Thursday, December 31, 2009
"I should leave" she said. "I'll beat the cross-border traffic if I go now". "Take this" he said, weaving a flower through her buttonhole. "And this". Reaching down, he snapped a seed pod from a growth of small orange blooms. "You know I can't take that over the line" she said. "They'll never know if you don't tell them" he whispered. She waits for spring, and the promise in the envelope she's marked "Scott's Seeds."
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
"Why do you stay up so late?" he asked. She thought about trying to explain it to him, but in 20 years that had never worked, so she tilted her face up to his and he kissed her mouth. "I'll be up in a while" she said. He went to bed, and she waited for the night to settle around her like the dust of dreams. In the deepening stillness, she let the darkness of her soul open out, and she began to write.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
She thought about him driving down the Interstate with his father, avoiding all conversation and anything else that might cause tension. "Are you on your way to Florida yet?" she texted. "Drive safe if you are. I love you." She thought about how many times he'd read that message, because if he sent it to her she'd read it a thousand times. "I love you, I love you, I love you."
Sunday, December 20, 2009
“I’m going to unfriend you”, he wrote. “I want to remember the way it was that night, and seeing your updates is lessening it for me.” She hated this, but imagined how tragically romantic it would sound five years hence. She expressed sorrow, withheld her diagnosis of his psychological disorder, and tried to release him in a way that left him with his illusions intact. She just wished he’d done the same for her.
“I’d like to take you up sometime”, he said, motioning toward the sky and a small plane that was passing them above. “My father took my mother up when they first started dating. He wanted to impress her, and he did a maneuver that made her vomit right in the cockpit.” It sounded romantic to her, and as the years went by she never stopped wishing that they had gone flying together when they had the chance.
Monday, December 14, 2009
"You're back to being the only Scott", she told him. "Ah", he said. "What happened?" "I'm not sure", she said "but anyway, he couldn't skate." "Canadian girl.. where is your sense?" he said. "When you come down here next, we'll sit in my car and sing Desperado." "I thought you'd forget about that," she said. "I don't forget anything about you, Canada. Now go get some sleep"
Thursday, December 10, 2009
"If I read one of these 100-word love stories about me, I'll implode", he wrote. "I wouldn't do that to you" she wrote back, as she opened her word-processing program and began to type "If I read one of these 100-word love stories about me...". She imagined him imploding, took a sip of her cocktail, and went back to working on her book.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
“I’ve always got my travel essentials ready, in case I need to leave town on short notice”, he said matter-of-factly, and he showed her the drawer where he kept a small bag with toiletries and his passport. She wondered if he considered it an attractive feature in a man to be perpetually prepared to disappear. A few days later he was gone again, but this time he called from the airport to ask her to pick up his mail.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
"Lie back", he said "and close your eyes". She heard him take a sip of wine, and then lean over to her. He kissed her with an open mouth, and she felt the warm wine spill slowly from his mouth into hers. She could feel every nerve in her body awaken, and every muscle give way. She looked out the window of their hotel room to the lights of the city square below, then to the twinkling stars, and she became one of them.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
"Is that all you have to wear?" he asked sticking his finger through the weave of her loose-knit sweater. "Yes, isn't your car heated?" "My car is, but my motorcycle's not, and that's how we're getting to my place." Weighing her options, she decided he'd warm her up enough later on, but she was wrong about that. It was her first experience with the incompatibility of passion and reason, but it wouldn't be her last.
“I called you here to tell you something" she said. “I saw her with that Steve guy. She looked right at me. I figured if she hadn’t told you by now, then I'd do it.” He dug into his pie, but she’d couldn't eat. “Are you going to eat that?” he asked. When he’d finished her pie as well, he stood up, took her face in his hands, kissed her gently on the forehead, thanked her for the pie, and left.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
"You fall in love too easily" she said "I've only been in love THREE TIMES!" he exclaimed. She had to agree that three was a respectably low number, but she needed more information. "And I was...?" "The second", he responded. "I kind of wish you'd stopped there", she told him. "But then I wouldn't have met Maria", he said. She checked her lipstick in his rear-view mirror, got out of his car, and took the bus home.
"Let's sit in my car and sing Desperado" he said, and he handed her a bottle of mouth wash. "Is there going to be kissing?" she asked. "No. Here, rinse and spit" he said. Reconsidering, he said "Maybe later. But we really need to sing right this song right now". So they did, and they never kissed. The mouthwash was good, and the next day she bought the same brand. She still uses it now, every time she wants to sing.
"Wow, we totally made it, didn't we?" she said "Yes", he said "Even after the great fight of 2003". "Which one was that? There were so many" "I just made that up" he said. "Oh, well I'm sure that it would have been your fault if it had happened" she responded. "I love you" he said "Now go get some rest". And then I did...
"You shouldn't smile and laugh so much", he said. "You look more beautiful when you're sad". Maybe he said this because he had talent for making me sad, and just thought I looked beautiful when I was in his presence, but I kind of have to admit that I always thought he was right. And today, I actually look amazing.
"She only hates you because you get to stay the night and her parents won't let her", he said while I brushed my teeth and got ready for the day. "If she met you, you two would get along famously; I just know it." Maybe it was because he had a little photo-booth picture of her tucked in the frame of his bathroom mirror, but I spat more violently than I ever had, or have since.
"But he has such nice eyes" she said mournfully, looking at a picture of the lover she'd just lost. He put his arms around her from behind and nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck. "Everyone has nice eyes as long as they've got two of them", he said giggling."Come", he said "I'll make love to you". And she laughed all the way through it.
She tore a page from her little notebook and wrote "Please don't go to Argentina" on it. That was how her last lover had left. She folded the paper in half and slid it across the table to him. Without asking what it meant, or pressing her for context, he took her pen and wrote "No me gusta", and slid it back to her. They ate the rest of their meal without saying a word. This is love.