("Postcards from Nowhere")
I had called Abby a couple of times but hadn't gone to see her. I decided to go.
Far away, over unfamiliar roads, I drove to her apartment. It was in a small town full of working people. There was an old town center, a short downtown street made of brick and depression era buildings. She lived upstairs above a store and was waiting for me when I got there.
She lived with another girl who was not there, and they had decorated the place with batik cloth and big pillows. The air smelled sweet with something, incense, yes, but other things, too. She did not look like the girl I knew at school. She wore a thin Indian cloth top and a big print pleated skirt that seemed to go with the apartment's cozy decor. I liked it all, but I felt awkward and out of place. There we were, two young working people, but I felt I had already taken a wrong turn. When she spoke, I was reminded of flowers and light breezes. When I heard my own voice coming back to me, I heard only a rough and dirty road. It was a terrible awakening there in the cool darkness. I stayed awhile, though it became painfully obvious that she had already outgrown me in the few weeks since we'd graduated, and when I knew it was time to leave, I thought to kiss her, but there was a warning in her eyes that I would take with me instead.
I drove home in the middle of the afternoon, my day off stretching out before me like Marvel's desert of vast eternity.
I have a weekend like that now...it feels weird and surreal to have so much time to myself...no work...everyone gone from the house...the quiet...it feels like I've forgotten what to do with solitude.
ReplyDeleteWe can't let that happen.
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