70's Porno Music

Beverly

March 22, 1973

Roper stayed with me. Every day since my breakdown. I hated this time of the year. I really hated not having something to ease this pain. I think Roper knows. I've been digging for alcohol to help my withdraws from shooting.

It doesn't compare.

He was very cautious. When he went grocery shopping early this morning, you could tell how afraid he was leaving me alone.

He was gone for a total of 22 minutes (he kept count) and returned with breakfast makings.

I was able to take a shower, take a shot and throw a robe on before I heard my keys jiggle in the lock. I snuggled back in bed before he stepped in. He was probably under the assumption that I had fallen back asleep by the way he tiptoed in.

It was so good to see him. When my eyes weren't blinded my tears and my breaths were short. It was so good to see him.

Roper made pancakes. Fluffy things served with orange juice (with vodka) and eggs. I wasn't really in the eating mood but was able to eat a portion of it with his encouragement.

And Roper hung around. He scribbled in a notebook while looking out a window. I had a pretty poor excuse of a view. Didn't live in the best of neighborhoods.

People stared when Roper when he'd walk me to my apartment. Sometimes my next door neighbor, Berta, raise down her glasses and stare at me until I locked myself in.

People looked at me when we'd walk, shoulder to shoulder. Older white men whistled sometimes or crashed into us as if we didn't exist. As for women, they didn't hide their disgust.

I can't say that for everyone. Some passed us by with genuine smiles. Some just continued with their day. Like we are normal beings. Because we are.

The difference in our skin don't dehumanize us.

And Roper didn't pay any mind to it. He didn't see anything wrong. I mean, nothing was. But we are coming after a time where I couldn't go to the same movie theater as him.

Roper packed sandwiches for us. He said he's taking me outside. Where? I can't tell you that.

Don has called a couple of times. I don't want to quit my work. What else is going to pay for my dope? I don't know what I'm going to do.

But thank you for being here with me. I know it's just pen on paper and you can't tell me anything back. But you know how hard this time is for me.

Mamma would want me to forget what happened. I wish I could.