Fireworks had been the best ever and there we lie, elbow length apart, on a blanket spread across my hood and windshield. One or two tailgate parties raged on in the distance, but our little world was our own. The air had just a whiff of leftover mugginess, mixed with the sweetness of nearby cornfields, from when a brief squall made us wonder if they'd have to postpone, leaving in its wake a perfect view of constellations that perplex the ages.
After I picked her up at the barn we grabbed sandwiches then took our time finding a spot even though the lot was far from crowded. As the evening progressed the words were increasingly sparse, and somehow, I sensed, just as irrelevant.
I take a deep breath. Right on cue she answers with one that couldn't have been more mocking from a seasoned comedienne. As I look her way with raised eyebrows I'm met with that smile that has a way of answering the present question while raising a thousand more all at once.
"Shall I yawn now?"
"Are you tired?" she replies, eyes ablaze.
I look away and take another deep breath, straining with every fiber to keep it together. Something is different tonight. Whatever it may be, it's throwing me off, but I keep telling myself it's worth the risk of staying on course. I smile.
She turns her head away with nothing to look at but a starry patch of black. Her breath this time is filled with consternation, a gale-force sigh.
"Look, just so you don't have to worry, there is no way we're falling for each other," she asserts with arms folded.
"Ohhhhh kayyy" I reluctantly offer, refusing to leave her stranded.
"I mean, I just wanted to make sure we're on the same page and all."
"Right." My grin starts to encore, adding, "I mean...I've been doing everything I possibly can to keep that from happening."
The forced silence that followed simply could not survive. Impossible to say who started laughing first. Eventually the mutual peripheral surveillance gives way to an exchange of relieved, wistful smiles.
I glance away with, "Aren't we a couple of dipshits."
We cover our mouths as kids giggling in church. At some point she reaches out to the sky for a handshake, "Nice to meet you, we're the Dipshits!" It's a wonder we didn't roll onto the ground, but that would have been all right, so deliciously lost, you might say, in on the joke.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
is it just me, or
she is not someone you meet
she's visually striking, but her beauty is revealed over time, as the elements sculpt the side of a marble cliff
she has mostly male friends, even when she's married, none of which can ever tell where things stand
she'll share a double room with you during an overnight trip, then after she takes a really long bath you awake to find her curled up at your side
she'll ride with you into the sunset till the road ends and then hop the next plane
she re-creates her family in whatever circle she finds herself
she is her own time and space and a world your dreams can only wish they were set in
she's the cashews in your chex mix - edible without them, but what's the point?
she is distant all evening and then sings haunting, wordless medieval chants as you make love
she's a guilty pleasure in that you hopelessly adore her in spite of yourself
she is almost as good of a friend as she is inspiring, yet at times, even more so
she's the risk you can't afford not to take
she forms relationships from her own mold, which if you manage to break, she'll quietly, albeit somewhat reluctantly, savor it in hear heart forever
she's a figment of your imagination even as she stands right in front of you
she perpetually keeps you within inches of the most horrendous mess you could ever find yourself in
she is wonderfully, wonderfully imperfect and may just admit it if you stick around long enough
she's a girl on the inside, obviously, but one who's unabashed sweetness sneaks up on you, making you wonder why you ever doubted her
she is someone you experience
she's visually striking, but her beauty is revealed over time, as the elements sculpt the side of a marble cliff
she has mostly male friends, even when she's married, none of which can ever tell where things stand
she'll share a double room with you during an overnight trip, then after she takes a really long bath you awake to find her curled up at your side
she'll ride with you into the sunset till the road ends and then hop the next plane
she re-creates her family in whatever circle she finds herself
she is her own time and space and a world your dreams can only wish they were set in
she's the cashews in your chex mix - edible without them, but what's the point?
she is distant all evening and then sings haunting, wordless medieval chants as you make love
she's a guilty pleasure in that you hopelessly adore her in spite of yourself
she is almost as good of a friend as she is inspiring, yet at times, even more so
she's the risk you can't afford not to take
she forms relationships from her own mold, which if you manage to break, she'll quietly, albeit somewhat reluctantly, savor it in hear heart forever
she's a figment of your imagination even as she stands right in front of you
she perpetually keeps you within inches of the most horrendous mess you could ever find yourself in
she is wonderfully, wonderfully imperfect and may just admit it if you stick around long enough
she's a girl on the inside, obviously, but one who's unabashed sweetness sneaks up on you, making you wonder why you ever doubted her
she is someone you experience
Monday, June 15, 2009
Damn the Torpedoes
Remind me for the zillionth time that her heart knows no bounds with him. Fight as she may, it's only a matter of time. She'll bend the rules. She'll surrender her will. She'll sacrifice goals and comfort to see things through, even enduring humiliation. She'll give till there's nothing left and follow him to the ends of the earth and beyond.
To call her a fool would prove me a hypocrite. God knows I've wagered hope and trust in even frivolous pursuits.
That gleam of approval in her eyes may as well be the headlights of an oncoming train. Their exchange of knowing smiles rings a death knell in his ears.
So are you, um, doing anything tomorrow night?
