I sliced my wrist over my first breakup.
Fourteen months and three days and a little over six hours since we first kissed.
My dad would tell me-and he would do this little snotty giggle before he said it, I knew it was coming- that I reminded him of a Mustang he once had that liked to stall out just as he was shifting it into third.
We were broke up, me and Shelly, for two weeks and two days and almost exactly twelve hours when she walked into the Tri-County Sports Card show at the Knights of Columbus Hall with Lathan Reicher, and I could smell her smell.
Nobody smelled like Shelly.
Nobody.
I couldn’t live without her or that smell or the thought of her rubbing that smell all over Lathan Reicher,so I went home and slit my wrist.
It hurt worse than when the possum bit me when I went to get my wiffle ball out from under the screened porch and put my elbow on a baby.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Jimmy Doom's Roulette Weal to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.