The first thing we did was hug each other--hard--for about a full minute. Neither one of us wanted to let go. And I have to say that, until I had that direct physical contact with her, I didn't really believe it was her.
Jody has seen me through a lot of things in my life. She was there when my wife was in labor with my daughter. She was there when my wife was diagnosed bipolar. She was there when I found out about my wife's sexual addiction. When my wife moved out, Jody called me on the phone. A lot. I remember one night telling her how much I missed the physical intimacy of my wife. I said to her, "Just one night, could you call and tell me that you're in your underwear?" She laughed and said (imagine a thick, Southern accent), "There's an image you don't want in your head."
Jody and I started talking this morning, and we didn't stop for over an hour. I loved hearing her voice and laugh. I loved that fact that she's sounds so Southern she could put Scarlett O'Hara to shame, but every other word out of her mouth is "fuck." Even though we talked about being broke and unemployed and sick, basically being people with graduate degrees in English, we were happy just to be with each other.
Jody is my trash-talking Southern belle.
And Jody brought peace into Saint Marty's world today.
|Jody would hate this picture, but it's the only one I got|