“Teresa, why are you always hanging around with that guy Woody? I mean, you are suppose to be MY girlfriend. Right?” “He’s just a friend Tripper. Stop being so fucking paranoid” said the pretty blonde haired, blue eyed vixen I’d been living with for about a month. Day after day I’d go to work slaving my ass off at the glass plant only to come home and find this dude Woody had been sitting in my living room all day with my old lady. Some guy she supposedly knew since she was a little kid. Don’t get me wrong. I never saw him put a hand on her or out and out flirt with her in any way. Yet my gut told me something was wrong. Every time I saw him with her I got this overwhelming feeling of despair knowing this guy was getting in her pants. Was this dude screwing my girlfriend every day while I was away? Surely not. But again, I just didn’t trust any dude hanging around with my live-in all day while I was blowing glass. Sorry girls, but that old bullshit about “he’s just a friend”, never set very well with me.

Woody would basically get up and leave soon as I came home at five. He knew he wasn’t welcome - I’d probably stared him down a little bit hard. The ashtray full of cigarette butts. Marlboros, not my old lady’s brand. Beer cans all around and she only drank Barttles and James wine coolers. “Why does he have to be here every day when I come home from work? What do you guys do?” I asked. “Oh, he’s having relationship issues with his wife and I’m just counseling with him. Trying to help him out. You know how it is.” “Well Teresa,” I said. “How would you feel if you worked all day and came home to find me sitting with another woman?” I asked. “Long as I knew you weren’t fucking her and she was only just a friend …” Yeah, right I thought to myself. I know how jealous women are. There’s no way I could ever get away with what she was getting away with. Half ass trusting her but still having that tell-tale gut feeling, I gave her the benefit of a doubt, had my evening sex with her and went about my way.

Driving to McDonalds on my lunch break one day, I passed the house and there sat Woody’s new Corvette. Just as I got even with the front door, I saw Teresa throw something at Woody and yell, “Get the fuck out of my house!” It looked like they were having some sort of lover’s quarrel, but I knew he was only just a friend. When I got home that night I asked T if Woody had been around. “No, he didn’t come over today.” she replied. Hmmm … that’s funny I thought to myself. Why would she fucking lie? Suspicions were raised and so were my eyebrows. After thinking about it for a while, I decided to talk to one of her friends. I called Gina at home and asked her, “What’s the deal?” “What do you mean Trip? Teresa and Woody have known each other since the first grade. He’s just a friend.” Was Gina telling the truth? Or was she simply covering for a friend. Probably telling the truth, but how could I honestly tell? After all, some girls are sneaky and treacherous. Again … sucker me. Like a dumbass, I trusted what she said. I blew it off, crashed and went to bed. That night I had a dream. Teresa was fucking Woody and there was nothing I could do.

Woody this and Woody that. Oh what a nice car he has. He was the captain of the football team in high school. He lifts weights. And he always has the best weed. Well, if Woody was all that. What in the fuck was Teresa doing living with me? She literally couldn’t keep this asshole’s name out of her mouth. One night I came home and went to the basement to wash a load of clothes. When I went to put my stuff in the dryer, I found it was full. Unloading the dryer, I started pulling out men’s shirts, underwear and several pairs of jeans. “Whose shit is this?” I asked my girlfriend Teresa. “Oh, that’s Woody’s. He and his wife had a fight. She got mad and moved back in with her mother. So I volunteered to wash his clothes.” “Tell the mother fucker to take his shit to a drop off service,” I said tossing his shit aside. “I don’t like my old lady catering to other men.” “But Tripper,” she said batting her baby blues, “he’s just a fucking friend! Stop tripping!” “Yeah, right,” I said under my breath. And I wondered if she’d undressed him too and sucked his dick before she washed his goddamned clothes. I’d about had enough of her shit and wanted to find out what was REALLY going on.

I saw an old boy named Mike over at the Git-N-Go and I asked him how he’d been. We loaded up in my car and cruised down Main to match a couple of joints.”How long have you lived in Muskogee Mike?” I asked coughing a bit from a toke off a big fat hooter. “Pretty much all my life,” he said. “But Trip, if you don’t mind, why do you ask?” “Man Mike. Something’s bothering me. And my not having lived in the area for very long, I was wondering, I paused to take a swig of beer and scratch my head. “Yeah Trip? What is it bro’?” asked Mike now good and fucking stoned. “This dude Woody. You know, the one with the red Corvette? You know who he is?” “Yeah man. I know him.” Mike replied. “Ever know of him having anything to do with Teresa? What I mean is … has he ever fucked her or had a relationship with her? Maybe years before I ever came along?” “Not as far as I know Trip. Funny, but I’ve teased him about it before and all he ever said was, ‘She’s just a friend.’”

I left for the plant one morning and forgot my leather gloves. A half mile or so up the road, I made a u-turn and headed back to the house. When I passed Harvest Foods I saw Woody’s Vette and saw him using the pay phone. He was smiling and it looked like he had his hand down the front of his pants. When I made it to my driveway, there sat Teresa on the porch in her night gown with the cordless telephone up to her ear. “Well, I gotta go,” she quickly said. “See you after while.” “Who was that?” I casually asked. “Just Gina.” is all she’d say. Yet she had this extreme look of guilt on her face like a kid who’d just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. My thoughts … was she talking to Woody who I knew was only a few blocks away? Or was I simply being paranoid? After retrieving my gloves I drove back by Harvest Foods and Woody’s Corvette was gone. You know, I hate not being able to trust a woman, especially the one I’m devoting my all to. Again … was Woody really just a friend? Back to work, I tried to put it out of my mind and simply let it go.

Then one day, shit completely hit the fan. Teresa knew I was suppose to work through my lunch break. I’d called earlier and told her so. Yet at the last minute, the foreman said we could go ahead and go. Firing up a joint I slowly cruised home. Coming up the alley behind my house on Taft, what did I see? Woody’s red sports-car parked in the backyard. Turning off my engine, I coasted the last forty or so yards. I got out of my truck, quietly snuck up on the back porch, and peeked through the kitchen screen door. And guess what? There was old Woody pounding the shit out of my old lady. Her legs spread eagle, lying on her back on the kitchen floor. “What the fuck!” I yelled. Caught like a deer in a set of headlights, both Woody and Teresa’s eyes got really, really big! Woody jumped up, grabbed his boots and clothes and ran past me out the door. To make a long story short, after a big argument and a lot of name calling and foul words, I packed my shit and left. That’s right Teresa … he’s just a fucking friend! He’s just a fucking friend!