Lovers No More (Ch. 9)

At this point in my story, I finally became a teacher. I stayed at SJU to receive my Master's degree. It was a great time. I was teaching in the morning and attending classes in the evening. I had many challenges that were present during that all too crucial first year. The rest of my professional time was spent getting used to procedures. My first professional job landed me in the South Bronx.

I had this one difficult—no pun intended—teaching day at my first job in the South Bronx. I boarded the Number 6 train for my long journey home. I found a seat. I was quite happy to be able to have a seat after such a difficult day. I looked up and saw, sitting in the seat directly across from me, the most beautiful, extremely attractive woman of Hispanic descent. She was so prim and proper. There might have been a few other people in the car, but I only saw her. I wanted to get up and talk to her. I got scared. I wondered what would have happened if she had gotten nervous and screamed. I really wanted to talk to her. I was hoping that she would see me more as a huge teddy bear and not as a subway derelict. I had to get up the nerve, anyway, to approach her. What did I have to lose? My reputation? Ha!

I chose to use the most primitive form of secret sign language. I had to be subtle. If she rejected me, no one else would see it. If they did, they wouldn’t have known what was going on. I then motioned to the seat next to her. Would she let me sit there? Would she give me permission? If she did, I would be almost halfway home. That would mean that she might be interested in meeting me. Then, what would I do? The train rocked us back and forth. Was she saying yes or was the train playing games with me? I couldn’t tell. I went to plan B, my next question. I noticed a ring on her finger. I had to know if she was married. I pointed to my ring finger then to hers. I used my special language to see if she was married. Again, I couldn’t tell. The train shook so much. I was pretty sure that she might have possibly said no. I COULDN’T TELL!!! By this point, I was ready to give up. Here is a super wonderful woman who probably could have made me a happy man for the rest of my life and I didn’t even have the guts to approach her. She was probably the only person who would give me the time of day and I was afraid to ask her.

Our train rolled into Grand Central Station. She collected herself and stood by the door. I couldn’t help but look at her. She was so stunning, simply beautiful. I had to take a good look at her without getting caught. She must have been a married woman. She must have been going home to a very lucky husband or boyfriend. I was hoping that she wouldn’t look back and see me staring at her. The train came to a halt. Soon, I heard the doors open up. At that point, I watched her walk out. I pretty much felt a tear developing in my eye. She was leaving. Had she stayed for a few more stops, I am sure that I would have gathered the courage to talk to her. I hung my head in shame. A few seconds after I saw her walk out of the train, I heard a tapping sound. I looked up. It was her. She was waving goodbye through the window to me. I smiled and waved back. She gave me the kind of a wave that only a girlfriend would give to her boyfriend. For a brief second, I saw Rose in her eyes. I saw Rose in her smile. I could have, would have and, if I had the courage, should have been the lucky guy. I should have gone after her. She was a stunning woman.

The next day, I tried in vain to get on the train at the exact same time. I even tried to get in the same car that I had the day before. In fact, I would do the same thing each and every day for almost three weeks. On one occasion, I carried a flower in the hope that I could give it to her. Still, I never saw her again. Was that my last chance at happiness? I even tried to figure out her name. Carmen? Maria? Maria would be a pretty name. Perhaps her name was Rosa. If only she was a Rosa. Still, she was an extremely attractive woman. I chalked up my one-time visual affair to the fact that she might have been a one time visitor to New York. For many years after that, I heard so many stories where men have relentlessly beat up women. I was hoping that even though she was not my wife or girlfriend, she wasn’t a battered woman. After that incident, I realized that my life would be full of days where I would just look, sigh, and wonder what could have been. That one day coming out of the South Bronx, on the other hand, was the best train ride I ever took in my entire life.

I guess that the only good news I can report on the romance front is that Eddie and I have somewhat made up with each other. My anger at him has subsided. I still wish that things had turned out better than this, but it could have been worse. My anger at him did propel me forward in life.

