The story of my late twenties!
Appeared in The Boston Literary Magazine
Appeared in The Boston Literary Magazine
Beautiful Stranger
Come, beautiful stranger.
Sit beside me. Break bits from my blueberry scone as you reveal yourself in pieces. Tell me about your family. Your overbearing father. Your escape.
Lean in, touch my knee with a squeeze, brief but meaningful, when I talk of my father's death. My guilt at leaving my mother alone.
Share with me. Sun drenched hikes, sweat and blue skies. Crisp beers in the exhausted afterglow. Smiles at our unspoken, growing secret.
Tiny moments layered into the foundation until my hand will linger on yours; we'll hold our breath as lines are crossed with nervous intent.
Smile the complacent smile of comfortable familiarity. We'll read the paper, happy in the embrace of another's presence. We'll talk about the weekend. Our plans to go skiing.
Frown, push, hands hard upon my chest. A fight, born from irritation at my obsessive cleaning. My constant reorganizing of your things. Our things. Threats, tears, words flung in anger that were meant but not meant to be spoken.
Reconciliation, the realization that we cannot, should not, will not, ever be apart. Warm and tender tears on my neck, our heads on the pillow, your heat against my chest.
All these things, a life lived in the time it takes you to pick up your latte', tuck the newspaper under your arm as you hug the late arrival. Who? Your boyfriend? Husband?
Walk by without a glance, your tender touch on his arm as you walk out the door.
Come, beautiful stranger.
Sit beside me. Break bits from my blueberry scone as you reveal yourself in pieces. Tell me about your family. Your overbearing father. Your escape.
Lean in, touch my knee with a squeeze, brief but meaningful, when I talk of my father's death. My guilt at leaving my mother alone.
Share with me. Sun drenched hikes, sweat and blue skies. Crisp beers in the exhausted afterglow. Smiles at our unspoken, growing secret.
Tiny moments layered into the foundation until my hand will linger on yours; we'll hold our breath as lines are crossed with nervous intent.
Smile the complacent smile of comfortable familiarity. We'll read the paper, happy in the embrace of another's presence. We'll talk about the weekend. Our plans to go skiing.
Frown, push, hands hard upon my chest. A fight, born from irritation at my obsessive cleaning. My constant reorganizing of your things. Our things. Threats, tears, words flung in anger that were meant but not meant to be spoken.
Reconciliation, the realization that we cannot, should not, will not, ever be apart. Warm and tender tears on my neck, our heads on the pillow, your heat against my chest.
All these things, a life lived in the time it takes you to pick up your latte', tuck the newspaper under your arm as you hug the late arrival. Who? Your boyfriend? Husband?
Walk by without a glance, your tender touch on his arm as you walk out the door.
