Crazy Dates 4 by Bill Schott |
It was a strange time between wives. I realize now that I was probably dealing with some PTSD effects, which were taking me down a rabbit hole. I had returned from a traumatic time in Beirut a few months earlier to find that my wife had left me and abandoned our son with the neighbors. Sitting on a bar stool, I was approached by a relatively young woman. She had been over-served and was trolling for a ride home. I can only imagine that I viewed this exchange as something occurring outside myself, and I agreed to give her a ride. The next morning, I woke up in my bed alone. This was odd, since I had been sleeping on my couch for over a month. I found a note on the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room in my double-wide mobile home. It read: OSCAR, I'M TAKING YOUR TRUCK HOME. BE BACK IN THE MORNING. Oscar had become my alias when meeting people with whom I wasn't willing to be totally up front. I was left wondering who had my truck, as the previous night's activities were still lost in the fog of my pickled brain.
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Bill Schott
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