A friend challenged me to write a eulogy to any object; this is what I came up with. It is, unfortunately, all true.
Today, I say good-bye to my girlfriend of one year.
What a beauty you were in my eyes when we first met; so wholesome, sweet, and pure. What surprises you had in store for me!
My mother and father eagerly embraced you; my daddy told me that I “Could look all over the world and never find another” like you. How true that was.
They, too, were convinced of your sweetness and purity, never imagining what their beloved son was learning from such a picture of youthful innocence.
It didn’t take long to learn that, in you, I had many girl friends for the price of one.
You baked pies, and made quilts, and wore cross necklaces, and spoke sweetly to all. Old women were jealous of your pies and quilts, while young men longed for your other talents!
You could speak like a dove and like a serpent. You took me to church, and after church you showed me things I’d only heard about; things that made a 19 year-old bull rider blush.
There were two of you; no, three. There was the angry, jealous you, who spoke so sweetly, yet filled me with fear—for myself, and for my female friends.
So there were three of you. But there was also another; the cowboy you, who cussed, drank beer, and got naked in a barn.
But then there was also the you who followed me when I went to a rodeo with my friend. In disguise. As a boy. A cowboy. How surprised I was when I was hurt, surrounded by my friends, and noticed a small boy staring at me, coming towards me, wiping my blood, then removing his hat. How surprised I was when I noticed that the boy wasn’t a boy, but was my dear girlfriend, in disguise. In clothes that she stole out of someone’s home. Yes, you had many talents!
And yes, I had many girlfriends for the price of one.
Or maybe the price I paid was greater than “the price of one,” for the price was great indeed. I learned things I didn’t want to learn, and things I’ve never forgotten. I’ve never before or since feared for my life when a girl drove me to the city park and then told me she wasn’t going to bring me home. I’ve never before or since locked myself in my dorm room and placed a chair against the door after warning all of my friends to stay home. And there are other prices I paid greater than these.
You built me up, and tore me down. You showed me great love, and made me feel like a worthless loser. And these were the small things.
But the pleasures were just as great and still somewhat seducing. What spells you cast by your beauty! Your lips drop as a honeycomb, and your mouth is smoother than oil.
As great as they were, I must, today, say good-bye, though the words bring me great distress (knowing that hell will soon be upon me.)
And now, I’ll wax prophetic. I see you, twenty years later, married to a minor celebrity, friends with true celebrities (which fits someone as multi-talented as you). I see you in magazines with your picture perfect family, the model of all that is good, wholesome, wifely, and motherly, and I hear the multitudes sing your praises. They call you blessed in the street. Your children rise up and call you blessed; your husband also, and he praises you. Many daughters have appeared virtuous, but you exceed them all!
And I am still entranced by your beauty. And I feel intimidated by your purity, and your wisdom, and your piousness. You are a spiritual leader of women and children, and in your presence I see my own utter worthlessness. But then I remember, and I smile.
And I know to stay far, far away.
Goodbye, my dove, my curse from above. May God bless you, and may he never remove his grace and mercy from your husband.