9:09 a.m. - 2006-01-25
The Story Continues Rant
Okay, enough people (including my cousin) thought my story should continue, so skip that last entry and attach this to the one before. Here goes ...
"Would you like a box for this?," the waiter asked, removing the enchilada combo I had played with for an hour. Standing by the car, our bodies behaved in ways familiar and strange, realizing a coreography prepared over some seven years. Our tentative dance suddenly abandoning the rigors of caution. Fulfilling the promise that had hung unacknowledged in the air like a priceless chandellier. Our embrace, a homecoming. Simultaneously thrilling and comfortable as flannel. In a private bubble others took for a Toyota, we found our way to the garden behind my mother's house. The garden in which John had toiled, offering blossoms for solace in the all consuming grief of my father's death three years ago. The garden was somewhat untended in his absense. My comings and goings had taken a toll on the once pampered border. Canas stretched wild behind the weathered park style bench John had set there some time ago. By the light of our own gibbous moon, we sat close. Shapes well known to us took on mysterious forms. St. Francis watched approvingly from the rose patch. Plaster angels shyly averted their eyes. The scent of summer was everywhere. Jasmine wending along the fence. Sleepy morning glories curled shut for the night. And we cherished one another, there in the grass. Our kisses slippery, ravenous. And we clung to one another like the frenzy of vines all around. And it was old. And it was new. And it was ours.
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