, right? Well?

_______________________