It was a very interesting meeting. I was waiting for a friend of mine to open the door to his apartment building. When I saw him, I was calm. I was waiting for him to tell me that he and Rose had a few children or that she was upstairs in the apartment he might have shared with her. Perhaps, he was going to tell me that she threw him out on the street or something. I was just waiting for something about her to roll out of his mouth. I just had to wait and see. Instead, he surprised me. He told me that he and Rose broke up. THEY BROKE UP. That was great news. I felt a parade coming on. This was the news I had always waited for. However, that didn’t mean anything unless she asked for me which I am sure she didn’t. I didn’t know how to get ahold of her and I know that he wouldn’t help me either. Now, I was at his mercy. So, I painfully let it go knowing that if I couldn’t have her, I would be happy knowing that he didn’t have her either. Still, I have often wondered what had he done with her. Did he deflower her? I will never know. I didn’t want to know. Only they could answer that question. It was at that point that I would make an honest effort to move onward.

Despite the wrong that was done to me by Eddie, despite the anger I felt toward him, I still preferred his company to the company of those I had known before coming to CK. Did he really know what he did was wrong or was it just another form of youthful indiscretion? Did he understand fully the implications of his actions? Probably not. At least, there was a chance for us to become friends. There was a chance that I would be able to walk up to him and extend a hand of friendship. This was the time.

As I looked at him, I understood that I really didn’t take the time to know him. He wasn’t as bad a person as I made him out to be. We sat and talked. He had dreams much like mine. I guess that it was just a matter of two good guys just butting heads over the same gal. The only difference is that I might have acted like a butt during the whole affair. I still see him from time to time. He no longer drives me as angry as I once was. However, looking at him still reminds me of that horrid time from 1974 through 1976. He also represents the good times I had at CK.

I finally received my Master's degree on June 6 of 1982. It was such a joyful time. I brought my parents and my aunt and uncle to the SJU gym where the commencement was held. For a brief period, I felt both happy and sad. I was happy knowing that I had achieved the highest honor of a Master's degree. I felt sad knowing that just a mere six years before, it was Rose who was graduating. I went nearly full circle. In between my CK graduation and my Master's was her graduation. I was standing on the very floor that disappointed me some six years earlier. Was she looking at me from the wings? Was she trying to reach me? Was she here at all? I turned around to find her. She wasn’t there.

There will always be the one unequaled day that will always joyfully stand out in my mind-the day my first niece was born.

I was now in Jamaica, Queens. Back in 1982, the year that I earned my Master's degree and, later that same summer, broke my hip, my sister went into labor on December 4. She woke us all at 4 AM and announced that her water broke. This was the big day. Mom and Dad rushed her to the car. Before she left the house, I said that it was going to be a little girl. I knew that it was going to be a girl. My sister never had a sonogram. Later that evening, 6:15 PM to be exact, my mom and I were sitting in SXS for the Saturday evening Mass. At that time, I leaned over to her and said that the baby had arrived. We jumped into my little Chevy Vega hatchback and drove to Laguardia Hospital in Forest Hills to see both of them. We rushed to the maternity ward to see if we could find our newest family member. The nurse in the ward picked up this cute little baby girl sleeping in a pink blanket. I fell in love with this baby girl right away. This little girl was the highlight of my year. This is MY niece, my first niece. I didn't know her name yet. Mom wanted to call her Crystal. Janice selected Jasmine because she wanted her to have a name with a J. Jasmine is the name of a flower. Jasmine is my little flower. I looked at her. She was so precious, a baby born into a world full of problems. She opened her eyes, winked at me and went back to sleep. The nurse put her back in the incubator and directed us to the further end of the ward. This would be the little girl that I would love for the rest of my life and then some. Her baptism would be one of the very few and very last great moment I had at SCS.

In what would be a cruel irony, we found my sister in a room by herself. It appeared that she was strapped down to her gurney. It was being done to keep her from moving around and hurting herself. One life had started and another was on its way to an end. I couldn't help but get upset at the thought of my sister being helpless to do anything. She assured me, however, that she was fine.

Do you really want to read something spectacular? Try to picture this. I spent a great deal of time bike racing with the United States Cycling Federation. Back in 1979, I saw the movie, Breaking Away. There was one scene where Dennis Christopher’s character is out training for an upcoming race. During his training ride, he spots a huge tractor trailer on the nearest highway. He then pedals furiously behind it for close to 60 miles per hour. I have never forgotten it and decided that I wanted to see how truly fast I could go. Then, in 1983, I raced (unsuccessfully) against one of America’s premier amateur cyclist and 3-time Olympian, John Howard. In 1985, he was preparing to break the world’s land speed record for cycling. He eventually did it that same summer at an incredible speed of 152 miles per hour. I wanted to do it the same year. I would get up and run for about 5 to 7 miles a day. Later in the same day, I would ride for at least 25 miles six days a week. I even did a century (100 miles) on a hot day in late June. Then came the big day.

