AND WHEN I’M 80 YEARS OLD, I’M SITTING NEXT TO YOU 36-Word Stories For The Girl
To KACY, who stayed the morning after.
It was Tuesday, the end of summer. There was beer, really good nachos, and rain in the air. And I was trying my hardest not to stare at you -- or close the space between us two.
In this empty parking lot, I couldnâ€™t feel my hands. We talked about things that passed and dreams and plans and then the words were drowned out by your hands, your eyes, your lipsâ€Ś on mine.
You were teaching me how to drive and said I was a natural. You said I was the best student youâ€™ve ever had. I keep pushing thoughts of other students away.
And you kissed me again.
OF COFFEE CUPS
The morning found me in Starbucks, deciding what flavored coffee to get. It was for you. And when I got the cup, I thought that if I take a sip, Iâ€™ll get to kiss you, too.
You had a basketball game that morning. I got there early. You arrived a couple minutes after. You were with her. But I did hope that every shot you made was for me, and me alone.
You told me you loved me. I wasnâ€™t sure I was supposed to believe that it was a love beyond the bestfriend relationship we had. But you held me tight when I slept over that night.
We went out with my daughter today. I look at her and I look at you, and I realize that this was what I have always been wishing for my entire life: someone to accept us.
At work today, I read your texts and wonder, Is this real? Who will you pick? Can we be real? I take the almost empty box of Marlboros and make a wish on the last stick.
FOR THE TAKING
Everything hurt. Unanswered texts, calls that didn’t go through, endless questions of me and of you. I thought I could let you go. But I wanted to be selfish. Just this once. It’s my turn now.
WE WERE STILL
By the river, we sat down and talked. Nobody wept. Nobody talked about the what-happens-nextâ€™s. You let me put my head on your shoulder. I let you hold my hand. We were quiet. We were free.
JUST US TWO
At the court, you’re a different person. I see the focus in your eyes, the determination in your stance. But for the briefest moments – when our eyes meet – it’s like there’s nothing, no one, just us.
You met my friends today. There wasn’t much to say. There was booze and food and games. No one asked me who you were and why I brought you. They just assumed we’re together. I wish.
“What date is it?” you ask while we were lying on your bed, too exhausted after playing cards. “13.” I didn’t realize you’ll be laying all your cards open. “Will you be my girlfriend?” you ask.