You had nothing in common – You had everything in common.
You had nothing in common with each other.
Oil and water – polar opposites – mashed potatoes and concrete.
Her brother was a Marine – your brother was somewhere in Toronto
She got accepted to Dartmouth – you’re waiting to hear from LACC
She had a trust fund – you worked at a gas station.
But . . .
It would take dynamite to separate you.
She would give you a kidney – you would jump in front of bullets.
And neither of you could explain why.
You met by accident. Ten seconds either way and it never would have happened.
But it happened.
You both knew it wasn’t going to last. Just the law of averages – just life.
Families. Maybe it would change if enough years accumulated and her dad didn’t look at you as the enemy – the evil presence determined to de-flower his daughter. The pagan blowing up school buildings and carrying signs.
Little did he know. Somebody else got there first.
The night before she left for school her parents threw a party.
You weren’t invited. Didn’t stop you from setting up camp in the bushes outside her front door.
Hoping to catch a glimpse – watching the parade of people you had nothing in common with and hundred dollar haircuts. Too loud – too strange – too idle.
You decided to crash the party. Nobody would notice if you faded in.
She threw her arms around you and hung on for dear life.
Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew that was the last hug.
You were going to remember – you were going to remember what she wore – you were going to remember her breath in your ear. You were going to remember she tasted like caramel and you were going to remember being very, very sad.
You were also going to remember the hand firmly planted on your shoulder, escorting you out the front door and some make-believe words about trespassing and calling the Police.
You were going to remember you just weren’t liked by somebody who never really met you.
And you thought about that, driving home – night on The Strip. The world cruising, watching and comparing – another planet and you weren’t on it.
The radio drowning out the sad parts filling your head. Something in your eyes.
Even sadness has a sell-by date – you just can’t figure out when.
You crank the car radio up
Here is a half-hour’s worth of Johnny Darin at KRLA –
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