I was on a training ride the same year of Howard’s record ride waiting to see what day I would try it. I was on my way home. I saw a tractor trailer about two or three miles from my home along a local roadway. I was about an eighth of a mile from it. The driver was waiting for the light to turn green. I had to time his take off with my speed. A second’s difference in a miscalculation will either cause me to miss drafting him or cause a horrible crash with me as the star of the accident. Fortunately, my timing was just right. He took off just when I expected him to do so. I shifted into a larger gear. Now I was pedaling at full strength with him pulling me into his vacuum. I checked my electronic speedometer. I saw as the digits went past 25 and hit 30. But that wasn’t the end of it. The digits changed to 35 then 38. Now the truck and I were really moving together. Symbiosis. At that point, I heard nothing but the sound of his motor and his rear tires as they covered the ground I was riding. I looked down and the device registered a cool 40. I was only one away from equaling my personal best without the truck. I couldn’t accept that for the best time. I was sure that he saw me in his mirror. I moved over slightly to make sure that he sure a rider tucked so neatly behind him. I had no more gears to push. I was already moving into my supposedly harder gear. I still felt like I could go even faster. I was already in my highest gear. Would I be able to keep up with him at 60 miles per hour? I then realized that the legal street limit was only 30. He helped me to 11 over the limit. I just happened to look down. I was flying at 44. I brought it up to nearly 45 miles per hour. I thought that I would be able to see 50, but I noticed the clock going back to 40 and then 35. He was slowing down, but I couldn’t figure out why. Of course! He had to stop for a light. I had to safely bail out. I pressed my rear brakes with my normal strength. Then I began to pump my front brakes to prevent me from flying over my bike. All during the time, I felt that the drivers who accompanied us gave a rousing applause for the brief show that we provided for them. For me, it was a day to remember.

Normally, aside from the family and friends, I would imagine that one would want to share this achievement with a girlfriend. I thought of how happy Rose would have been if she had heard of my road work.

I remember as my last years at my second school came to a close. My sister became extremely sick. It turned out to be acute leukemia. I knew absolutely nothing about it. All I knew was that she was beginning a very difficult period. I would later learn through endless study that she was beginning the toughest fight for her life. She went home that evening and took an encyclopedia into her room with her. From that point on 'til the end of the evening, she would stay in her room and cry when the opportunity came about. When I got ahold of the book, I looked over what she had read. It stated that acute means fatal. My sister was dying. My baby sister was dying.

The 1986-1987 school year opened up nicely. My thoughts were not with Rose or school at that point. I was thinking about the pain that Janice was experiencing. This can’t be the beginning of another nightmare. Every week, she needed to go back and forth to the area hospitals for her chemotherapy. For a while, she felt better, or so she said so that we wouldn’t worry about her. The disease began to ravage her body. She began to get disfigured by the buildup of blood in her system. By Thanksgiving, it was decided that if she felt worse, she would check back into the hospital to be monitored.

When she was home, we were able to get Jasmine into Headstart. I set up my work on the kitchen table. I had to get my lesson plans done ahead of time so that I could be prepared to take a day off to help Janice. She came into the kitchen in her bathrobe. She made some room on the table and pulled up a chair. Then, she put Jasmine on her lap and the two of them proceeded to work on Jasmine’s printing. I looked up briefly. Something within me told me to etch it within my brain, for this would be the last scene I would have the two of them together.

A few days later, sometime while I was rushing back and forth to work, she went back to the hospital. She would spend her Christmas, New Year’s day and the rest of January in the hospital. My daily routine included not only going to the hospital but calling to see if she needed anything. Sometimes, I just wanted to hear her voice. She was my baby sister. I remembered the day I first saw her. I just came out of school at SCS. I was in the second grade in 1963. She started life as some family’s outcast. Mom and Dad adopted her and she was my little sister. In the beginning, I was rough on her too. It was my jealousy. I wanted a little sister, but I couldn’t handle the loss of attention for myself. Now, here I was, 23 years later, trying somewhat vainly to keep her alive.

