The Man in the Woods

My friend was feeling charitable last night, especially since the woman she’s trying to befriend keeps standing her up. She actually came down to get me.

I felt familiar dread. If things go badly she’ll take it out on me. The first Waffle House we tried to get in, they were only doing take out due to their lack of staffing. We tried another: 30 minute wait. Cook Out: Too many people waiting in the drive thru. The McDonald’s by her house: closed. She launched into how nothing is ever open late in the south speech. She decided we probably shouldn’t go to the beach since there’s a lot of drunks at this time of night: midnight.

We went to her house and had watered down tequila. O. used to raid the liquor cabinet and refill with water what he drank. She went on about when I drank I was a drunk and about the times I took too much Ativan.

“I had my shrink reduce my pills by half the last time I did it,” I said, but she wouldn’t give me credit for that. Why even invite me for a drink if you’re going to moan at me, right?

I paced myself, taking about an hour to drink the glass of tequila and didn’t ask for seconds even though she had 2. After a bit, she decided she was OK and we went back to my apartment. She was pretty much sober, but was nervous, and told me not to let her do this again.

She decided we should feed the strays again. She asked me where I fed them earlier and I admitted to feeding them on this elevated meter. I’m supposed to feed on the porch at night to keep the ants off the food, especially since the crazy homeless guy who sleeps in the woods made it certain that he didn’t want the feeding station near his sleeping place. He had moved it a couple times before he destroyed it. He finallysmashed to pieces the plastic feeding station and bashed in the metal bowls. While we’ve never seen him, we see where he sleeps due to all the trash, blanket, etc.

“If I had a sharpie, I’d have written ‘I hope you die,’ on a piece of plastic. Probably a good thing I didn’t.”

“Yes, he might not realize it wasn’t me who wrote it,” I replied.

“Typical. Always putting yourself first. I was worried about him hurting the cats.”

By now it was 4am. She had put some food on the meter and I didn’t realize she was going to the porch. I should’ve gotten out and followed. She berated me for getting back in the car, that she could’ve used the support of me following her, that she had killed a 5 inch water bug. I had kept looking in the woods, knowing that a disturbed person wouldn’t be happy if someone woke him up.

She berated me until we got to my apartment. And that was my Saturday night.

And I’m sure people don’t like me, but that’s all for now.

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