Category: Love

Friendship

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I remember the motorcycle he rode.

I remember sneaking off with him when he was sixteen. I was fourteen, full of elaborate excuses; girlfriends who vouched for me. Wind in my face, the noise, the leather jacket and the helmet. I saved up, hid them at his house.

I remember when he told me he was gay.

I remember how cool I played it. “I wondered,” I said. I thought, what were the chances he was wrong?

I remember every unworthy person he dated. I’d ask him, “Are you sure? What do you see?”

He’d say, “You’re my best friend.”

Irresistible Impulse

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He said- You said, Yes.

She said- I said, not yet. Another time. A later time.

He said- But your eyes said yes

She said- My eyes don’t speak for me.

He said- Your eyes speak to me.

She said- Looks can deceive.

He said- So you admit it? You lied. Those gorgeous blue eyes lied?

She said- You should have known. You should have asked, clarified, not taken things at face value.

He said- Whatever. Now we have this adorable cat. 

She said- This purring cat, we’re cat parents now.

He said- I’m a sucker for gorgeous blue eyes.

Clancy Hits It Home

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Clancy struck out for the third time. He was distraught. The love of his life had left with the ballboy that morning. He hadn’t seen it coming. Like that ball he’d missed by just a hair.

“A hair,” his coach said. “More like a country mile. Go get your eyes examined.”

Clancy made an appointment. The optometrist told him that with his vision it was a miracle  he’d ever hit a ball. She also made the observation that his girlfriend needed glasses. And she said yes when he asked her out for dinner. He only hit home runs after that.

A Tree Shining on the Hill

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“This tree will be removed due to oak root fungus. Direct comments to…” Unprepared, for the posted notice, her heart stopped.

After Dave passed on, she’d sat under the canopy of the live oak, its small stiff leaves immune to drought. Their tree, his, hers. She watched chickadees play.  So much time had elapsed since they first met on that hill.

The tree stayed the same. It had reached maturity, or maybe it was so large that a few inches of growth didn’t register. Timeless, it had seemed destined to watch over the bay for all eternity. Nothing lasts forever.

Raven Prince

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Once there was a wicked prince, so wicked he stank. No maiden would have him.

He mounted his horse and set out to find a wife.

On the road, a raven flew above his head. He threw rocks and when they hit the bird, the prince felt pain. He felt the same pain on seeing a crowd of beggars. A parched child moved him to give her water.

It was a cleansing experience. The raven spoke. “Follow me.”

The prince crossed the kingdom, sweating beside laborers, sweeping streets, felling trees. He smelled of productive work and lived a happy life.

Three AM Thoughts After Listening to a Zoom Featuring Robert Haas

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We met on the mountain at the halfway point between up and down. 
Hard-packed dirt bordered by scrappy shrubs 
and occasional candy wrappers, 
the path slid into loose gravel,
washboard erosion.
We braced, slowed, stopped. 
We stood face to face, more honest than when we fought,
voices raised in anger at slights so minor as to be unmemorable. 
We embraced, we wept, we sat on a boulder 
looked out on the sea, 
its azure blue, green, purple depths 
roiling, settling, welling up.
We wavered, pulled by the gravity of the moon and the earth.
We hovered between earth and sky.

What Goes With a Fedora?

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The linen fedora sat jauntily on the Duchess’s head. “Who needs a tiara. On to the ball.”

Her gown took up most of the limo’s back seat, leaving the Duke with scant room to spread his tails. “I can’t very well wear a top hat with you in that get-up.” He sniffed loudly.

The Duchess handed him a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Then wear a bowler. Or maybe a feathered bonnet. Wear a tiara if you want.” She hugged up her husband.

The Duke said, “You need a trench coat to go with the hat.”

“Why does everything need to match, darling?”

All of Paris is a Museum

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We came to Paris for the museums. L’Orangerie in the Tuilleries, Musée Marmottan, Musée de Cluny. We walked everywhere; it’s a small city. First stop was Gallerie Lafayette. “It’s like a museum,” she said. 

“No,” I said. “It’s a department store. See the price tags.”

When she approached the register with full shopping bags, I asked, “How will you pack these home?”

“I’ll need a suitcase.” So she bought one. At the Cluny, she browsed the gift shop until nearly closing. She purchased a full set of pillow covers on the Lady and Unicorn theme. That was the first day.

Things People Never Get Over

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“I’m at the airport.”

A deep fake? They’d talked this past week; she hadn’t mentioned a visit. “Who is this?”

“Don’t you recognize your mother’s voice?”

“Then, when did we last speak?”

“Saturday. Marcy left you and I’m here to help.”

“She’s having a midlife crisis. She just needs…”

“It’s not what she needs, it’s what you need. Pick me up, or I can get a Lyft.”

He’d made peace with his wife’s decision. His mother would give him the advice she wished she’d had when his father left. She wouldn’t notice the salt she was rubbing in his wounds.

Minnesota Nice Meet Minnesota ICE.

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Good said, “I’m not mad at you.” 
ICE said, “Fucking bitch.” Then he shot her. 
What would Freud say? 
Opposing instincts, 
Eros, the life force versus Thanatos, the death force. 

Comity versus violence. 
Consensus versus fascism.
What would Jesus say?
Turn the other cheek.
Like Martin Luther King, like Mahatma Gandhi, like Jesus himself.

What would George Harris III say?
Flower Power. Carry a carnation. Insert it into the barrel of a soldier’s gun. 
Hope they’re so surprised they forget to shoot you. 
But I’m mad. I want to bloody curse.
Choose life, choose love.

Don’t be mad, be transformative.