I had my first recurring Thursday lunch appointment with Mary yesterday. And get this: apparently, I am now Mary’s confidante.

She explained why, but it took a long time and sometimes my mind wandered. In fact, a couple times I told her when she was starting to repeat herself or had already made a point. It is a freaky and wonderful sensation to find myself with the confidence to say things like this.

Celexa, I love you.

Mary explained to me why she felt she could confide in me. She was long-winded, so I will boil it down to the essentials:

  1. She finds me entirely unattractive. I asked her if this wasn’t the case with all men, seeing as how she was a lesbian. “No,” she replied. “Some men are still somewhat attractive to me, but not you. No offense.” Of course. How could my feelings possibly be hurt by that?
  2. I know her secrets. I know, for example, that she is a lesbian. I also know that she goes in for hardcore girl-on-girl amateur porn. And I know that she hates herself for loving porn more than her church, which she also loves.
  3. I don’t care about her secrets. She sees me as being non-judgmental, but really I just find her secrets to be funny. Like she’s punching herself in the face while saying, “I wish I would stop punching myself in the face!”
  4. She doesn’t feel obligated to convert me. With most people, Mary feels like she needs to approach every conversation with the end-goal of saving their souls. We have agreed that she will not save my soul, so she can now say whatever she wants.

We traded stories at first, until I realized she is one of those “toppers” — people who start their stories with “You think that’s bad? One time I….” Except she was more of a “bottomer” than a “topper.” When I told her about my brother and his wife and how I still get an erection when I think about our time together, she told me about her pastor (or preacher or priest or whatever — I don’t know the difference) and how she’s married and everything but Mary is still certain that she (her pastor) secretly wants her (Mary), and that she is both aroused and horrified at the thought.

I told her that I steal at Walmart because I’m good at it (I didn’t tell her about the getting caught part) and because it’s a good release valve; she told me she masturbates while watching Rachel Maddow on the Keith Olbermann show. I am not sure how she saw those two things as connected, but she sure did.

I told her that I once traveled to Vegas to hire a hooker, but then spent the entire time alone in my hotel room. She says she has gone to Atlanta for the same reason at least thirty times, because she figures she doesn’t have to worry about seeing people from her church there. Although she points out that she at least isn’t afraid to pull the trigger.

I’m tempted to share my Celexa with Mary, because I think it could help her. But I only have enough for me.

What caught me off guard, though, was that toward the end of the lunch, Mary asked me what she should do. She was that general. “What should I do, Harlan?”

“About what?” I said.

“About life.”

“I think you should stop punching yourself in the face,” I said. And I started laughing again, because it’s such a funny image.

I thought that would offend her, but she did a little ha-ha laugh too.