Love Underappreciated

word count: 1510

Love Underappreciated

You have to understand, I never meant for this to happen. You look at me now, with my war wounds, with my bruised but unbowed heart, and I'm sure you're wondering, "How the--?"
Yes, I understand. Believe me. Let me start at the beginning.

That night, after he left my place, I couldn't bear it. I knew he was going to her.

He, with his sly feint of a kiss goodbye, his half-hearted, half-body hug. I knew. He'd just finished splashing on her favorite, Old Crusty Sailor.
And me, nude but for the Goofy Droopy eyeglasses he liked me to wear. I listened to them slinky unevenly as I watched him through the swaying metal loops.

When I heard his car door close, and the familiar "ahhOOOgah!" of the horn, I lost all dignity, all self-control. Or so I thought. I'd learn differently in the trial to come.

I fitted my knee cymbals and tore through the underbrush surrounding my tent, heedless of the scratches from the branches, and emerged at roadside, fist in the air.
"I shall never give up, my love! Nev--," I hurled myself into the drainage ditch with a metallic clank, before the oncoming Pacer could cut short my vow of eternal hope. I scrambled back onto the asphalt, fist back in the air. "Never!"

I realized at that point following would be difficult, as I owned no car, and could drive almost as well as a small monkey, which really isn't very well at all. (Their tiny feet can't reach the pedals, you see.) All was lost. She lives nearly a mile off in the distance. How would I ever make that sort of trek, without a car? Without someone to drive me? I sat on the loose gravel, regretting it immediately as several nuggets drove deep into my bare buttocks, and thought. Nothing. No ideas. Except a really good one about maybe moving to a grassy spot.

As I thought, I swiveled my eyes around, as if aware of my surroundings (a self-defense technique I picked up -- no need to actually be aware of what's going on, because the impression itself wards off any would-be attackers.)
The impression might have been hindered by the eyeglasses, as they really did hamper a clear view, and I was attacked. Attacked by an army of summer midges, who possibly did not attend the same self-defense seminar I had.

Writhing in bone-searing agony, I dropped to the ground and screamed until my cries were raw whimpers, pounding the earth until the strength left my limbs, and I gave in, exhausted. I can safely say they feasted upon my flesh for a solid twenty seconds. An eternity. I shall never forget the pain, the utter devastation.

After they left, sated, I sat up. Shaky, desperate to find my lover before he finished slaking his carnal thirst upon that woman, I raised my fist once again, took a few resigned, barefoot steps, and stumbled over an unfortunate pile of roadkill. I'd had no idea I was so close to it, but I considered it a friend, after our shared torment under the savagery of the midges.

"Good wishes to you, small dead creature. May you find happiness, as I seek my own." And I was off.

Into the evening, I walked. Each step a reminder of my lover's toe-suckling, earlier that day. Oh, how he enjoyed a lengthy toe tonguing. I began to perspire, the Goofy Droopy eyeglasses slipping farther down my nose, until I gave up and tucked them under my bare breast. The left one. (You may be surprised to know how useful they are for this sort of thing.)

I kept a steady beat in my head, faltering only for the dramatic poses I struck at oncoming cars, hoping for a stranger's generosity in my most urgent time of need. Finally, one slowed. I'm quite sure my interpretation of Isolde's desolation in her loss resulted in their burgeoning inspiration. That and the knee cymbals.

I climbed into the back of the sedan, offering up my biggest smile, and introduced myself to the family inside.

"Good eve to you, fair travelers," I extended my hand. "Many thanks for your--"

"Please get out," The father intoned, his eyes rather bugging out. His wife, watching me over her shoulder from the passenger seat, slowly raised an open roadmap. Her mouth was open, slack. "We, ehm, we stopped briefly to check...and, ehm, please get out. Please."

She nudged him with her elbow, gesturing with her head toward me. He nodded.

"And leave the gear."

The tires sprayed gravel in their excitement to get back to their journey, and I -- I continued onward, determined not to despair in my lowest few minutes. Naked, filthy, gouged and betrayed, I fostered the strength to keep moving toward my goal.

Then I realized, "But, with what will I entice him back betwixt my loins? I have nothing!" Nothing except my bared flesh, my bared soul, my bared feet. Feet. Hm.
An epiphany! I could walk the remaining several hundred feet to my lover's embrace! Granted, I may have to squeeze between him and her, both.

My jaw firm with resolute courage, I followed it down the road. I focused on the intermittent yellow stripes, adding a skip after each one, ignoring the honks and cries from the cars behind me. My heart swelled beneath the mounting support I received from these kind souls. The closer I came to my destination, the louder they called out, cheering me on.

"Get outta the road, naked chick!"
"Move it, skank!"
"What're you, drunk??"

Oh, my friends, I am indeed drunk. Drunk on the promise of love requited! Drunk on the power of a beating heart, and my feet beat that rhythm on the pavement. Each step brought me closer to my beloved, and soon, I would hear his voice.

I turned onto her street, where her shack leaned, all bright pinks and yellows in the dusk. My road posse burned rubber in sympatico, and I was alone. Alone to face my fate. For here, at this point, weary, bruised, lungs filled with car exhaust, I began to doubt. What, indeed, would I offer up to reawaken his love for me, in the crucial moment? And, why would he, my heart's mate, be in her arms at this very moment, calling out the pet name he gave me? With each repetition, my soul sank further. I was Takeitbitch. Takeitbitch. That was me!

Anger swelled in my brain, buzzing like so many Africanized bees. I twitched, as I crept closer to the shack. The longer I listened, the more resigned I was to reality. This was, indeed, the love shack. Ablutions of love were soaking into the bedsheets as I crawled in the dark, dreading a glimpse of their bliss. And still, I kept going. I was compelled. I had to see, to know in my heart what she had. What drew him to her?

I knelt beneath the open window, and peered into the rough-boarded room, noting the Cold Duck on the table, the torn granny panties draped romantically over the stained lampshade. And I saw them. My breath caught as I caressed him with my gaze, his pointy brillo-pad hair, fiery orange in the dim light, his squeaker nose beating a light staccato against her forehead, his oversized gloves gripping the bedposts. Ah, to be in his embrace but once more. I would give anything!

Then, I saw them. Waving in the air, like seaweed dancing in the ocean current. Graceful, sensuous, undeniable. I had lost, and I knew why. Clown feet. Perfect, natural, bare, irresistible. She wielded size 20s, easily. Flippy had always been drawn to feet, to their secluded nooks, the magical prizes to be found between their toes, to the shape and heft. I accepted defeat, and my soul deflated with an extended "ffffffft".

I bowed my head with respect, and backed away from the window and the fight, both. My heart hung low in my chest, and I resigned myself to a long, empty journey home. I turned before my eyes had readjusted to the dark, and stepped on the tines of a rake in the yard. KAPOW! Right between the eyes.

As i drifted off, gazing up at the stars circling my head, I saw him. Flippy hovered above me, and I struggled to hang on long enough to understand his pleas for forgiveness. (Hope dies a hard death, you see.) I blinked, grasped at his hand as someone hanging from a ledge, and he spoke, his wheezy falsetto a balm to my ears.

"Hey, kid. See you under the big top. Gotta smoke?"

Yes! I was still in the game! My soul flowered open, filled with my soaring heart's ecstasy. I was, however, still quite injured, but managed a crooked, possibly nerve-damaged smile.

I faded to the sweet, subtle sound of Flippy scritching his groin.