i am 17 again: the bar is easily a high school gym, i come across you happenstance, each of us with our own friends. We converse, separate, converse, diverge. i then do something typically high school: send you a request to take a walk; you respond yes, simply. (texting is powerfully simple).
In 1984, my first love approached the bleacher where i half heartedly watched a football game. i was there for one reason only:hoping she'd show. She looked up at me, slightly drunk, her eyes filled with words i did not yet know. i asked "do you want to take a walk?" She nodded slowly, and we walked away from the game, to the darker area of the field, the grass wet, and i was so enamored with her, so thankful for these few minutes that made me beautiful.
Tonight, when we walked, i thought nothing of the walk 25 years ago; you were just a few months old then. Our conversation is neither natural nor forced, always exciting, always welcoming, but i will soon kill it with a comment about how seeing you once in awhile is no longer enough. The kiss from a week earlier changed that... for me, not you. You are always armed with the escape caveat of not wanting to lead me on.
Still, when i ask how you know about the details of my courting Starburst girl, you become serious, and launch into a detailed description of the courtship, how i did it, your words hinting anger..sadness? In that moment, i know that there is something there, in spite of your escape hatch.
