All Write, Already!

I've got it down to a science now, having done this so many times. Floorboards and stairs are more likely to creak in the middle, so you stick close to the edge and rock forward to test your next step before you give it all your weight. You only shop for cars with manual transmissions because you can't silent-start an automatic.

Streetlights are making small puddles of yellow rationality on the edges of the street as I cruise down Sepulveda, headed for the freeway. The movers have already packed up my apartment, and all my stuff is en route to Seattle. It's been a while since I've done the West Coast tour, so I'm looking forward to the drive up the Pacific Coast Highway.

At 3:00 A.M., the freeway is considerably easier to travel than it is during the day, so leaving Los Angeles is a fairly simple maneuver. Sure enough, just as I pass out of the city into Glendale on the 5, my conscience starts to beat the shit out of me, and I start crying. Strangely enough, I even enjoy this part of the experience.

While my conscience works me over, I think about Sarah and her daughter. Sarah's beautiful and I knew as soon as she spilled her coffee all over me at Starbucks that she would be my next love. I do love them, you know. Every single one. I still love Rachael, the first woman to whom I did this. Don't think that I'm a monster.

Sarah and I dated for three months, one week, and three days before she said "I love you". There were times that I thought it might never come. Being a single mother, she was extremely guarded both for her own heart and her daughter Grace's. When she told me she loved me, I smiled, allowed some tears to shine in my eyes, and told her, "I've been hoping for this; I love you too." After that night, I was with Sarah for another three months, one week, and three days until this night. I don't know why it has to balance around that point for me, but the words "I love you" are the fulcrum for these moments.

The secret to seduction is that you have to mix some truth in with some lies, so that the whole thing sounds plausible. For example, I told Sarah that I had grown up in a wealthy family, and that I had been estranged from my parents, but that, being their only child, I still received their money when they died in a car accident. That was true. I also told her that I felt guilt about being their beneficiary when I had not talked to them in five years. That was a lie. But it fit so perfectly with the rest that she believed. It's important for them to believe.

At 2:00 this morning, I woke up. I don't need an alarm clock to awaken exactly when I want, which definitely makes this easier. I left behind most of the clothes I had in Sarah's house, grabbed my watch, wallet, and keys (keys are difficult -- you have to wrap your hand around all the keys at once to keep them from jingling), and slipped down to my car. All I left in way of explanation is the same note I leave on every pillow when I do this. It says only, "I hope you don't hate me."

That's my last lie to them all, because part of me needs their hate from this betrayal. I don't take any money, I would never physically hurt them, but I only seem to be able to be happy with my life when I'm crushing some woman's hopes and dreams. Knowing that I have a plan, that I'm in control on this, is the only thing that gets me through my life.

I just drove past Santa Clarita. The next big stop is Bakersfield, so I'll need to think about filling up and eating there. After that, it's 900 miles to Seattle, and I hear the girls there are heartbreaking. We'll see whose heart gets broken.