THE NEXT MORNING

I was dreaming. I had come to a fork in the road. One path led to heaven and the other to hell. I didn't know which one to choose, so I opened my eyes and looked at the fan twirling around and around above me. No different than me, it seemed to be chasing its tail. 

Next to me slept a woman with her back to me. I thought about turning her over, but my head throbbed and I had no energy. I tried to remember her name, but I had no success. I couldn't recall if she had a pretty face or big tits. Neither of us were wearing any clothes, but I couldn't remember disrobing when we returned to my apartment. 

It was a little after ten. The game was starting at noon and I needed her to vacate the premises before the pals appeared for the usual Sunday gathering. I rose, weaved my way to the shower and stood under the hot water for 15 minutes. It had been a usual Saturday night, so I didn't waste my time mentally retracing my footsteps. Instead, I swallowed a handful of pills.

I returned to my bedroom and donned a pair of shorts. I was too lazy to wear anything else. She was moving under the sheets, so I took the opportunity to say, "Listen, babe. I'm going to fix breakfast. Do you want a cup of coffee?" She mumbled a muffled yes. "There's plenty of hot water if you care to take a shower. There's also a clean towel hanging on the rack." 

I keep a clean towel. They communicate that you're not a complete slob. I couldn't decide if I felt like listening to Monk or Miles. Rather than making a selection I went with Jobim. I needed a beat that would enthuse me with energy. I was also faced with preparing bacon and eggs or pancakes. 

I could hear the shower running. Good, I thought. All systems were a go. I needed her out by twelve. As stupid as it would sound, I would tell her my mother was visiting. I was confident that she had heard worse excuses as her one-night-stand lovers did their best to push her out the door. 

I settled on bacon and eggs. I needed to grease my stomach. My buddies would be showing up with beer as we embarked on a six-hour marathon. I was cracking the eggs into the bacon grease when she emerged from the fog. I have done much worse. She was on the thicker side, but she was young with attractive features. She was wearing a blouse that displayed a generous cleavage. 

I would have to get her number. She might come in handy on a slow night or when I was in desperate need of a short visit. It had been years since I had adopted the fuck-'em-forget-'em philosophy. Life had taught me the importance of keeping a corral. 

"Did you sleep well?" I asked. "Do you have any aspirins? I feel like somebody has split my head with an axe." I wondered if I had split her, but I couldn't recollect any details from our tryst. Xanax was constantly wiping my slate cleans. 

We ate breakfast without speaking a word. We were both nursing our woes although I was returning to the surface. I needed my mojo if I was going to keep pace with the buds. It was a little after eleven. Looking at her haggard face, I could tell that she was going to sleep all afternoon. I waited until she finished her meal when I gave her a scrap of paper. 

"Put down your phone number and include your name, so I know for sure it's your number." "Donna" was her name as the Ritchie Valens' song goes. Since I don't have a car, I assumed we had arrived in her vehicle although we could have taken an Uber. It had been a liberal night of imbibing. 

"Did we make it to my place in your car?" "Yes." "That was dangerous." "I suppose it was." "At least it's not a long drive from downtown to my place." "I think that's the reason I took a chance. I've already had one DUI. I can't afford another one." "I hate to sound impolite, but I'm expecting my mother in a little while and I think we would feel uncomfortable the three of us together." 

She chuckled. 

"I haven't been with many men who were expecting their mother to visit, but I have been in situations when men literally dragged me out of their houses." "I don't want you to get the wrong impression. I would enjoy your company, but my mother has the bad habit of giving her looks and afterwards reprimanding me as if I were still her little boy. I would like to see you again. Is that fine?" 

"That's fine, but I would like to ask you a favor. I'm broke and I'm sure there isn't much gas in the tank. Could you help me out?" "Sure. How much?" "Anything will help." "Will $50 be sufficient?" "That's great." 

Upon further scrutiny I concluded that she wasn't a bad-looking chic. Youth is the great equalizer. I thought about an encore, but I didn't have the vigor. We traded a few more pleasantries when she caught the drift. 

"I'm going now." "Would you like me to walk you to your car?" "That's not necessary. It's just down the stairs, right." "You got it." "Bye then." "I'll give you a call soon and we'll hook up again if that's fine with you." "That's fine with me." 

We traded glancing kisses on the lips and she departed. I washed the dishes. I was ready to receive my next round of guests. The life of a single man offers ephemeral escapes from loneliness.