Random Thoughts of Women
There are those moments when the sea chases you down in Ohio. You look around slowly. You grab your knees and extend your torso so as to feel your body reach for its peak feeling. You twist in the sun as if you wanted to wear a shirt of burning helium. The sea has found you. You cannot escape it.
We walked along barefoot in the grass. Not the initial intention but our shoes seemed to have no meaning in this field. By the chain linked fence they laid. Your shoes were on top of mine and slightly angled down as if dipping it's neck into a pond that was forming in my sole. You wore bluchers that were blue with white rubber bottoms. Your feet were bare, and as I looked awkward removing my socks you simply jutted ahead, eager to feel dew between your toes. You were eager to show me you were a child around me. You were anxious to let me know that freedom and my presence were synonymous and tangled up together.
I watched the sun come down through the pines. The pines always seem to want to die. They never get the chance to be anything but green in the winter. But, in the summer, when the rain stays away, and the locusts come to feast, or the gnats become overwhelming, they turn brown. They turn brown from the heat. The sun came through the dying needles and you had to shield your eyes.
In the morning on August 6th you opened the paper. I had known you for 7 months. You brought me coffee.
"I don't drink coffee," I said to you.
"No need to be sorry. I've never seen you drink coffee either."
"I usually don't but it's Sunday and I thought you might like some on this lazy morning."
"I don't want it."
Somehow, a leap was attempted. There you were flying through the air with your hands grabbing for wind. You were hoping you had the light bone structure of a wren and the wingspan of an eagle. But, you fell like a rock into cold waters below. You fell and never recovered. You simply ceased to be anything but something I didn't want to know.
We ate dinner once, and you grabbed a crouton with your fingers. You flipped your head back and popped the bread into your mouth as if you were eating shrimp on the coast of St. Croix. I picked up my fork and wiped it with my napkin as you sipped water and attempted to not look like a whore that was wearing too much make-up. I never forgave you for that moment. I never cared after that.