Johnny, Johnny, Johnny, Whoops, Johnny...

I met Johnny in a bar. They played blues there. Sunday afternoon, and I felt lonely. I sat at the bar with my notebook computer and my tri-tip dinner.
The music blared raucous and loud. So did the guys to my right. Johnny sat to my left. His luxurious long, dark hair was pulled back in a pony-tail. He pointed out the drummer in the band. His dad, he said. He worked in his father's thrift store.
We talked. After a while he walked me outside and kissed me goodnight. There was clapping. The band could see us embracing. Johnny was embarrassed and ducked out of the way.
After that we hung out. He didn’t have much money. Lived at his mother’s house.
So we did free things. One night his father’s band played at a Hells Angel’s barbecue. Johnny introduced me to a guy named T-Dub who sported a long straggly beard and ancient leathers. T-Dub sold t-shirts to raise money for the Angels. I was about to buy a red tank top I thought was cute, but Johnny quickly pointed out that the logo was an elaborate swastika and we backed away. Spent the rest of the night doing my best not to look Jewish.
We only had one real date. A movie in the afternoon. "The Crying Game". He was a little drunk, and I let him put his hand inside my shirt. It felt soothing somehow.
After the movie a reporter took our photos and asked us what we thought of the film. We were in the paper a week later, but I didn't know that until afterwards.
After the film, I didn’t see Johnny for a while. His motorcycle had died, he said. He called every day and then he didn't call. A few days went by. I was furious. I thought. “Well, he’s a shit. Like most the men I’ve dated since my husband died.” And felt sad and disappointed.
I went to his father's store to tell him off. The father's girlfriend said, "My God, no one's told you, have they?"
He was in the Intensive Care Unit, one side of his long, dark hair shaved away. The side with the staples. To hold his scalp together. I wanted to call him Spike, but I restrained myself. The nurse said he was asleep. He stirred and asked, "Mom?” I felt guilty for thinking he was nasty like the others.
He was drinking when the car hit his Harley, but it wasn't his fault. The woman ran the light. A piece of his skull pierced his brain. The father's girlfriend said he died for two minutes. Later Johnny and I went to the library and I looked up "Brain Injuries: Frontal Lobe". He couldn’t read yet. The resources said the brain is amazingly resilient, and we felt reassured.
I sent out invitations to my third 40th birthday party. 50 of them. Asked everyone to R.S.V.P.
A few people called to say they couldn't make it. One had a quadruple bypass. That seemed like a good excuse. Most didn’t respond at all.
Johnny gave me the hamster clubhouse that I wanted. The house I coveted for Half-Pint's little rat babies. When I find her a husband.
My friend Carin picked Johnny up for me. The doctors said he couldn’t ride his bike for six months. The staples were out now. They’d shaved the other side of his head. It had grown back some since the accident. He’d slicked it back with hairspray. He looked handsome in a Mediterranean way, and I called him Guido. He smiled for the first time since the accident.
People told me later that it was a lovely party. Johnny took lots of photos of me opening my gifts.
The presents were wonderful. They were thoughtful. A platter shaped like a fish from a friend who'd shared bagels and lox with me. A glass-blown lamp in the form of a rat from Johnny's Mom. A chime necklace. A jigsaw jewelry box.
Eighteen people attended my third 40th birthday party. My mentor said the food was delicious. My lawyer said it was a great time. Carin said people loved me and chose their gifts carefully. Johnny said, "Look how many people showed up." Some friends of his were there. They drank heavily, like him, but were also gracious and polite.
I wanted to flash it all back. What I wanted was to be driven to a party room full of 50 people who'd all R.S.V.P.'d. By a man with long, dark hair and a head with no hole in it. I wanted to be loved perfectly. I got a clubhouse for Half Pint’s tiny rat babies. I got some of what I wanted.