He was like a letter blowing across her doorstep, the wind taking him before she’d had time to read beyond the salutation. She spent days inside, waiting for the wind to blow in the opposite direction, all the while imagining what might have been on that page: I want to take you dancing. Your eyes are like stars. No matter how far I go, I will return. She knew somewhere deep down that none of it could ever be, but it was all so fantastic, it would not release her heart.
Even now
February 16, 2009The opening notes sounded, and without warning, I could hear you playing, the guitar resting on your torn cutoff jeans, your t-shirt loose on your wiry frame.
“He could still break my heart, even now,” I told someone the other day. And it’s true. Every word of it.
No matter how old I get, I will never forget the crinkles at the corner of your eyes, the speed of your pulse just after I kissed you, and how my body shook, uncontrollably, when I knew it was finally over.
Lunch with Cupid
February 14, 2009“I am partial to rosé,” Cupid said, as he sat down for lunch. “Particularly on a day such as this.”
I served him spinach salad, thinking a little iron would make his afternoon more productive.
“Now,” he said, spreading the napkin over his lap. “Exactly what is it you’re looking for?”
I looked over at where he’d piled his bow and arrow on the floor, and smiled. I knew exactly how to answer.
On a Monday
February 8, 2009There was no good reason. It had not even been a particularly out-of-the-ordinary day. Nonetheless, there she was, opening one of the best bottles she owned, savoring it, making no apologies for turning the time she had into an event.
Just out of the frame
February 6, 2009In the photo, she could just see his right eye and the edge of his face. But it was the first she’d seen of him in years, and it shocked her to see how little he’d changed, how much he still resembled the man she once thought she loved.
Puzzle
January 30, 2009The puzzle pieces make sense: ones with straight edges over here, the ones with the trees on them over there, the ones with glimpses of blue lake in this pile. I can organize, categorize, slide them around, note which ones have the right tab for the right slot. The picture unfolds, spreading across the table. This skill, however, never quite translates to what happens out in the world. There, things don’t fit the way I would like them to. There, there are so few straight edges and so many strangely-shaped pieces bearing unfamiliar imagery.
Resorting to violence
January 28, 2009“Where did you go?” he asked. She had been silent for almost 10 minutes, staring to her right as if there were a TV hanging across the room on the wall.
She turned her head back toward him, but her eyes remained unfocused. He considered slapping her back to their place and time. He hated resorting to violence, but sometimes, she pushed him too far.
“I was envisioning my life without you,” she said. “And I have to say, it was all pretty fantastic.”
100 Proof 