A Man Named Dave

but to me everything seemed to fall into place on how she carried herself and why she hung out with that rambunctious crowd. I felt that Patsy, too, was looking for acceptance. “But,” she sighed, “when my father passed away, Mom had to sell the house and move into an apartment. I moved back in to help out; no one else will lift a finger. Hell, I’m sleeping on the couch. As much as she drives me crazy, I’m the only one who will take care of her.”
    Even though I picked up on her slight resentment, I knew Patsy was grazing the surface, too. “I am sorry,” I said. “I truly am. No one deserves to be treated bad.” I stopped for a moment. “My real father passed away, too –”
    Patsy jumped in before I could complete my thought. “What the hell. Shit happens! That’s my motto.”
    Without thinking I let out a laugh. I had never heard that expression before. And I picked up on Patsy’s subliminal message of brushing off whatever problems came her way.
    During the drive back home, both Patsy and I gabbed nonstop. I had never been with a woman for such an extended time in my life. I didn’t want our time together to end. Late into the evening, at my apartment, I proudly showed off my new home. Patsy was the first person to step into my world. We sat down on the couch, sipping wine while listening to acoustical jazz. My mind swam between saying good night and wanting to talk longer. Without warning, Patsy leaned forward. I flinched as she wrapped her arms around my neck before kissing me. Neither of us had any premonitions. We both seemed surprised that we had fallen for each other.
    The next few weeks became a whirlwind. Of all people, I had a girlfriend. I had everything going for me. I was enthralled with my job, and for the first time I had someone who wanted to be with me, someone who cared about me. The sensation of coming home after an exhausting flight to spend time with Patsy was beyond elation. Patsy blew me away when she would cook dinner or leave me notes inside my lunch bag that I’d discover when I’d fly. I adored the attention. I felt complete.
    When I had to fly overseas for weeks at a time, Patsy volunteered to watch my place, watering my plants and feeding Chuck, my box turtle. I was slightly apprehensive because I was overly cautious and felt things were happening way too fast. I knew I was caught up with her, and yet I could hardly control myself. I had always been alone. No one had ever wanted me, let alone found me attractive enough to give me the time of day. I gave Patsy an extra key, on the condition that she simply watch over my apartment.
    Weeks later when I returned home, Patsy met me at the door. As I unpacked, I noticed my closet space had been taken over by her clothes and the bathroom countertop was filled with her makeup items. As I stood at the entrance to the bedroom, Patsy rushed over, hugging me and crying, “It’s not what you think! I didn’t plan to, but my mom’s driving me crazy! We got into a huge argument. I’m tired of being under her thumb. You know what it’s like. Besides, I’m here almost all the time anyway. I missed you so much. You’re not like the others. What are we waiting for? You know how I feel about you. Please?” she sobbed.
    Patsy had never been so emotional before. I wanted to sit her down and calmly, logically explain that we were now considering moving in together. This was no longer a date to the movies, a romantic dinner, or a passionate affair. While overseas, I had told myself to let things cool off between Patsy and me. But as I held her, I was tired of overanalyzing every detail in my life. Looking into her tear-stained eyes, I realized how much I missed her. As her whimpering eased, Patsy kissed me on the neck and face and said, “Sometimes it’s so hard. I’m tired of being put down, always being told what to do. And no matter what I do, it’s never good enough.”
    It had always troubled me how Patsy was treated at times. Her mother, Dottie Mae, had seemed overly nice when I first met her, but I could sense how closely she watched Patsy’s every move or corrected her on the slightest thing. When I asked Patsy why her mother acted that way, she waved a hand at me. “It’s her way of watching over me. She’s afraid I’ll blow it and get into trouble again. When I was younger I was pretty wild.”
    One time, before I had to fly overseas. Patsy rushed into my apartment, telling me how her mother and siblings were again berating her. Before I could