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Sandy
	
	Sandy was my girlfriend.  I loved her very much.  I
also hated her.  It was a very strange relationship.  We met
at a party one night in the house of a mutual friend.  His
name's Frank.  I thought he was a good judge of character.
At one point in the evening, he pulled me over and pointed
her out to me.  He said she was a really great girl.
	She was sitting on a couch alone, munching on a
cracker.  I'll admit that she looked very pretty to me.
Long, golden hair down to her elbows, light blue eyes, fair
skin.  And a dainty little mouth, speckled with cracker
crumbs.  She didn't seem particularly happy with the lack of
attention she was getting.  At the time, I didn't think of
her loneliness as unusual.  I tend to overlook things like
that.
	So I sat down next to her and introduced myself.
Something about her seemed to change then.  It was as if my
words gave sudden meaning to her very existence.  The effect
I had on her enchanted me, and I didn't once stop to think
that maybe it wasn't my presence, but just the fact that
someone was there at all.  Besides, I rather enjoyed
believing that it was something about the way I said hello
that had made her become so lively and interested.  Her
voice was high-pitched and excited, and I noticed that her
lip trembled every once in a while.  It was a cute little
quirk.  She had me hooked.
	We talked for the rest of the party.  I don't even
remember what we said or even what we talked about.  I
imagine we told each other about ourselves then.  But there
wasn't much to know about Sandy.  She was 23 and still lived
with her parents.  She was always looking for a job, but she
never found one that quite suited her.  When she was 12, her
dog died.  That's all I'm sure of about Sandy's life.
	The next night, we went out on a real date.  Through
some sort of intuition, she knew just what to do and say to
charm me.  And that pretty little full-faced smile of hers
always filled the gaps in conversation.  We had much to talk
about, but little to say.  And very little in common.  But I
found myself growing close to her even then.  There was
something about her that attracted me.  Or maybe it was
everything about her.  But I was falling for her.  It didn't
matter why.  I was happy.
	I guess it all started going downhill when I asked her
to move in with me.  That's when she knew she had me.  Of
course, the change wasn't immediate.  It happened over time.
But all the things that I'd liked about Sandy started
melting away.  I thought nothing of it at first.  I figured
she was just adjusting to living with me.  But it didn't
stop.
	You always think that crackers are cheap.  They seem to
be fairly inexpensive food items.  But when you buy 15 boxes
a week, it starts to add up.  Sandy had this obsession with
crackers.  She loved to eat them.  They were her own little
thing.  I never dared eat one, myself.  The only time I did,
she gave me a look that would've killed a small squirrel.
Since Sandy didn't have a job, I ended up paying for her
crackers.  Which was alright for awhile.  Until she started
importing them.
	Sandy and I never had anything physical between us.
When we'd first started dating, she'd told me that she was
waiting for the right man.  I obviously wasn't him.  But I
figured she'd change her mind sooner or later.
	Sandy seemed to enjoy ignoring me.  I came home one day
with a gift for her.  I did that often, especially on
payday.  I called out her name, but she didn't answer me.  I
found her in bed with Frank.  I guess he was the right man.
They didn't even stop until they were done.  I could tell
Frank was scared.  But Sandy had him pinned to the bed with
her fists.  It's amazing how much power a small girl like
that can have.
	Frank ended up running out on the street naked.  Sandy
and I talked.  We didn't fight.  We never fought.  I was too
wrapped up in my idiot love to show anger to her.  It was a
dangerous internal conflict, my love and hate for her.
Fortunately for Sandy, she was unencumbered by such things
as love and affection.  Nor did she have any qualms about
yelling at me.  Or perhaps she just liked to complain and
yell.  On this occasion, as was usual, I ended up
apologizing.  I told her I was sorry for interrupting her.
I did want her to be happy, after all.
	Exactly one month later, I died.  I was hit by a car on
the way to the drugstore to get Sandy some aspirin for her
headache.  About a week later, she broke up with me.  I
believe she said that I hadn't done much for her lately.
God, does she know how to put me on a guilt trip.