MORE THAN WORDS

Here's a piece of Hollywood Daddy history nobody will give a shit about.

I had two girlfriends as a child/teenager.

The first was named Jodie and she looked like an 8-year-old boy from the seventies.  We dated for a week in the 5th grade.

I took her to a pizza place and mostly ignored her by playing video games because I was terrified of girls.  My awkwardness was out of control.

My great uncle even pulled me aside to tell me I was fucking up.

To just go talk to her and have fun.

She never spoke to me again after that date.

The next girlfriend was in the 8th grade.

Her name was Gina.

She was a redhead who was adopted by an upper-middle-class cream cheese couple.

I lived in a house in the white hood with my mother who was never home and a 6'5" 325lb biker who refused to let me eat food.

I slept on the hardwood floor of my bedroom with a blanket and a 13inch color television.

The biker's favorite past time was sitting in the living room in our only chair with the lights off while staring at an unlit fireplace.

Erica lived in a giant house in the hills.

It had 7 bedrooms.

2 of which went unused.

I couldn't even bicycle or walk there.

That's how far up on the hill it was.

Strategically placed to ward off the unwanted poor.

Her parents hated me.

Which is funny because I was too terrified to do anything.

She even confided her desire to be fingered, fucked and kissed.

But I was always thinking about death and self-loathing.

And there was no fucking way I could commit any of those actions.

We did kiss once.

But it was awkward.

Standing on a street corner, waiting for her parents to pick her up, she turned and looked me in the eyes, and said, "kiss me".

Which caused me to imagine a laughing reaper holding a scythe behind his head.

I couldn't act.

So she leaned over and kissed me.

The reaper laughed harder.

I can't even remember what she tasted like.

Or the softness of her lips.

But I can remember that motherfucker's teeth.

A few days later she called to tell me she was going back to her ex-boyfriend.

An older kid in her neighborhood who knew how to fuck.

Well, at least knew enough for a 17-year-old.

And that she was real sorry.

And that we would always have our song.

And every time I listen to that song I think of the reaper's laughter.

The position of his blade.

His posture.

And the only lips I kissed but have no recollection of.