The woman with a dead dog in her fridge

A New Category – Women

What I’m about to tell you happened many years ago and doesn’t have anything to do with Police work, PTSD or wild places. It’s just one story of many in my relationships with women and the beginning of my dating experience. I found myself divorced in southern Utah and decided to make the most of it.

I love Women.

Allow me to introduce the woman with a dead dog in her Fridge.

I had finished a motorcycle ride through Zion National park and dropped into the local coffee bar to warm up before heading up the hill and home.

She sat with her back to the door as I entered. I first noticed her mane of thick blond hair and then her face. She was one of those women that would always be outwardly beautiful – a perfect mix of chin, nose and mouth. She was fit and trim and had a beautiful hard body.

I recognized her as out of my league and walked past with a friendly nod and an “Evening Ma’am” as I paid the Barista for a cup and poured my own coffee. I felt her eyes on me and knew she had been watching me since I entered the joint. Sometimes people stare at me and I’m use to that, I’m 6 foot 2 inches tall and in full motorcycle riding gear I resemble something out of a Mad Max movie. My hair is sometimes crazy and I often don’t give a shit.

From across the room she asked, “Are you an Angel?” She was bold, which attracted me even more. I wouldn’t know until later that she really thought I was an Angel.

I turned and answered, “No, but my name is Michael.” I smiled, she smiled and invited me to her table. I sat with her and stared into the most incredible eyes I had ever seen. Every possible color seemed represented and screaming out for it’s own attention. I don’t remember all that we talked about but I pegged her as what I call a Magic Rock woman. She had unconventional beliefs in past lives and UFO’s.

After my coffee was gone I scratched out my number on the back of a book of  matches and asked her to call me. She kissed me before I left and I thought that was a weird little page in my life book, intensely romantic. The ego boost was an electrical charge all it’s own. I smiled inside my helmet riding the dark road home.

The very next day she called and wanted to meet me at a different coffee shop. I was out riding my motorcycle again and was close to where she was. We met  – there was a gravity that pulled us together – we talked – time passed – or did it – I couldn’t tell – I was intoxicated by her – snuggled together under the Utah sun – her hands on me – her laughter filled my ears.

I escorted her to the restroom, off the courtyard.

I have a part of me that is animal, pure absolute animal, without language, chained to the ground.

When she was back I explained it to her this way. “I will never know if we have a possibility unless and until I sniff the nape of your neck.” She turned in that instant and offered me her throat, I felt her tremble. She then said we were past life lovers and was surprised I couldn’t remember all that had happened in our past. Before this coffee date was over she would tell me she already loved me.

Later we had another date when she met me in the park and brought Pete her dog who looked exactly like Benji (the movie dog). He was cute, energetic and playful and I liked him from the beginning. The woman and I seemed to have a really intense connection but something was wrong. One sunny morning I was to find out what.

She invited me to her condo for breakfast. I arrived exactly on time bearing a gift of fruit preserves and a pocket full of condoms.

She answered…

Over night she had suffered an emotional break and it was immediately apparent to me. She was naked from the waist down, only wearing a sweat stained T-shirt. Her eyes were smeared into a raccoon comedy of tears and mascara. Behind her in the living room I could see a haystack pile of her belongings, leather coats and pants, shirts and jewelry, wigs and photographs. She collapsed into my chest and sobbed and I held her in the doorway for nearly an hour.

I finally convinced her to come in with me, to just sit on the couch, to rest. She agreed and began to tell me a long and rather sad story of having been a Mormon trophy wife until age and gravity diminished her beauty enough for her husband to kick her to the curb. She showed me her modeling portfolio filled with beautiful nude pictures of her in younger days.

She told me she had been arrested the day before for threatening a hotel clerk.

Things calmed down and I went into the kitchen to get a drink of water. She called after me and said there was cold water in the fridge.

I opened the refrigerator door and there, on a thanksgiving silver platter, was Pete – dead as a door nail. You probably guessed that ending based on the chapter title. I flashed to a Betty Davis movie and a head tumbling down the stairway. I’ll never look at a silver platter the same, the image game plays in my mind, snapshots taken and memories made. In that very moment I thought, almost out loud, how strange my life continues to be. Intense and different.

“Sweetie, what happened to Pete” I asked from the kitchen.

She told me Pete had been hit by a car and killed the night before and she didn’t know what to do with him. Her best idea was to put him in the fridge. I knew Pete’s death was the straw that broke the camel’s back for this woman, one more thing she didn’t need. Pete meant the world to her and was her only companion.

I went into Ex Cop mode and got her to agree for me to contact the Police for help. They came out and I briefed them with all I knew about her. I didn’t even know her last name or any of her family.

I lost track of her after that. Later she called and I asked where she’d been and she said “locked up.” I asked what for and her response, which still rings in my ears was, “For being crazy silly.”

Weeks later she called to let me know she had memorized my cellular number in case she was ever locked up again.

She was not the woman of my Dream…

PS: Maybe there is one lesson to be learned in this. Some women can smell the Protector in us. I think this woman was teetering on the brink of her psychotic break and searching for an Angel to save her when I happened to walk into her life. She collapsed when she found me and knew she was safe. I was glad to be her Angel when she needed one the most.

The price and reward of being the Protector…

 

© 2015, Michael Fulcher. All rights reserved.