April 08, 2012

There's always the Memory


You sit on a rough wooden bench, the cast iron leaves press into your back and there are people mingling around the round, concrete picnic tables. The strands of light bulbs rock slowly back and forth with the slow gentle warm breezes. There is a low murmur of voices as people laugh and chat. A great lakes steamer slowly rolls by blaring its air horns as the gentle dirty wake follows it as it steams northwards. There's only a couple of people you know there, and even them you only know through work. So it feels weird to be here, with people you hardly know surrounded by more people you don't know at all. You don't know why you came, you figured on a whim, why not? You usually don't hang with these people, and you start to question why you bother coming out, these people, they don't interest you, they don't like what you like and the only relation you have with them is work. Probably a few comments about football and hockey is all.

As you're lost in thought, you notice someone sitting down next to you, breaking your thought and line of concentration. She seems to have the same amount of frustration and nervousness as you do. You want to make the conversation start, she's a cute girl with a black and white polka dot dress finished off with a satin bow around her waist, and short brown bobbed hair held back with a ribbon. You can sort of see the conversation, she'll laugh and giggle, you'll concur with what she says. Then some drinks will flow and the two of you are confounded with loose tongues as you just engage in some of the most indepth conversations on Dante's Divine Comedy.

Later that evening, the two of you'll go back to either yours or her place and engage in a nightcap, which becomes more than just that, it'll become a kiss, then an embrace, then a fuck. The next morning, neither of you have regrets, it goes on for months before you ask her the question she wanted to hear, "Will you marry me?" and she'll say yes. Before you know it, there's her in the white gown of her dreams walking down the aisle towards you in a smart morning suit in a huge church midst thousands of flowers and all of your friends. And you'll both say "I do." and there, it's done. With a poof and a shake of your head, you look around you. The flowers and church and gown are gone, just the warm summer night, the swaying lights on the walk, and you're sitting on an empty bench.

Perplexed, you look around for the mystery girl, and there she is, she just moved momentarily. You approach her, and the first thing you ask, "What do you think of Dante's Divine Comedy?" She looks at you through her big plastic framed glasses, and can say just one thing: "I like it."

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