If this were my movie your text message tonight would have been followed by the scene in which you were standing out front a la Lloyd Dobler with the boom box playing “Down in the Willow Garden” this time rather than “In Your Eyes” and perhaps you would be naked under the trench coat (Jeremy’s addition, he’s married, let him live a little), and maybe you were coming over to seduce me. Maybe you wanted to dance on the double yellow line in the middle of the street right by the public niusance/ pedestrian protection crosswalk signs. We would watch as a black dog pranced down the street, as Mrs. O’Leary walks her angus. A light rain would fall and cover us, your hair all languid curls. My bald spot showing. Or maybe it was pickup packed with your stuff and you had decided that a life away from me was far less preferable than a life with me, and that furthermore, we could save more for our trip to the South Pacific by living together. I didn’t tell you about the trip to the South Pacific? The tickets are bought. You just have to show up. It will be right before you start graduate school, and around the time that I get all the pieces put back...
Aren’t we on a trip tonight to the place of the unknown, or we should be. Weekends like this do not roll around that often. I’ve got a cat, a borrowed cat, a borrowed car and we are heading south of the border. How can we make this thing makes sense to the people who have never had the desire to steal a car and go that direction in the middle of the night. Let’s start the weekend early and go bowling, and warm up to scores respectable. Let’s pretend you and I are believable beasts. Let’s talk of the things we would do if we had perfect time and money, and let’s pretend we don’t need an alibi. Let’s commit the crimes that they will sooner or later accuse us of. Let’s get off the hook. When they tell us that we are not aging well… when they tell us that we are not who we are supposed to be… let’s tell them that there are women that things didn’t work out with, that we still hope might work out, and that those women might find it in their heart to love us for us, and to love the fact that we deny, deny, deny that impulse that was not ours, but someone else’s totally. That we can deny, deny, deny this thing for a little while longer, and maybe...
Recent Comments