Maybe you'd be driving past and would wave me down on the sidewalk, or maybe we'd accidentally run into each other looking for taco sauce in Shop 'N Save. We'd be pleasantly surprised; how long has it been? We might even hug. We wouldn't go out for dinner - I'd already have eaten, and anyway that's too long a time to try and fill with awkward conversation over the garlic rolls. It also smacks of something serious, like a date. You've always been more outspoken than me anyway, but you understand my quietness.
Maybe there would be a comedian or a live band in the shell in the park by the river, or fireworks for the town's anniversary celebration. In lieu of dinner we'd stop for ice cream. You don't really like ice cream that much, but you'd humor me. I'd order the coffee with chocolate sprinkles, and you'd laugh at me as I tried to keep pace with the drips, since I insisted on having a cone. You would have played it safe and gotten a cup, and I'd accuse you of cheating and taking the easy way out. This would break up the ice a bit, and we'd chat for a while like old friends. I'd surreptitiously admire your tan, and the muscles you've gained since I saw you last. Apres icecream we'd put a blanket down on the grass and watch the spectacle. There'd be a light breeze coming in off the water, enough to give me an unexpected chill. I'd be leaning back on my elbows with my legs out straight, ankles crossed. Somewhere about halfway through you'd sneak an arm around me, and I'd lean into it with a sigh, grateful for your warm solidity. Maybe I'd put my head on your shoulder.
When it was done we'd be reluctant to move at first. Talking would have ceased long since. It'd be quiet enjoyment of each other's proximity, until the mosquitoes started coming out. You'd drive me home then, slowly, and I'd shift for you since we'd be holding hands.
At the door I'd pause, and say what a great time I had and how much I enjoyed myself. I'd sound corny even to myself, and inwardly curse the way my voice goes all high on me when I'm nervous. I shouldn't be nervous, I'm too old for that, too old to sound like a blushing teenager on prom night. But corny or not, you'd agree with the statement, and we'd stand silent then, awaiting the inevitable. Finally I'd make some joke about staying up too late and how you should get going so you won't be too tired in the morning. We'd both know I don't really mean it, but the silence would come down again, and finally you'd shift awkwardly and say well, you'd better be going, and I'd nod and smile a bit. You wouldn't move though, and I'd look up at the sky and make some inane comment about how bright the Big Dipper is tonight, and suddenly all the things we could have said to each other all evening would come spilling out, and we'd stand there on the porch in the dark and the night just talking, stories and conversations and sidetracks that turn into whole new conversations, and the hours would tick slowly by while the moon rose high and moved from orange to yellow to cold white, and you'd be standing there behind me, with your arms wrapped around me, and neither of us would want the night to end. You'd kiss my neck then, gently and without provocation, and it'd seem like the most natural thing in the world.
Maybe then I'd be overcome with embarrassment, or the reality that in a few short hours you'd be gone again, out of contact and out of reach, and there's no way we could seriously consider this. I could excuse it though; after all, we aren't really considering anything. Are we?
It would end, though, eventually. We'd have one last embrace, there on the doorstep, and I would go inside. I'd go to the window and watch your headlights fade into the dark, and only then would I realize I'd never told you I missed you.
Maybe there would be a comedian or a live band in the shell in the park by the river, or fireworks for the town's anniversary celebration. In lieu of dinner we'd stop for ice cream. You don't really like ice cream that much, but you'd humor me. I'd order the coffee with chocolate sprinkles, and you'd laugh at me as I tried to keep pace with the drips, since I insisted on having a cone. You would have played it safe and gotten a cup, and I'd accuse you of cheating and taking the easy way out. This would break up the ice a bit, and we'd chat for a while like old friends. I'd surreptitiously admire your tan, and the muscles you've gained since I saw you last. Apres icecream we'd put a blanket down on the grass and watch the spectacle. There'd be a light breeze coming in off the water, enough to give me an unexpected chill. I'd be leaning back on my elbows with my legs out straight, ankles crossed. Somewhere about halfway through you'd sneak an arm around me, and I'd lean into it with a sigh, grateful for your warm solidity. Maybe I'd put my head on your shoulder.
When it was done we'd be reluctant to move at first. Talking would have ceased long since. It'd be quiet enjoyment of each other's proximity, until the mosquitoes started coming out. You'd drive me home then, slowly, and I'd shift for you since we'd be holding hands.
At the door I'd pause, and say what a great time I had and how much I enjoyed myself. I'd sound corny even to myself, and inwardly curse the way my voice goes all high on me when I'm nervous. I shouldn't be nervous, I'm too old for that, too old to sound like a blushing teenager on prom night. But corny or not, you'd agree with the statement, and we'd stand silent then, awaiting the inevitable. Finally I'd make some joke about staying up too late and how you should get going so you won't be too tired in the morning. We'd both know I don't really mean it, but the silence would come down again, and finally you'd shift awkwardly and say well, you'd better be going, and I'd nod and smile a bit. You wouldn't move though, and I'd look up at the sky and make some inane comment about how bright the Big Dipper is tonight, and suddenly all the things we could have said to each other all evening would come spilling out, and we'd stand there on the porch in the dark and the night just talking, stories and conversations and sidetracks that turn into whole new conversations, and the hours would tick slowly by while the moon rose high and moved from orange to yellow to cold white, and you'd be standing there behind me, with your arms wrapped around me, and neither of us would want the night to end. You'd kiss my neck then, gently and without provocation, and it'd seem like the most natural thing in the world.
Maybe then I'd be overcome with embarrassment, or the reality that in a few short hours you'd be gone again, out of contact and out of reach, and there's no way we could seriously consider this. I could excuse it though; after all, we aren't really considering anything. Are we?
It would end, though, eventually. We'd have one last embrace, there on the doorstep, and I would go inside. I'd go to the window and watch your headlights fade into the dark, and only then would I realize I'd never told you I missed you.
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