Victoria, Gretchen, Bryna and Beatrice

I cried on the phone for a bit but I wasn't ready to go running home to the comforts of mother's arms quite yet. I got off the line, dried up my tears and headed to Java City for some coffee. My friend Zoe was behind the counter and as I ordered my soy mocha the tears started escaping once again. Zoe put her line of customers on hold and sat me down. She called her twin sister Sarah to come down and look after the miserable lump that I was. So my first day without Monica was spent with two lovely, kind girls taking me to a bar-b-q and being sweet to me. They dropped me back at my place just before midnight.

Victoria showed up. She'd been at some concert in San Francisco and was wearing a corset, short skirt and stockings. She asked if she could stay the night not wanting to drive the rest of the way home and I said "of course." She looked adorable in one of my t-shirts and she lay down beside me. We made out for hours before falling asleep in each other's arms. We kissed some more in the morning.

A few days later I passed a simillar evening with Gretchen, who'd long since forgiven me. It felt good not to be alone.

My dad picked me up one night when I was having an especially hard time. We talked in the car. "There's a power balance in relationships Keith. It's very hard to manage." I didn't know where he was going with this. And neither did he. "Ah shit, I must sound like jerkoff. This isn't what you need to hear. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry it hurts so bad. I remember what that hurt feels like. It does get better, even if it doesn't seem like it now."

I started writing letters to Monica. I was analyzing myself, figuring out where I'd been an idiot, trying to use my grief to better msyelf. I fell in love with this grief. I learned to enjoy it. This didn't lessen it any. This was a celebration of pain, like a blues song. My broken heart let me experience a rich nostalgia when the seasons changed. It let me experiment with my life without fear of pain since I was already hurting.

I looked for work, having quit my job before Monica and I's trip to my hometown. The job search and the jobs I cylcled through were miserable. Struggling to get through interviews, crying on my smokebreaks. But surviving it felt so good. Sitting by myself on the deck of the boat where I'd found work. Drinking a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette.

It was a tremendous period of growth for me. Jon's best friend Pete and I started taking road trips in his VW bus, dropping acid and drinking gallons of wine. Pete soon moved in, as Chris moved out. He introduced me to Bukowski, Bataille, Kundera, great writers who encouraged me to live my life passionately and to not be afraid of the pain that may come from doing so. I liked who I was becoming. I documented it all in my journal and in letters to Monica and I was sure that she would have no choice but to fall in love with me all over again when she returned.

Bryna and I started hanging out again. I called to offer my sympathies when her father died. I realized how much I missed her. Soon we were taking long walks through town at night, talking and debating about art, religion,, the meaning of life. After Monica called me from Paris to officially break up with me, Bryna and I tested out the fold out bed in my new '72 Volkwagon camper-bus, the bus I named Beatrice.

Bryna had a boyfriend by this point, who she lived with. I wanted her to tell him about us. I wanted nothing in my life that felt wrong or shamefull. She tried to talk to him, but he made it clear that he didn't want to hear it. He chose to live with his illusions.

Bryna as a lover was as amazing as ever. She blew my mind when she showed up one night with food and wine and massage oil. "I'm going to teach you how I like to be touched." and she did just that. I was seated on the mattress on the floor that I called my bed, back against the wall. She sat in front of me, back against my chest. She took my hands and we explored her body. I realized I had no clue how to touch a woman. My education had come from porno films and women who'd been afraid to let me know when I was making a fool of myself.

Where Monica had introduced me to having fun with food, Bryna introduced me to elegance. Good bread, olives, fruit, scorched asparagus. She passed wine from her mouth to mine. Wine had never tasted so good as it did from her full lips.

I decided I'd been right in my earlier decision not to do the monogomy thing. I would win Monica back when she returned, but I would have Bryna as my lover still. Bryna and I rolled around with Pete on one ocassion, just playing around but it was new and exciting. She gave me my turn at teaching her how I liked to be touched. I probably learned more than I taught.

A man named Brent asked me out. I told him no thanks, but asked if he wanted to go camping, not realizing this would sound like, "No, but okay, as long as we pretend that I stuck with my no." All I really meant was, I aint gonna do ya, let's be friends. My love of making monkey noises, impersonating slobbering dogs and all around acting like a jack ass had Brent pretty unhappy about accepting the camping invite regardless of whether he was getting laid or not. Bryna came with us and at some point we ended up on the top bed of Pete's pop top bus. We were talking about non verbal communication.

"Let's try something." she suggested. "Let's just look at each other and see if we feel like anything is communicated."

We stared into each others eyes and our smiles grew big. I loved her and she loved me. I had no doubt that this simple pure feeling was being expressed both ways. I was still too caught up in my obsession with Monica to do anything about it other than being very happy that it was true.

It was the most passionate and exciting time of my life. And then, when it seemed like it had been going on forever, Monica returned.

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