Apr 20 2008
His Misses
He walks back to his bed and pauses midway as he stares at her lying on her side, asleep, draped in his sheets. He tries to feel his heartbeat with the palm of his right hand, forcing his mind to save this memory. She stirs. He smiles.
He strolls in the park and sees a mother slap her infant child with unneeded force. He feigns apathy and convinces himself he is an outsider, his right to preach doesn’t exist.
He overhears a conversation between two suits on the train concerning the disadvantages of having those “fucking Moslems” in our country. He decides trying to change a single mind would accomplish nothing and proceeds to get off at the next stop and wait for the next train.
He looks at the money in his hand and then up at the girl behind the counter who gave him back too much change for his morning coffee. He hopes she doesn’t notice his pause and continues to leave the shop, unblinkingly walking past a homeless man asking for money.
He turns off his bedside lamp as another petal falls from the memory-laden yellow tulips onto the glass table. His head hits the pillow, he closes his eyes and pulls up the sheets to his face, begging them to reveal her scent to him for just one more night. He touches his chest with his right hand and knowingly triggers a memory.
He joyously dreams of her molding him into a better person.
TB
Somerville, MA
April 20, 2008