Nothing Good Can Come from This

by Kristi Coulter

I told men I’d come when I hadn’t, because it wasn’t their fault I was too drunk to feel anything. I lied about what I liked and didn’t like in bed to accommodate whomever I was in bed with. If I liked something I thought I shouldn’t, I lied about that, too. I lied to wretched men and wonderful men. When I finally met the one who lit me up through the alcohol haze, who knew exactly how to crack me up and kiss me and love me, I was so scared he’d leave that I spent years trying to make it so. The night before our wedding, I set my hair on fire trying to light a cigarette. I told secrets to strangers. I told other people’s secrets to strangers. From time to time I’d make up a secret to tell to strangers, just because.