Lose That Girl

[Steven Hunley]

Lose that Girl
by
Steven Hunley

It was cold and snowy and bleak outside. The winter of my discontent too, thanks to Steinbeck and a degree in English. When you think of it, a perfect match for my tell-tale heart in its freezer-damaged condition. Seriously, did I ever tell you my real name is Poe? But that’s another story. Back to the first one, the lack of a woman.

I didn’t want to lose that girl. The 550 miles were against me. The season was against me too. It was Christmas. Christmas sucked without her. Pardon me Jesus, for I have sinned. It’s never acceptable to cuss around your maker or his son. After all, he made you. What did you do? Nothin.

The tree was as full of ornaments as much as my arms were empty of love. I was so love sick I could only come up with sappy similes and yucky yuletide metaphors. No soft and tender intentions from my lover. No sleigh rides together bundled up and holding hands under cover of furry alpaca blankets like in The Magnificent Ambersons. Did I mention I minored in film? No vanilla coconut lip balm on her lips to taste or exotic fragrance to inhale at the small of her neck. No soft shoulders and other unmentionable parts of her exquisite physique to feel tight against my unmentionable pieces.

No parts or pieces at all. No Rosebud.

No woman. No help. Neither of her supple arms to enfold me in kindness, none, I say none, of her kind words voiced in her one-of-a-kind expressive voice that addicted me right from the start. Not a single word heard in her particular language of love that only I totally understand.

For sure I was being silly. Undoubtedly I was yearning like a fool. For certain I didn’t want to lose that girl, and that gave me an idea.

So I sent Rosebud a clip of the Beatles, for love’s sake, for love’s sake you understand, nothing more or less. For Love’s Sake is powerful stuff. Why, it’s industrial strength!

It worked. She was here via Jet Blue in an hour and ten minutes.

So thank you, John, Paul, Ringo and George, for all of your help and kind words, they saved the holiday.

Written during Christmas…last Christmas, when your author was in the throws of yearning and feeling sorry for his miserable self.

Now that she’s really, really his, he feels a lot better! Santa told me so and Santa never lies.

©Steven Hunley 2012

http://youtu.be/wQB9po6YmcU

[Buh4Bee]

This is cute, but my only complaint is the girl is described in a generic way. What makes her so unique to the main character that he can't be without her? Just my little 2 cents.

[Steven Hunley]

Lose that Girl
by
Steven Hunley

It was cold and snowy and bleak outside. The winter of my discontent too, thanks to Steinbeck and a degree in English. When you think of it, a perfect match for my tell-tale heart in its freezer-damaged condition. Seriously, did I ever tell you my real name is Poe? But that’s another story. Back to the first one, the lack of a woman.

I didn’t want to lose that girl. The 550 miles were against me. The season was against me too. It was Christmas. Christmas sucked without her. Pardon me Jesus, for I have sinned. It’s never acceptable to cuss around your maker or his son. After all, he made you. What did you do? Nothin.

The tree was as full of ornaments as much as my arms were empty of love. I was so love sick I could only come up with sappy similes and yucky yuletide metaphors. No soft and tender intentions from my lover. No sleigh rides together bundled up and holding hands under cover of furry alpaca blankets like in The Magnificent Ambersons. Did I mention I minored in film? No vanilla coconut lip balm on her lips to taste or exotic fragrance to inhale at the small of her neck. No soft shoulders and other unmentionable parts of her exquisite physique to feel tight against my unmentionable pieces. We fit together in so many ways, where with women I'd had before her, who'd never been able to solve my puzzle, kept messing around with my pieces, trying to make them fit into their patterns. She left me alone, because could read me from the start, so it was no use lying to the woman, and no false pretentions either. Just truth. But it was one of those well and water situations, where you didn't miss it until it was dry. Now she was gone, leaving me a ragged mess.

No parts or pieces at all. No Rosebud.

No woman. No help. Neither of her supple arms to enfold me in kindness, none, I say none, of her kind words voiced in her one-of-a-kind expressive voice that addicted me right from the start. Not a single word heard in her particular language of love that only I totally understand.

For sure I was being silly. Undoubtedly I was yearning like a fool. For certain I didn’t want to lose that girl, and that gave me an idea.

So I sent Rosebud a clip of the Beatles, for love’s sake, for love’s sake you understand, nothing more or less. For Love’s Sake is powerful stuff. Why, it’s industrial strength!

It worked. She was here via Jet Blue in an hour and ten minutes.

So thank you, John, Paul, Ringo and George, for all of your help and kind words, they saved the holiday.

Written during Christmas…last Christmas, when your author was in the throws of yearning and feeling sorry for his miserable self.

Now that she’s really, really his, he feels a lot better! Santa told me so and Santa never lies.

©Steven Hunley 2012

http://youtu.be/wQB9po6YmcU


How's that?

[MANICHAEAN]

Like an aperitif from a memorable meal.
It whetted my appetite and got my juices going for the meat and two veg.
And yet sometimes, the starter is better than the main course!
This was, I suspect the case here.
Merry Christmas Bud.
M.

[AuntShecky]

I remember that scene in the movie version of The Magnificent Ambersons! Did you know that Orson Welles hated how Hollywood messed with his ending? Of course, I know that you know that "Rosebud" came not from his filmed version of the Tarkington novel but from Citizen Kane.

Just the same, "Rosebud" is an inspired name for the narrator's lady-love. Don't know why The Beatles did the trick for her, but different notes for different folks.


Ah, nothing like Yuletide for romance. Incidentally,Miracle of Morgan's Creek, the comic masterpiece written and directed by the incomparable Preston Sturges, has a surprisingly emotionally affecting Christmas scene. Another one of his 1940s scripts takes place entirely during Christmas, an edgy love story starring Fred MacMurray and Barbara Stanwyck. It's called Remember the Night, (not to be confused w. A Night to Remember which is about the Titanic. You've heard about "two ships passing in the night?" or what yours fooly's long-suffering spouse says about our first meeting: The Stockholm and The Andrea Doria.