Such a Nice Neighborhood

I was not a jogger when I met Susan, but because she was at the time so committed to getting and staying thin, would jog/walk with her around her Cherokee Park neighborhood or near my West Meade home. These are two upscale areas of Nashville with the street we often walked near my home populated by music luminaries including Crystal Gayle. We would cover miles, the entire length of the street of my youth and my grandparents home Jocelyn Hollow, both ways. I was amazed on such a seemingly sedate street that passersby in cars twice attacked us, one throwing a half empty bottle of beer at us and another a lit cigarette as they drove past. Fortunately, the assaults produced no substantive damage, only anger on our part. On one such forced march, I was evidently stung by a deer tick as I became quite ill, eventually being diagnosed by Dr. Khoury, who was notable for treating singers, with Lyme disease. Susan did not appear over-concerned with my suffering. On my recovery, after completing the round of prescribed antibiotics which temporarily also cured my having to pull out induced prostatitis, we resumed our walks (runs). One evening a beautiful late middle aged Golden Retriever approached us whimpering, carrying a shoe, near Richland Creek. The way the dog, who was obviously intelligent, carried on, Susan and I thought we were having our Timmy has fallen down the well moment. We surmised that the owner of the shoe had been hit by a car, fallen in the creek, had a heart attack, or that the shoe was somehow symbolic of grave distress. I followed the dog toward the garage of a corner house and was able to read her tag. Her name was Cinnamon and she belonged to that house. Just then, one of her owners emerged. I explained my presence and concern, and the lady assured Susan and I there was no distress, the dog merely wanted to play, never met a stranger, and brought the battered tennis shoe as a "welcome" gift. Susan and I would often jog with Cinnamon and/or a younger Golden Retriever named Ginger who lived next to my father's brother several blocks away down the same street. The course of life seemed relatively normal for Susan and I when we were together, except she continued to bring books, magazines, schoolwork, and anything else to the table eating in or dining out, so she would have something to do other than eat. When she did eat, I would often find the remnants of her throwing up around my bathroom at home and she would frequently stop up my sink with hair and vomit. In spite of knowing the inconvenience,mess, and expense, it caused, she would wash, color, and treat her hair in my sink all through our relationship. Susan told me her hair would have been grey-white had she not colored it. I told her I thought Emmylou Harris, who allowed her hair to age naturally, was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen as I would encounter her periodically in West Nashville. Susan never let my opinion stand in the way of her narcissism and continued to keep it over-processed black all through our time together, even as my eight year old female cousin remarked how phony it looked in an uncouth moment at my Aunt Bucky's house. Susan butchered the expression but conveyed collars and cuffs indeed matched. Susan was so taken aback she offered to show the little girl. One weekend, my parents drove to Atlanta for my cousin's wedding. Susan and I jogged my neighborhood on the night my folks departed. When we halted to catch our breath, Susan let me know her expectations of me for our continued relationship. These were her suddenly enunciated demands: 1.) That I have a half million dollar annual income. 2.) That I have at least two million dollars in assets in my own right. 3.) That I be a man and buy a home of my own that would become Susan's in the event of my demise or the dissolution of our prospective marriage (the eventuality of a divorce Susan said would never happen if I fulfilled the aforementioned stipulations). I was shocked by this fantasy, told her under any such circumstances, I would not be able or even want to continue seeing her. She relented some what to allow me a $200,000 to quarter million income, and reduced the allowance for net assets to one million dollars. I still told her she was looking at the wrong Mr. Goodman and if she wanted that, she should marry my father. For the second time in the relationship, I was deeply disillusioned with Susan and though I had been as private about our relationship as I could considering I lived in my parents' house, I felt compelled to share Susan's bizarre behavior with my folks and called them in Georgia to see if they thought I should continue seeing Susan. My Dad offered little input, leaving me to my own devices, but my mom encouraged me to stick by Susan who my mom thought was so blessed with intellect and so many talents.