Honestly, it’s not like he was drop-dead gorgeous.
He was average.
Okay, slightly better than average.
He was adequate.
Taller than most, but in the worst possible way.
Alright, fine.
He was beautiful.
The hunch only made him appear loftier.
His clothes were just a bit too large,
like he was wearing his father’s hand-me-downs.
Damned if he didn’t wear that
as a badge of honor or something.
Asshole.
Every single girl was smitten,
fooled by his baggy khakis
and scuffed brown leather penny loafers.
He could rattle off Milton like he wrote it.
If the girl were dumb enough,
she’d have thought he had.
He drove a bright red, 1979 Fiat Spyder,
top down, blonde hair tousled by the wind.
Poser.
Okay, maybe he was all that.
But he was still a douchebag.
I was fooled too,
until I came home early one day
and found him in bed
with my best friend, Ellie.
There they were
all slathered in oil,
bonding over poetic couplets,
Cabernet Sauvignon,
and Linda Lovelace,
a hunk and his slut.
I guess we were both lucky
the revolver wasn’t loaded.
I was a pretty good shot
back in the day.
Oh well.
It left a nice gash in his forehead
when it hit his fucking face.
Not two weeks later,
he was driving down
Pacific Coast Highway,
rag top down,
wind blowing through
his head full of flaxen hair.
Ellie was in the passenger seat,
smiling like a prom queen
on her throne
next to Mr. Wonderful.
Poor thing.
She should have listened to me.
The radio was blaring
Cooper Allen’s
‘Never Not Remember You’.
Not like I was there, mind you.
But that’s how I imagine it.
The brakes let loose
in that old Fiat Spyder
while he was rounding Point Dume.
They say he must have been going
eighty or ninety miles an hour
when he lost control
of the car.
Typical.
Always showing off.
What a bastard.
I bet it was quite a sight, though:
A Red Fiat Spyder flying off the cliff,
sailing toward the fawn-colored sand
just before it hit the rocks
and smashed into
a thousand pieces.
A temporary lack of bullets
is trumped by a handy pair
of flush-cut pliers
any day.
Goodbye, Mr. Wonderful.
I don’t miss you at all—
not even a little.
I kinda miss Ellie, though.
Mattie Frascella is an English major at Kennesaw State University with minors in Professional Writing and Language & Literary Studies. After raising five children, running three small art businesses, and working for several years in the healthcare industry, she returned to college to complete the degree she had begun before starting a family. A study abroad alum and ultrarunner, she writes poetry and creative nonfiction that explore aging, grief, and cross-cultural connection. Her work has appeared in U.S. and international publications, and she is passionate about helping other “late bloomers” reclaim their stories.