Any time you leave town you gain perspective. Since returning from my Pittsburgh trip, I’ve thought more about my relationship with my girlfriend. When you dig deeper you begin to uncover the hidden truths in any relationship.
I first dismissed her reckless driving, and grew accustomed to her love of watching television crime. My eyes have since opened to the reality that my girlfriend is trying to kill me.
I can tell she has been waiting for the right moment. After she picked me up at LAX, we enjoyed a romantic evening together. I showed her the pictures I took of the Allegheny County Jail and the 376 sign. We embraced and woke up to each other the next morning. When I awoke all the sheets were held tightly in her hands. Had I not waken up, I believe those sheets would have been used to cover my face and suffocate me to cackles of “Sayonara, Steingart!”
Coming home from work the next day I checked my mail to find that all I received in my absence was a week’s worth of Ikea catalogues and Albertson’s promotional coupons. If I could have, I would have fired my mailman. I nearly threw out my back from the strain caused by lifting the heavy stack of mail. Her plan all along. I finally unloaded the mail onto the bar area of my kitchen where I noticed something I had not seen before—a knife!
“What’s this doing here?”
“My knife is sharper. It’s easier for cutting,” she said calmly.
She prefers her butcher knife to chop her boyfriend into little pieces. She could easily cut me up, stuff my remains into a box and ship me back to Pittsburgh.
You can only pretend for so long when the evidence begins to mount. We agreed to meet at Albertsons for sandwiches before going to see Buddy Guy at the Greek Theatre. I visited the beer aisle and roamed past the chips and pretzels. I waited some more for her to arrive. Growing restless of meandering around the Angel Food Cakes, I ordered a turkey sandwich. After ordering, she jumped up behind me.
“You couldn’t wait for me to order a sandwich?”
“I was waiting for 15 minutes.”
“I came at 6, which is when you told me to come,” she retorted.
“It’s fine,” I assured her. “It’s just a sandwich.”
It was not just a sandwich. I looked into her eyes. In her eyes I saw the look of death. After she reluctantly ordered her own turkey sandwich she latched onto my hand. Her fingers clenched my pinky which was blistered from gripping my driver too tightly at the range. She knew what she was doing. In pain I yelled, “Ow! My pinky!”
The look of the death was the premonition, the grip of death, the execution. The finisher, the butcher knife waiting for me at the apartment. Why would she murder her boyfriend and what would be her motive?
I doubt money unless she wants to pay off my student loans. I have a sweatshirt that she likes, my grey sweatshirt from college. “It’s warm and comfy,” she says.
Murdering me for my sweatshirt seems petty. There must be more that she can gain. It has become clear that there is one thing that I have that she might very well want…my blog! “Some Reservations.”
She is a loyal fan encouraging me to write each week. I have appreciated her support so much I have asked her to write guests blogs. She first wrote “Dating Elliot Steingart” about what it’s like to date me. Out of every blog, this was the most highly praised, and I didn’t even write it. Her follow-up, “Still Dating Elliot Steingart,” was just as adored.
With me out of the picture she could take over “Some Reservations,” build a bigger following, and win her very own “Jewie.”
Yet, I’m still alive. In fact, most of the time we spend together is quite nice. She even bought me pretzels. Maybe I’m paranoid, but if this is the end, the last ten months of blogging have been important to me. My only regret is that I did not omit the word “Jewish” and simply tell people, “I write for the Journal.”
After she reads this, she might actually kill me.