Thursday, April 5, 2012

Allow Me to Circle Back

It happened in the same place I eat my lunch every day: the second bench on the right on the jogging path in Hilkadia Park.  The day wasn't extraordinary, nor was the grass, or the trees, or my turkey on rye, but the event has shaped my life for months now, and it's made me think about if there was something I did to help it along.  My conclusion:  there is not.  I've done nothing to make this happen.  It was just fortuitous, and grand, and rough, all at the same time.

I've never been married.  There was this one girlfriend, this one time, who I fell in love with, and who I thought I'd buy a ring for, but life happened, and time happened, and school and jobs happened, and we ended up in very different places, and I never bought that ring.  So, I had a hard time getting close to anyone after that.  I tried to shake it.  Tried to find another person who made me feel the way I'd figured I should feel, but that never happened.  Not for me.

It did, however, happen for her; about two months after we broke up she was engaged.  Five months after that, she was married and about ten months after that she had a baby.  An ugly baby.  I Facebook stalked her.  To be fair, she had an ugly husband, so the baby shouldn't have been a shock to me.  I'm getting off topic.  Allow me to circle back to the day when things changed.

As I said, it was Turkey on Rye Day.  I thought that I should have put more mayonnaise on it, and maybe some mustard, or guac, but like most people, I had no guac in the fridge that morning and so my sandwich was a bit dry.  I was about half way through it, thinking of its sad state, when she walked by.  If I wasn't me, if I wasn't there, sitting on that bench, eating that desert-dry sandwich, I wouldn't believe me.  I really don't blame you if you don't believe me, but I tell you, I fell in love then and there.

It was like butterflies flying through rainbows arching across a burst of sunlight over a lake at 5:32 in the morning that makes you think of glass and Gandhi.  Yes, sir.  Dark curly hair that bounced about halfway down her silk blouse covered back, that pointed directly at a firm, run-every-morning butt, that connected to slim beautiful legs, that ended with red high heels that carried the love of my life.  I was awe-struck.  Thinking back, I'm sure I was quiet a sight, mouth agape, eyes fixed, turkey on rye hanging in the balance.

I often think about going and talking to pretty girls I see, but that didn't even cross my mind.  I never actually thought of it, but I wonder if, subconsciously, I thought that the moment would break like glass if I moved, that she might shatter if I stopped her in her stride to try and talk to her.  So, I just sat.  A man on the edge of his seat eating a turkey on rye, or rather, holding a turkey on rye mid-bite.

And so, just as she walked into my life, she walked out of it, curls bouncing, framing her porcelain, Oil of Olay Commercial Face.  But, I've started to work out now.  I've started to dress better.  I've started to put more mayonnaise on my sandwiches (I'd hate to try and talk to her with a dry mouth).  I've started learning french.  For some reason I think she might speak french, and I hate to try and talk to her and not be able to.  I think I'll learn Portuguese next.  She might speak that.  I also make sure to sit on that very same bench every day.  Not really sure if she'll walk by again, but it's my only real shot.  I'll talk to her next time.  I know I will.


  1. I like this waking-up-moment slice-of-life piece. A lot.

  2. Thanks. I find it one of my week points. For some reason, the disturbing tends to come easier to me, but I'm trying to stretch myself.