Scrapbook

“Scrapbook” by Shaun Jordan

Tonight began as any normal Saturday for the last eighteen years. I was drunk, getting drunker, watching porn and working on my scrapbooks. I’ve made hundreds. They all have the same elements. The first page is a picture of her. The rest are pictures I cut out from porno mags.

There is a large problem I have while I cut out pictures from the magazines. There are pictures on the front and back of the pages. I have great trouble deciding which picture is the one to be destroyed, and which gets pasted in the scrapbook. It’s sort of my own visual riddle. I generally think about this to keep her off my mind.

I still remember everything about her. The way she smelled, the way she tasted. Sometimes I hear her voice saying, “I love you” or “Fuck me…harder…harder…” Shit, now I’m thinking about it.

It was how Saturday used to be. We were at the bar, but this night would be different. I’ve been noticing a difference in her mannerisms. She seemed less happy or maybe even sad, but she was definitely apathetic. I was certain what the problem was, and I was ready for the next step.

My gift to her was a drink. The same drink I bought her countless Saturdays before. It was one of those girl drinks with the little umbrella. She always loved that little umbrella, how it was so small and still worked. She always kept it to remember our times together. This umbrella had a ring attached to it. That was about the time she told me about Ted.

Ted and her had a little girl a couple of years later. She’s about fifteen now and chained to my cellar wall. I think she likes my scrapbooks.



Fin