She drank his fifth beer, on a three-to-six beer Tuesday night in December, and they held hands tightly as they walked to the strip club. She didn’t think much of him then, but then again, she didn’t think of much at all. She went along because she wanted to seem cool, and he made the suggestion still testing his limits. He got a lap dance from a stripper she thought was fat, but his eyes barely left hers, and the conversation never dropped, and it did count for something, despite what you think. And yes it seems sad, but it’s the life that they chose.
It must take an awful lot of core strength to hang upside down like that. And, no, I don’t want a lap dance, but I’ll still take that shot. And the beer’s not too good here, but if it’s cheap, I’ll drink it. And when it’s lit, it’s fire, and when it rained, it poured, and one stripper’s dance so pleased the gods, that champagne and money both poured to the floors. And through all of this his eyes barely left hers, and when the conversation dropped, it was time to leave, so they floated away.
She thought of him much as they started to walk home, still holding hands, though perhaps a bit more relaxed than before. And they shared one of those conversations where no words are said. Two of a kind, we are. Birds of a feather. And he swore she could hear his thoughts, or at least she understood. One in a million, she is. A real gem. Through hell and high water, they’re in this together.