“What do you so like about me?” Rosa asked me tonight in my car as I was driving her home after our A.A. meeting.
“I like your honesty,” I said. “You can be brutally honest and I know what to expect. Life is already filled with enough bullshit. I like a friend who will tell me like it is.”
“I like how open you can be about your limitations,” Rosa told me. “If I ask you about A.A. or your mental illness, you will tell me the truth. You don’t bullshit as well.”
“It can be a curse,” I said. “I sometimes say way too much. I share too much on my journal as well. I call it written and verbal diarrhea.”
Rosa laughed and said, “I think people respect you because of it.”
“I hope so,” I said, distracted, as I narrowly missed a car parked on the side of the road in a no parking zone.
I cursed loudly. Rosa quickly grabbed the "oh shit" handle above the passenger's door.
“It’s good to know something good comes out of it,” I then said after regaining my composure.
Rosa behaved herself at the A.A. meeting tonight. It was a “speaker” meeting where a local college professor from a major university came and talked for an hour about his ordeal and recovery from alcoholism. I found it inspiring and Rosa was mesmerized that an actual college professor was human enough and could deal with such problems like us lowly plebeians.
“Do you ever write about me on your journal?” Rosa then asked.
“I write about you all the time,” I replied. “I have come to see you as so important to my life and my best friend besides George.”
“George just uses you to borrow money so he can get drunk.”
I didn’t say anything as I pulled up in front of the rundown house Rosa is renting these days. I have known George for years and Rosa has only been on the scene as far as the gang is concerned for less than one. George, despite all his problems and drinking, is a good soul, and a gentle and good friend. I wish him and Rosa would make their peace.
“You want to come in?” Rosa asked.
“Nah,” I replied. “I am going to drive home and write about this.”
Rosa smiled and said, “I hope I get to be famous one day by your writings.”
“Good night and sleep tight,” I said as I winked as she shut my door, and I drove home and did exactly what I told her I was going to do. I sat down after supper with a mug of hot tea and a cigar, and began to write. My day is at an end. I am so damn tired and weary, and hope I will sleep tonight.