by Cristiano Caffieri
Larry Cowlishaw had made a great success in America but he was still haunted by things that happened to him in Lockley, a small town in Derbyshire, England. The problem was, as a schoolboy, Larry tended to fall hopelessly in love at the drop of a hat. Unfortunately, he fell for the meanest most spiteful girls in the school. There was one girl in particular who thought it great sport to toy with his affections and then make it into a big joke.
His last name being Cowlishaw didn’t help the situation. She often referred to him as Moo Moo and to make matters worse he suffered from acne, sported thick horn-rimmed glasses and wore his cousin’s cast off clothing. Fortunately, his cousin was a boy.
In moments of nostalgic meanderings, he’d see her married to some hard drinking, chain smoking bum; some guy that f**ked her without any genuine feeling of love or respect.
“Perhaps,” he mumbled to himself, “Perhaps she regrets not marrying someone like me, someone who would have treated her right.”
In spite of so many years having past, in his mind, her face of was as vivid as ever. He’d loved the girl more than anything in the world but she treated him like a piece of shit.
In the end, his therapist suggested that he should go to England, confront her and that maybe he would find some closure.
“You can’t go around carrying baggage like this all your life,” he said.
Larry contacted a private detective and within days he was flying into Manchester airport wondering if he was doing the right thing. The gumshoe he’d chosen was a disheveled, chain-smoking, Bogart doppelganger, but he had produced results and located the woman in question.