Remember the days When beers and warm nights were enough Where I carried my shoes on the walk home And I lied to a good man By letting him think No one else had been in my bed The night before him
Three years later it’s easy to see The memory play out like it’s on TV I told myself then that it’s not a lie We just weren’t talking about it I told myself I have no loyalties
I guess I was right
It was August and the air in the attic where I lived Just felt like summer – moist, suffocating Hard to sleep in – painful to wake up Strange smells clung to my sheets Deep purple – My mother bought them
I ate breakfast with him He paid – a gentleman Even on nights when I was too drunk too tired too uninterested To let him touch me
In the back of my mind … somewhere … I worried about when he’d ask me To be his girlfriend I worried about when I would have To make it unofficial
But in the thick humidity of that summer Our apathy was enough to keep the parties going all night
And every morning when the sun blared through My tiny, attic window, waking me And drying on the sweat that reeked of Budweiser Reminding me subtly – that it might time To grow the **** up To have the tough talk To learn the art of saying no