Dear Meg,
I know the counselor said we shouldn't contact each
other during our "cooling off" period, but I couldn't
wait anymore. The day you left, I swore I'd never talk
to you again. But that was just the wounded little boy
in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the first
one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always
you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my
pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's cost
me a lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't
miss you. I don't care about looking bad anymore. I
don't care who makes the first move as long as one of
us does. Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as
loudly as our hurt. And this is what my heart says:
"There's no one like you, Meg ."
I look for you in the eyes and breasts of every woman
I see, but they're not you. They're not even close.
Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Erie House and
brought her home with me. I don't say this to hurt
you, but just to illustrate the depth of my
desperation. She was young, maybe 19, with one of
those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a
childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just
a perfect body. Tits like you wouldn't believe and an
ass that just wouldn't quit. Every man's dream, right?
But as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner,
I thought, look at the stuff we've made important in
our lives. It's all so superficial. What does a
perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed?
Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I'm getting
at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a
better heart than my moderately attractive Meg? I
doubt it. And I'd never really thought of that before.
I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little.
Later, after I'd tossed her about a half a pint of
throat yogurt, I found myself thinking, "Why do I feel
so drained and empty?" It wasn't just her flawless
technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but
something else. Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did
it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't
feel the same because you weren't there to watch.
Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same
without you. Jesus, Meg , I'm just going crazy without
you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the
Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped by
last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured
I wasn't eating right without a woman around.
I didn't know what she meant till later, but that's
not the real story. Anyway, we had a few glasses of
wine and the next thing you know, we're banging away
in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in
the sack. She's giving me everything, you know, like a
real woman does when she's not hung up about her
weight or her career and whether the kids can hear us.
And all of a sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on
your grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on the
floor and we straddle it, right, so we can watch
ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad,
too. Cause I can't help thinking, "Why didn't Meg ever
put the mirror on the floor? We've had this old vanity
for what, 14 years, and we never used it as a sex
toy."
Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the
restraining order. I mean, Vicki's just a girl and
all, but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders
and she's been a real friend to me during this painful
time. She's given me lots of good advice about you and
about women in general. She's pulling for us to get
back together, Meg, she really is. So we're doing
Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath and talking about
happier times. Here's this girl with the same DNA as
you and all I can do is think of how much she looked
like you when you were 18. And that just about makes
me cry. And then it turns out Vicki's really into the
whole anal thing, that gets me to thinking about how
many times I pressured you about trying it
and how that probably fueled some of the bitterness
between us. But do you see how even then, when I'm
thrusting inside your baby sister's cinnamon ring, all
I can do is think of you?
It's true, Meg. In your heart you must know it. Don't
you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the
grievances away and start fresh? I think we can. If
you feel the same please, please, please let me know.
Otherwise, can you let me know where the fucking
remote is.
Love, Jimmy
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