One day, mom and I went to the hospital to see her. We brought Jasmine along. Mom and I took turns going up to see her. I went up. We scheduled how we would do this. Janice was in a fourth-floor room. She was to look out of the window to see Mom and Jasmine on the sidewalk waving to her. When Janice saw this, she lost it. She broke down in tears. She realized that she would never again hold her daughter in her arms. I, too, saw this. I failed to put my arms around her. It took a family friend to nudge me to her to console her. I didn’t have the common sense to do what was the right thing. I was losing my baby sister. This was the same baby sister that I would joke with and tell my innermost secrets. She told us to be positive, but she felt that the end must have been near.

I remember how exactly one month to her death, I had been given the task of gathering up all of the possible blood donors that I could find. I called upon the good community at my job. I called upon the churches I have played for. Yes, I reluctantly went to SCS as a favor to Mom. I called upon John, the train guy and Bob, my graduation buddy from CK. Many people came forward. I even think that I met Jesus. It must have been Jesus.

My mom was sitting in the blood bank of the hospital. I was there waiting for someone to come through the door to help us. I looked at Mom and gave her a tissue. I heard the door open up. I looked. It was a white-skinned gentleman. He smiled at us. He must have been my age at the time and it looked like he took very good care of himself. He never introduced himself. Instead, he asked why my Mom was crying. I told him. He then turned to my Mom and told her that he would be very happy to help out. He then told her not to cry because everything was going to work out for the best. When he was done giving his blood, he rolled down his sleeve and walked out of the door.

I ran after him to get his name. I couldn’t find him. I went to the guard and asked him to tell me which way the mysterious gentleman went. I described him. The guard assured me that no one matching that description ever even came into the hospital that day. I wasn’t crazy. I knew that I saw him. I spoke to him. He was here and left as quickly as he came in. If that wasn’t Jesus, I have a new and mysterious, secret friend somewhere in Forest Hills, New York.

It was the third day in February of 1987. I knew that this day was going to be different. Even my dreams turned to strange apparitions of horror. So many things happened within the last few days. I was sitting in the room with her. Mom went to the ice machine down the ward to get her some cold water. I was alone with Janice. I had to say two things to her. If I didn’t say something to her, I would never, ever get the chance to hear her voice again. I summoned my courage and told her:

“Janice,

I am sorry for everything that I did

to you. I also want to say that

I love you very much.”

She looked at me and forgave me. Here she was in the greatest of all pains and she still found it within herself to forgive me. The final days were ironic. I saw her last alive on Saturday before her death. My parents together saw her alive the day after. I heard her voice the same day. Mom would be the very last family member to see her alive the day before her death.

A few days before her death, I almost saw her in her casket. I was at home having a quiet nightmare. I saw a woman in a casket in my favorite funeral home. I had been to many of them, but I would recognize this place anywhere. It was just a matter of time if this is supposed to be a message to me. When I got into my car on the day of her death, the DJ played nothing but Buddy Holly songs to commemorate his death back in 1959. I couldn’t help but shake the day off my head. It was also St. Blaise Day, a time when Catholics have their throats blessed. It all came together at one time.

It was a difficult time. I arrived at the hospital and rushed to her room. There she was. Her eyes were partially opened. I could see them practically rolled up to her head. Her mouth was filled with fine yellow foam. She must have been throwing up before she died. They said that she had a heart attack during the process. The fluid in her spleen must have escaped throughout her system. Hopefully, the pain, if there was any, was as quick as possible. She fought a great fight. The fact that she lived this long was a tribute to her more than anything.

I saw her body in her casket. It was the dream, the apparition, I had a few nights before. It was my sister in my dream. The Grim Reaper had paid me an unwanted and undesired visit. When I first saw her, she was in a carriage to pick me up from SXS. Now she was going to be carried back to SXS in a hearse. SXS-the place where I’ve had nothing but heartache. Looking at her made me realize that she was still my sister, only she was deceased. My sister is dead and I can’t believe that it happened. It was the single lowest point of my entire life. This far surpassed any bad time I had ever had.

There was a time when I was teaching at a local elementary school, that I decided to coach track and field at another elementary school. This was a rather difficult period because I had to convince a large group of strangers that I knew what I was doing. Originally, I had close to 100 to a 150 children come out to join. As the season got started, that number dwindled down to a good 75, most of whom decided to come to practice whenever they felt like coming at all. I could see even then that I was going to have a tough time.

