In Love, With You
Oh, how I loved you, B.
From the first time you flashed that show-stopping smile I knew I’d at least enjoy looking at you. You greeted every day with sunshine on your face and sand on your toes, toes that moved to the rhythm of the opposite coast.
We were all from elsewhere, fast friends in a house full of gypsies. For weeks I came and went, pulled back like the tide, and for weeks you smiled. I’d watch you sail into the kitchen and dance back to the patio. You would sit with me and chat, but there were always distractions. You had classes. I had plans.
Then one day, over tea, there were none of those things. My defenses were down, you talked for too long, and I discovered you, too, were older than the others. I realized there was meat to your soul, marinated and salted. I watched you cook that night, and I saw love.
I cracked open, a little.
The next day I was craving salad, and you needed a new paintbrush. Just like that we left our comfort zone and headed for the mall together. Six hours later I’d return with smashed spinach in the bottom of my purse. I never did eat my salad. That day, over and over, I fell in love instead.
I’m still not sure what started it all. Was it the nerves you flashed at the pharmacy when I popped in for toothpaste and found you by the condoms? The happy…
