I came across her as she was walking down some road in the dark, with the rain pouring off her face and back, and I demanded she just get in the car and out of the weather till she muttered “Pervert” and climbed in anyway. I’d never met someone like her; who looked at common sense, and tossed it out the window like a sandwich wrapper.
I never got to the heart of who she was, but she knew me in her lucid moments, more than anyone else I’ve ever met, or that was my impression. Between her affairs with ‘Weed,’ and drunken nights of partying with other men she might come to me and tell me ” You are the only one who understands me” and I took that to be praise, or the sign I had strength, or was someone special or just plain stupid. Nothing, I now understand, disarms a man of certain years more than tenderness. We get so little don’t we? Once we leave our youth, and only then if we’ve been lucky, and I was as hung out as any man can be but didn’t know it.
Her stock phrase, “Whatever gets you through” was often in use about me, or any topic we might discuss. She was exuberant when high: up for anything, and in those blissful hours and days, when we were first together, I became the happiest man alive. She made me feel understood: celebrated even, like no one had before. Oh how I loved her in those early days and weeks, but we both know the story don’t we. I mean I already knew the story, but attention makes you forget what you know. Someone pretty, like her, smiling at me, and saying you’ve got nice eyes, was like something out of a film and I just drowned in a smile I took to be tender and loving and personal. She had the understanding which comes from being lost, and meeting her dismantled my certainties
Later, as the vapour cleared my brain, I realised the moment was not personal. It was more about regret, and the lives she would never lead: the unborn children, the house with mown lawn and paid-for furniture she feared would not be hers. She longed to be ‘normal’ as much as I longed to be reckless and we met somewhere in the middle; crashed is, perhaps, the better word, as our needs and dreams ground against each other in this unformed universe.
I loved the look and feel of her, and the way her hair tickled me as she lay on the pillow by my side, and how the fear and aggression flowed out of her face as she slept. In slumber she became that sweet being I would protect and love above all things: vulnerable was a word she hated, but at night she could be that, at least to me.
I remember saying to her one morning, “It may be necessary for me you to marry me” and she just laughed at me as if I was clutching at a dream, which, of course, I was. Is there some note we play, which only a few people can hear, and as the sound of it rises and is lost among the clouds they reach out to seek its origin. Am I dreaming too much? Was I that note for her or merely a roadside café where she stopped to catch her breath.
One day she was gone, no explanation given, and that window to another world closed with her exit. Where she went, or why, I cannot tell you, but she has spoiled me for life. I no longer want death by common sense, or low-carb food, or tending to the normalcies of routine. I want to drink from darkness and adventure, and the religion of a moment, but now, with only timidity and lack of imagination as my guides, I am both cowardly and lost.
Our lives are unwritten epics, every one of them, and patterns and circumstance repeat themselves in that cycle of unlearned lessons we call history while our ancestors look down on us from above and shake their heads. We dance between fear and courage, and flirt with fragments of self-knowledge but she taught me this: that love may be worth more than ‘common sense.’ Through her, adventure waved to me from the shadows and was gone
You write beautifully
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Thank you very much 🙂
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Master of reflection plying his craft ever so well.
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Thank you kind sir 🙂
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this is one of my favorites of yours, peter. and i am not just trying to disarm you with a little tenderness. ) your use of language to capture the emotions and motivations of each, without judgement of either of them, is a balancing act in skill. i am left lost by their parting at the end, even though it was inevitable from the moment they met.
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Thank you so much. Your comments always serve to cheer me up whatever the weather 🙂
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A lovely piece. Hope you are well x
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Always very nice to hear from you 🙂
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WOW
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Thank you so much for your visits to my blog. They helped to make my day
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Really love this one…I didn’t want it to end…
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Thank you so much. I tried to get into your blog the other day which may only mean I have no technical skills but its worth mentioning as you are one of my favourite bloggers 🙂
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dammit this is good
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Thank you so much
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A page in time.
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You write about unrequited love as if it was desired rather than bedeviling. How do you do that?
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Very pleased we sorted out the comment mystery. One for Sherlock I think !?
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Beautiful, poignant and reflective. A fine story, Peter: we find who we need when the time is right and part with them when needs are sated, I think.
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Your comments are always so thoughtful and cheering. Thank you
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You’re always welcome.
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There’s always hope, Peter. Maybe she’ll come in from the rain again someday. 🙂
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She may do but then, to quote another of my blogs, would she be the sight of paradise or chaos on legs !
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Excellent writing; beautiful turn of phrase.
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Thank you so much for this very nice comment
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Mr. Wells,
I certainly don’t chime in as often as I should but this was beautiful. My favorite sentence is the one about her laughing as if you were clutching a dream. I also like the one you wrote where you said, we all know how this ends — .
It is a touching story. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Julie
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Always lovely to hear from you. You are never forgotten by one has benefited on more than one occasion from your technical gifts
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Hello again Peter. I’m blown away by your use of words and the way you can show us emotions and get us involved.
I do think “but she taught me this: that love may be worth more than ‘common sense.’” this is something to be remembered by all and any of us. Thanks for sharing
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Whoa Peter…amazing write!
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Love this one… triggering some old Lee Hazelwood / Nancy Sinatra music in my head.
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Reblogged this on M. Matheson and commented:
Outstanding colorful words with imagery dripping from every jot and tittle… I think I was breathing hard when I finished reading this piece.
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Outstanding colorful words with imagery dripping from every jot and tittle… I think I was breathing hard when I finished reading this piece.
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Thank you so much
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This was lovely, if sad and bittersweet.
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It is the very special skill you have, Peter, that strikes at any time and moment of a day. Beautifully crafted this is.
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