This is the story of the only real pleasure that exists. It is the truest lie I can share about Meg. Don’t get all upset. I know, You think you hate lies, but you’re lying to yourself.

The best lies are the ones that trickle out slowly, all covered in truey litte bits. They look delicious, they’re a bit salty, a bit sweet, a bit scary to look at if you know, but they’re perfect in their own way.

So, I’ll tell my story like that. Slowly, and let the all that nasty truth back up behind a dam full of words, until a gooey delicious believable lie can form.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve already told you, I’m lying. You won’t believe me. So, I’ll let you figure out what’s true and what’s not. The truth is usually so crazy no one would believe it anyways.

She was out in the woods, I think Muir, maybe, it’s hard to tell, I can’t see so well anymore. And the trees there we so fucking big. So big.

She was swinging a whisky bottle around her left hand, like some trampy bartender in a 90s movie. I guess she’s better than them, she at least used an empty one. No point in wasting some drunken point she might find inside.

“Meg, I didn’t drive all the way here from hell-cross country to watch you whittle away some brain cells, so tell me what’s going on?”

She laughed. She laughed and put down the empty bottle on a picnic table. Sat there, started to sculpt her nails.

“Stephan, you know, I’ve been married a long time. He’s a good guy. I think it might last a bit longer,” she got out some solvent and knocked the cap on the table to loosen it.

“Ok? Um… great?”

“Aww, dammit,” she shook her hand when the remover got into a hangnail and stung her a bit. “I’m not a vain woman you know. I’m not. But sometimes, I just like to feel beautiful. To feel.. sexy. Wanted. Do you understand?”

I nodded, clipped a cigar and started to chew it. No point in smoking it really.

“You know Meg, a few years back, I was in Arizona, driving along some godforsaken noplace road full of dust and that idea of imminent death. I saw this cactus springing out of the desolation. It was huge and alive, and just there in front of me. It was beautiful.”

Meg raised her eyebrow, “So…. how is this related?”

I watched her sharpen her little pink claws.

“It’s all bound up in the truth of things, you know? Beauty. It’s about where you are and what your’e doing and who you’re with.. and who you are. I think maybe who you are .. that’s the hardest part of the whole fucking thing.”

“Darling, I do love you,” she mouthed the words, but didn’t say them.

I forgave her instantly, “It’s ok. I love you too.”

“There’s no shame in doubt you know, just in a bad passport phone really. That’s what shame is.”

We didn’t say much more. We just walked back to the parking lot. She stashed her lovely little ass back into her tiny little put-put car and drove off. She never looked back. She just looked forward to her old man, and the things that love gives you when your body starts to break beneath the weight of years.

I stood there basking in my own ugliness. Understanding that I’m just a man. I’m just flesh.

I folded myself back behind the wheel, let out a long slow yawn and tried not to think of the 3,219 miles I had to drive to get home.

I tried not to think of the 3,219 reasons I’ll never be loved like that again.

I was crying before I could even hit the gas.