LARRY AND I were so very much in love. You know that song about someone being the wind beneath your wings that Bette Midler sings? I had them play that at Larry’s funeral. Because that was Larry and myself.
There was something about him so innocent and vulnerable. He was like a little boy in a way, that always saw people in a good light, always seemed happy. “You’re too much of a worrier, Susie,” he’d say to me. Myself being a more intense kind of individual I guess you could say. Always giving a thousand percent. Always pushing the outside of the envelope, while he was content to go with the flow.
“Just take it easy for once in your life,” he’d tell me. “You don’t need to work so hard all the time.” He was always trying to get me to get an ice cream cone, call in sick for work, skip my aerobics class. I remember the first time we slept together, I got up before him, to make sure I had my makeup on and my teeth brushed, you know. And when he woke up, he said, “You didn’t have to do all that. I like you just the way you are.”
“You don’t know what I’m really like,” I told him. I mean, I’m one of those people that feels like they’re naked until they put on their mascara. “Believe me,” I told him, “if you knew how I really look when I first wake up you’d have nightmares.”
“One of these days I’m going to find out,” he said. “One of these days I’ll get to meet the real you. And I know I’m going to love her just as much. Probably more.” That was Larry for you. A real romantic.