So into the this. I am found in a quiet reflective moment. From across the decade expanse of times tide we now dine as new old friends. A she you know, I have no doubt, from thousands of words I have spoken, typed and written.
No not her, no, not that one either… that one! Yes, that one. The one that took the string wrapped around my liver and laughed like a banshee as she road off into the distance on her wild mustang.
Yeah? Well that’s the way I saw it at the time.
Is time a healer? Do you forgive, or forget, or do you just loose the regret and slip into the warm bath of the uncaring past? Times shift, and the missed connections abound in this accord of theatrics.
The meet and greet begins after the walk in and the drive up. All of this comes in the air of apprehension. We have, I learn, both kept light tabs of singular info on the other, checking off years like sand in an hourglass.
The tabs look like a graveyard, but the grit removes shit, and all that’s left are the facts. We both look good in our accepted accoutrements, hair dyed and head shaved, both of us recognized in an instant of stone faced, “you won’t hurt me hugs.”
The catch-up begins, running slow and thick from the bottle, ripping off calendar months and loosening tongues as the heat thins the air and relaxes the conversational flavor.
There is history here. So thick we eat hearty before the meal comes. There are moments we both swell and blush ourselves fit to burst with a gushing redness.
Silence pouts at the next table, unable to get a word in as we gobble sentences and form new remembered moments as told by our histories.
We both find us, in a space of homeless moments, where we can truly add a layer of definition to our souls.
Who is this familiar stranger? I have remembrances. There is the image of biblical knowing for me and I wonder, does she have those same stirrings on cloudy days that that fucking cupid wrought like Robin Hood?
Cupid. That dead cherub was its own undoing, but the question is called forth and laid out with a blank check. It tells a story of strength and courage and rising above the fear and hardships of life and times, outside of needle tracks and colored lines.
I remembered pillars of support and I apologized for my display of Samson when I tore them down.
And now, in the smoke and piles of the scorched destruction is the aftermath. I watch as the dozer’s begin to clear away the rubble. The ground is not uneven, or soft, and it is not ground. It is solid.
Stooping, I sweep away the bits of debris to discover a foundation forged over fifteen years past and in the instant the discovery is made and a contemplation arrives by the committee in my head.
There is a fresh piece of wood at my feet and another beside it, three nails and a hammer behind me. The dozer rumbles by with another load of shit and I pick up the hammer.
The ‘T’ is the first shape in creation for it can support a wall or crucify a body. The committee makes a decision and I take aim with the first nail.