Brock began shaving at fourteen and by sixteen he was doing it twice it day. I’ve known him for thirty years, ever since he fixed our first car. I know he doesn’t really know me. It’s the merchant syndrome. If you walk into your local drugstore that pharmacist is the only pharmacist and you never forget her. She gives you your Valium and you leave with a smile, but she sees you as just one of a thousand people for which she dispenses pills.
I grew up fixated on men like Brock. Hairy knuckles, broad chest, the stink of testosterone and not an emotion within a thousand miles. I tried, but never got to be one.
I’d a reason to be back in Somerville when a friend needed help with the foundation of his porch. In his neighborhood, I swung by to see Brock and what he could do with my dented front end.
I also wanted to see his wife, Sharon, who made my knees wobble. She wore lots of red: earrings, lipstick, and tight sweaters – all set off by her chestnut hair. I wasn’t afraid of Brock, but I was of Sharon.
After Brock pulled out my dent, I brought up the obvious.
“Where’s Sharon,†I asked.
“Cost me half a mil to get rid her.“
“I guess that means you’re not married anymore.“
“She’s an addict. Everything went up her nose.“
“Sorry to hear that. You know, I have to say this. I thought you two were the perfect couple. You even look alike. She’s a pretty version of you.“
And that was the truth.
“I tried to help her. I did everything I could but she was wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t work, the bitch was never home. Fought with me and our two sons.â€
“Shit.â€
“She moved to Alabama and I heard from her sister that she wants me back. Not happening. I’ve remarried. Lisa’s very different. She’s stable. She’s home every night. She cooks my meals.“
“Things have worked out.“
“Worked out? Yeah. But you know what? I love Lisa but I don’t love her like I loved Sharon.“