To call her a fool would prove me a hypocrite. God knows I've wagered hope and trust in even frivolous pursuits.
That gleam of approval in her eyes may as well be the headlights of an oncoming train. Their exchange of knowing smiles rings a death knell in his ears.
So are you, um, doing anything tomorrow night?
Thursday, May 21, 2009
whacked
To countless Western adolescents, as Regan talked tough with those short-time Soviet premiers who have all but escaped our minds, the greatest looming deterrent of our time bore various monikers. The Board of Education, Mr. Bo Ard, The Physical Educator, or that of a similar vein could be read along the business end of some of them, at least at my middle school. The ones you never saw sported holes for aerodynamic efficiency or even had rusty construction nails sticking out.
Just one broadside strike of a desk never failed to save souls. What we associated with that particular word was, for some, way more horrifying than a grizzly mafia hit could ever be.
Mrs. G, next to our homeroom, had the shop instructor fashion hers in the shape of a human hand and painted with school colors, if memory serves. On its fateful inauguration day our own teacher, the dry WWII vet, would-be lovechild of John Wayne and Principal Skinner, ordered us seated and silent after he was discretely asked to witness, as if anyone wanted to miss overhearing the proceedings. Breathing minimally we strain, some grinning, others solemnly, to discern the mumblings from outside the open door. If the inquisition ever became intricate he might reappear, to quell us, unless the gunpowder crack of sovereignty meeting Jordache denim invoked saucer-eyed pause. This time the report is followed by a tink-tink-tink as if someone dropped an empty soda can. Later that day most of us saw her toting the faux paw, minus a thumb, evidently shearing along the join at impact.
In eighth grade one of the guys tells me that Bonnie Bowles was able to avoid corporal punishment by citing the way of women as a nod to Jacob's Rachel. Once, while passing the assistant principal's office I could almost feel the whiff, line drive to center field.
As we moved on to high school, the bigger building with fresh challenges, posturing amidst peers with increasingly adult features and improved personal hygiene, the threat and awe quietly gave way. Discipline was now a clerical matter. Usually it was demerits and/or partial isolation in what we termed the hole, a one-time bomb shelter. Actually, the reprimand code had been in force since fifth grade but at first we rarely knew of anyone actually going that far. After a while it sounded almost fun to spend a month in suspension making holiday crafts, to hear one fellow relate it on the bus every morning between bodily epithets.
The girl next door once tried to describe Mrs. Wreede dishing one out from her electric wheelchair. To this day I'm not sure how she got to see that happen.
It wasn't long before a new or refurbished hand-paddle was commissioned, except this time we all know what the tink-tink noise signifies. Same kid even.
Most of those who got it possessed a certain inner strength, not so much irreverence as, well, relentless individuality. The point was not to punish delinquent behavior among a few. Our elementary principal seemed to only wield the board playfully, maybe joking about it when someone has a birthday. It was a concerted effort to counter the threat of global puberty.
Just one broadside strike of a desk never failed to save souls. What we associated with that particular word was, for some, way more horrifying than a grizzly mafia hit could ever be.
Mrs. G, next to our homeroom, had the shop instructor fashion hers in the shape of a human hand and painted with school colors, if memory serves. On its fateful inauguration day our own teacher, the dry WWII vet, would-be lovechild of John Wayne and Principal Skinner, ordered us seated and silent after he was discretely asked to witness, as if anyone wanted to miss overhearing the proceedings. Breathing minimally we strain, some grinning, others solemnly, to discern the mumblings from outside the open door. If the inquisition ever became intricate he might reappear, to quell us, unless the gunpowder crack of sovereignty meeting Jordache denim invoked saucer-eyed pause. This time the report is followed by a tink-tink-tink as if someone dropped an empty soda can. Later that day most of us saw her toting the faux paw, minus a thumb, evidently shearing along the join at impact.
In eighth grade one of the guys tells me that Bonnie Bowles was able to avoid corporal punishment by citing the way of women as a nod to Jacob's Rachel. Once, while passing the assistant principal's office I could almost feel the whiff, line drive to center field.
As we moved on to high school, the bigger building with fresh challenges, posturing amidst peers with increasingly adult features and improved personal hygiene, the threat and awe quietly gave way. Discipline was now a clerical matter. Usually it was demerits and/or partial isolation in what we termed the hole, a one-time bomb shelter. Actually, the reprimand code had been in force since fifth grade but at first we rarely knew of anyone actually going that far. After a while it sounded almost fun to spend a month in suspension making holiday crafts, to hear one fellow relate it on the bus every morning between bodily epithets.
The girl next door once tried to describe Mrs. Wreede dishing one out from her electric wheelchair. To this day I'm not sure how she got to see that happen.
It wasn't long before a new or refurbished hand-paddle was commissioned, except this time we all know what the tink-tink noise signifies. Same kid even.
Most of those who got it possessed a certain inner strength, not so much irreverence as, well, relentless individuality. The point was not to punish delinquent behavior among a few. Our elementary principal seemed to only wield the board playfully, maybe joking about it when someone has a birthday. It was a concerted effort to counter the threat of global puberty.
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