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Drift
Reality > Washington,
DC > I Remember
I
remember when we sat together on the dock of my friend’s
river house in Annapolis and drank wine and read Kundera and basked
in the warmth of summer’s death.
I
looked into your eyes and saw my reflection. Then, I said something
very cheesy that I sort of pulled out of my ass.
I
said, “Native Americans believe that when you look into the
eyes of your soul mate, you should be able to see seven generations
into your future.”
I
don’t know if that is true or not, but I think I heard something
like that once, at a conference somewhere. I guess I always felt
like things sounded more spiritual if Native Americans once believed
in them.
I
don’t know exactly why I pulled this little morsel out of
my ass, I think it was because I was nervous, and you know how
I can get when I am nervous. I just start saying anything that
comes to mind – I will pull a nugget of something from out
of my brain, and slap some grease onto it, and mold it into whatever
suits the contours of the present.
Then,
I’ll spit it out and you will laugh at me for sounding like
an idiot, and tell me I am full of shit and I will remember why
I love you.
Only
this time, I think you didn’t listen to the words and what
they meant for the first time in your life, and you only listened
to the harmony of what I was saying, and looked at my eyes and
by doing so, let my eyes add truth to the transaction. For the
first time in your life, you didn’t listen to the words in
the song and just listened to the song and then you understood
me.
When
I saw the recognition in your eyes, I said, “I see my reflection
in your eyes,” and I paused for a moment before continuing.
“I think I love you.”
Only
the moment I said it, I realized the audacity I must have had
to use the word “think.”
“I
think I may go to the supermarket later on,” or “I think
that I may have done well on my test,” are acceptable statements.
“I
think I love you” is an oxymoron.
“I
think I love you” is the plea of a weak individual yearning
to live.
Or
maybe “I think I love you” is the gibberish that comes
from a bottle of wine and several hours in the sun with Kundera.
Whatever
it was, I remedied the situation by steeling myself, looking into
your eyes, and saying,
“I
love you.”
And
after I said it, I realized I meant it.
And
after I realized I meant it, you realized what I had said and
you grinned your lip curling, jaw widening, smile.
And
your eyes glowed with my reflection.
This
is what was in my mind when I told you, when we were saying bye
for the last time, that I still see my reflection in your eyes.
And
now, I have promised not to contact you, so it is all I can do
to contact no one.
And
tell them about my reflection in your eyes.
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