Her dad was a private airplane pilot who flew away. I didn't handle her much better. And I think about it. She called me once later. Told me she'd been meditating. Said something about my hair. That she loved it. She used to tell me I looked like a lion. That's a nice thing for a man to hear from a young woman.
The thing is, I don't remember how to spell her last name. Even if I did. She could be married. She could be lost on purpose. She is nowhere on the internet that I can track. She is nowhere on the westside where she used to be. UCLA. Bad Brentwood bars. Her work. I don't remember where that was either.
She lived with her mom in a one bedroom apartment in Van Nuys. I liked speaking to her on the phone. She would purr when pleased. Actually purr. It would've been weird if she weren't Eastern European. No, it still was weird. And I liked that about her.