As time went on, I had many troubles due to personality conflicts with both the children and the parents. Soon, large numbers of children were leaving with the same excuses: “My parents said that I couldn't run track anymore.” I took the hit personally and watched as these children walked away from what could have been one of the best moments in their life. However, my finest moment was yet to come.

For years, I had taken many children to see the Colgate Women's Games in Brooklyn, NY during what had to be the worst winters in the city at the time. I had traveled to Pratt Institute for about ten years watching my girls run and finish in dead last. I would secretly pray for a real winner. For once, I would like to see a child that was so athletically gifted that I could look back and say that all of this traveling was worthwhile.

Her name was Yasmeen. She was a rather skinny at first, but she was a true aerodynamic runner. I could see that she would be able to run faster whereas the other children would have to fight the wind. She would be the one for me. Besides that, she was such a pleasant person. She rarely spoke. There were times that I spoke to her that caused me to wonder whether or not she really understood English. She must have understood. She was at the top of her class when it came to school work. She knew how to get her priorities together. The amazing part of this story was the fact that she was only in the second grade.

Yaz returned the following year to continue running track. I introduced the concept of cross-country to the team. By this time, more children left in droves. She considered leaving also. Fortunately, she stayed. I took her to a road race on Long Island. She was narrowly defeated in her age group for third place by a fellow teammate. This left Yasmeen completely devastated. I was almost sure, at that point, that she would throw in the towel for good. Her dad and I were able to convince her, however, that her best races were still on their way. She came back and gave it her best shot. With more practice, she would be much faster. She was only in the third grade by this time. I sat her down a few days later and explained what I called the Colgate concept. We came to an agreement: I would help her run and she would give it her best shot.

Her parents and I worked very well together. I found myself very socially attracted to them. They had a strong family togetherness that anyone would long for. When Yasmeen ran, they came out to support her. Her mom would set up dinner for her while monitoring her intake. Her dad would take her out to run on a good day so that she could develop more speed. At practice, because she was getting faster, I had to put her in with the older children—boys and girls—because she was destroying everyone in her age group at practice. She was truly becoming the dream runner that I always wanted. Everyone, including passersby, agreed that Yasmeen was very impressive. I decided to put all of my hopes and experience on the line. Could this child go all the way and become a finalist at Madison Square Garden? Has my moment of glory arrived at last? This coming January should provide an answer.

Now the most exciting soap opera was about to begin. I couldn't wait for the new year to arrive. I would begin traveling back and forth with her to Brooklyn just to watch her run. This meet took place over the first four weekends in January. The more successful runners would come back, by invitation, to the fifth meet on the first Saturday in February. Those who were successful that day would come back later that month to run in the finals at the Garden. Yasmeen was psyched. This represented a new challenge to her. To me, it was both a challenge as well as a shot in the arm. If she did what I needed, I could use this to gain more runners. I could also try to salvage something for myself: self-worth.

We agreed that she should try running the 400-meter race. She ran very well for the first two weeks. Each time she ran, she improved her time in the 400, the first time she had ever run the event. It was also the first time she had ever run on an indoor track. I was impressed. I knew that she was good, but I honestly didn't know that she was that good. Before the third week could begin, however, she came down with the flu. I was beside myself. I was sure that this year would be over for me as soon as it began. I would come by during the week to see how she was doing. She had missed school and, for obvious reasons, track practice as well.

She returned to run during the fourth week. By this time, her standings in the race had fallen because of her absence. I explained the situation to her. I reminded her that she needed to run like she did at practice so many, many times before. She had a strong desire in her eyes that could have wiped out anyone. She tasted victory before she walked onto the track. She wanted to win. She had determination.

The announcer called for her event. I had a stopwatch in one hand and a prayer in the other. I watched as she lined up for the start. Then I heard the gun. She took off like a bullet. From the moment the race started 'til the finish, she was all alone. If she wasn’t a girl, she probably would have been a racehorse. Her legs flowed gracefully around the track. Her movements were just too poetic. The other girls in her race were nowhere near her. She never turned around to look for anyone. The race belonged to her. In that brief minute and twenty-two seconds, I was the king of the world thanks to this little girl. This would undoubtedly be one of my finest moments in sports. I was able to show everyone that I too could coach a winning runner. Yasmeen and I were the perfect coach-athlete combination.

