What had been a casual, easy relationship had turned into the hottest gossip in town. I was getting dirty looks and cold shoulders at every turn. A friend told me that he'd been backstage at a show, and overheard a somewhat-famous singer calling me a ho.
A ho!
MEDUSA was trying to destroy me (amongst lame alt-country musicians, but still). It seemed that THE CARPENTER was no longer even part of the equation.
A bit of rage was building up in me. One night, while on a bike ride, I pulled over and demanded he do the same. On a busy street corner, I threw off my helmet and asked him for an explanation. He claimed to feel bad about MEDUSA's actions, but he laughed when I told him about the arm-rubbing incident. He was reveling in the attention. Suddenly he was George Clooney and not the sweet southern boy who picked me flowers. In my mind, I heard him saying, "Ladies! There's enough of me to go around!" So I said something mean as a way of diffusing my own hurt:
ME: I don't love you, therefore I will not put up with your shit.
I hopped on my bike and rode away before the tears started.
