Co-dependent Dysfunction - PortlandBarFly.com
On again, off again. Co-dependent. Dysfunctional.
Words that would best describe Shelly’s
relationship with her sometime boyfriend Darren.
When she wasn’t crying on the phone to me about
him, or when we weren’t out drowning her woes,
she and Darren were trading bodily fluids in his
truck while they attempted to patch things up. It
was about all I could take.
They were complete opposites. Not to sound cliché, but, seriously. She had long jet-black hair and piercings. He sported a cowboy hat and had an affinity for Lyle Lovett. She dabbled in witchcraft. He dabbled in chewing tobacco. It was a mess. Sickening. Fun to watch.
It was after their final break-up, when I witnessed Shelly just snap. She was so calm. It was spooky. She called a few of the girls and had us over for martinis on a Saturday night. Sitting around on her borrowed and duct-taped furniture, she told us over the rim of her martini glass that she had a plan.
Like I said, Darren had a truck that he and Shelly spent a lot of time in. It was some relic from the ’50s that he had completely restored. It had taken him five or six years to do the work. He insisted it was worth a lot of money, and he was probably right. The truck itself had been a kind of arch-nemesis for Shelly. She was always competing with it for his attention.
That Saturday night she told us that she had placed an ad in the newspaper for the sale of his truck. As we all erupted in laughter and began toasting her she raised her hand to quiet us. She went on to say that she had placed the ad in the Nickel-Ads, advertising the truck for $450. She had also included his home address and phone number. We were stunned into silence. She sat back on her futon, sipped her drink and smiled serenely.
We heard tales of the many phone calls Darren and his family received. He lived with his parents, of course, and I heard that grease-monkey bargain- hunters of all sorts drove by and stopped in to inquire about the at all hours of the day or night. As each story was relayed to us, we would smile and chuckle to ourselves while casting a wary glance at Shelly.
Needless to say we were always really nice to Shelly after that.
By Sayer Wilson
They were complete opposites. Not to sound cliché, but, seriously. She had long jet-black hair and piercings. He sported a cowboy hat and had an affinity for Lyle Lovett. She dabbled in witchcraft. He dabbled in chewing tobacco. It was a mess. Sickening. Fun to watch.
It was after their final break-up, when I witnessed Shelly just snap. She was so calm. It was spooky. She called a few of the girls and had us over for martinis on a Saturday night. Sitting around on her borrowed and duct-taped furniture, she told us over the rim of her martini glass that she had a plan.
Like I said, Darren had a truck that he and Shelly spent a lot of time in. It was some relic from the ’50s that he had completely restored. It had taken him five or six years to do the work. He insisted it was worth a lot of money, and he was probably right. The truck itself had been a kind of arch-nemesis for Shelly. She was always competing with it for his attention.
That Saturday night she told us that she had placed an ad in the newspaper for the sale of his truck. As we all erupted in laughter and began toasting her she raised her hand to quiet us. She went on to say that she had placed the ad in the Nickel-Ads, advertising the truck for $450. She had also included his home address and phone number. We were stunned into silence. She sat back on her futon, sipped her drink and smiled serenely.
We heard tales of the many phone calls Darren and his family received. He lived with his parents, of course, and I heard that grease-monkey bargain- hunters of all sorts drove by and stopped in to inquire about the at all hours of the day or night. As each story was relayed to us, we would smile and chuckle to ourselves while casting a wary glance at Shelly.
Needless to say we were always really nice to Shelly after that.
By Sayer Wilson
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