She was invited to come back for the fifth week. Needless to say, she came back even more determined. She only needed to get into the top twelve the week before. She accomplished that phase. During the fifth week, however, she needed to get somewhere in the top six. If she landed anywhere else other than the top twelve, the Cinderella story would have been over. Instead, she held on to her determination. She knew all too well what was at stake. She wanted this as much as I did. When it was over, she was removed from the track by the official with the other eleven girls. I waited for her to reappear. Fifteen minutes later, she came back to me. She had a package with her. Her mother and I opened it up. It was a finalist’s sweat suit. SHE MADE IT! The official results had her in fifth place. She qualified for the finals at Madison Square Garden.

She continued her success that year in the CWG. I was so proud of her when she ran at the Garden. For me, even though I wasn't running on the track, it was the first time I had been to the Garden without having to see the circus. This moment belonged to her. I sat in the stands beaming with pride. She, with that determination, had made it all the way through the series on her first shot. With less than a year of running experience, she had accomplished so much. When I started coaching at her school, it was the first day of her running career. She gave me a chance and I am forever grateful.

My family and I enjoyed the victory together. It was just too bad that my sister wasn’t physically with us. I had even wished that Rose was with me.

Before I knew it, a few more children came back to run. I never did get back the full 150, but I had enough to run up a string of victories for the team. She single-handedly influenced a whole community of people. She was the hottest talk in the area. People just never saw me at a meet without her. Even when she stopped running at CWG, she was my closest advisor. If we saw a runner that could use improvement, I would let her decide what could be done. I have never met such a gifted person at such a young age like hers in my life.

Yasmeen and I sat to talk one day. She expressed her desire to become a doctor. Based on what I have seen so far, I have no doubt that she is going to be one of the best doctors on the face of the earth.

Helping Yasmeen was the best sports moment I have ever experienced in my entire life. She was worth every second and more. I was so proud to work with her. I know that she will always be a success. Again, I needed to know that Rose would have been proud of my success.

I soon began to be ashamed of myself. All the while I was working with Yaz, I was hoping to be seen on TV with her in the hopes that Rose would see me and try to reach me. I, unknowingly moved her out of the spotlight just to serve my own needs. This was Yasmeen’s time, not mine. It was at this point that I figured I would throw in the towel on coaching.

It would be a few years later when I met another impressive student. Her name was Erin. It was one my first day in my new school. I was thoroughly impressed with her even before I said anything to her. She sat quietly staring out of the cafeteria window much like I did. I sensed right away that she was deep in thought. I knew that look very well. I had that same look whenever I was prepared to graduate. I knew how to address her. We struck up a conversation. If only she knew just how scared I was, she would probably have laughed at me. I tried not to let on. It wasn't late for me to head back to St. Pius V. I'll just claim today as a sick day and things will be fine. Erin, though, was not like the typical public school student. If every student turns out to be just like her, I would be very happy. She seemed to be wiser than the twelve or thirteen years that she has already lived to now. It turns out that her mom worked in the kitchen. Her mom was a pixie of a woman and was extremely vibrant. Erin was more or less reclusive. I admired how she kept to herself. Considering how I learned how to get into so much trouble in my life, I needed a lesson in keeping to myself. She was a great teacher. We would talk from time to time about her future. She was very level-headed and determined. I saw those as excellent qualities. It was then that I realized that I was now looking at someone who was about to embark on the same type of journey that I did. When she graduated, I wished her well.

Still, despite all that I have been through, I still somewhat miss Rose dearly. I have had many relationships, but none of them, since Connie, have meant anything to me. I have pretty much been around the block. I have met many lovely ladies, but only one has ever moved me more than Rose ever did. It was that mysterious Luanne. Unfortunately, her life was cut short by cancer in 2008. I am so sorry that I never dated her for I truly believe that she was the one for me. Believe me. I’ve looked everywhere. I even stopped looking when I was told that true love would come looking for me. It never did. It sped by me much too often. Many people say that there is someone for everyone. For me, I feel that my time has come and gone. I had the one that I wanted and I was foolish enough and lost her. Now, I am happy just to be alive and enjoy what’s left of my family and friends. As Dr. Bill Cosby would say, “It could always be worse.”

As a result, this torch song must come to a close. I hope that you weren’t looking for an entirely happy ending because this is as happy as I am going to get. Thus, my long, long torch song has come to a sad, sad end.

At least, for a while, the other ladies and I were just friends; lovers no more.

*

THE END