Ghetto Gandhi Falls in Love - 21

Gabriel never had too many girlfriends he talked about when he was in high school. He and his friends used to go to the mall almost every weekend and try to get girls phone numbers. They didn't have a lot of luck.

Gabriel met Bretta in a most unusual way. His older sister Carrie was staying at a "Residence Inn," waiting for her newly wed husband to return from his truck driving route. Sometime, her frind from old school days caught up with her by accident. Bretta didn't have a regular place to stay so she moved into the temporary by the week apartment to help with the rent, and spend some girl time.

Bretta was a wild one. At 22, she had three children, but had lost custody of them. She was in the process of separating from a husband who beat her, and she was smoking ice to feel better about herself, or maybe not to feel at all. One day when Gabriel was visiting, they had sex.

"How did it happen?" I asked most curiously.

"Well, she was under the covers, and I was lying on the bed, and then I was under the covers too, and we weren't watching televison anymore.

I was glad he had someone. He's dated, or rather screwed, Jay's girlfrind that they had met in the pasych hospital. It was revenge on both their parts, rather than love. It only lasted as a unique friendship for a couple of months.

Bretta was almost five years older than Gabriel, and it was some time before the two of them came to visit at my house.

Bretta was a petite thing with a cute figure and blond hair, and a moodiness problem that beat anyone's bipolar symptoms I'd know of. Gabriel tried to keep her from smoking ice, but she still did it when he wasn't around. The first love of his life with a pretty gril who lived on sex and lies. I knew he's had to get it out of his system, if it were possible. Instead, he moved fast.

Within a month he popped the question, down on his knee and everything, in the town square in Denver on Valentine's night. She told him she thought she was pregnant, and he said, "I wated to do the right thing," looking more serious than I'd ever seen him about being responsible.

She wrecked the love-of-his-life-truck, but still he thinks it's love. It's hormones. It's the little head thinking for the big head. This is the most active I've ever seen his brain work, as far as making decisions. They may just be running on hormones, because they are seldom apart from each other. Neither one has a job to go to.

To be continued. . .