I know that youre married but I dont care. I love you. She professed.
I laughed at the notion. Not only because of how ridiculous it was, but also as an acknowledgement that I had yet another contingency to stow away in my back pocket. She was younger than her age, or maybe I was older than mine, but love? She tossed the word out as if it were business card. Someday, perhaps after gaining and then losing true love, she would become stingier with such delicate words and treat them less like business cards and more like nukes. Either way, I was more than happy to collect her dubious assertion even though it felt heavy, there in my back pocket.
The situation called for a celebration, I determined, and the couple of cowardly beers hiding behind the butter or in the crisper drawer would hardly be enough to help me revel in, make sense out of, or forget what had just happened. I grabbed my keys and stuffed my wallet into my back pocket where it would keep my plan bs company. I stumbled on her intoxicating words, which were frothing the thoughts in my head, as I set out for the liquor store.
A trip to the liquor store was far more therapeutic for me than a trip to the shrink, or the masseuse, or the gym, or wherever it is that most people go to get their head straight. It was my candy store. Except instead of marveling at a rainbow of sugary-sweet possibilities, I was captivated by the kaleidoscope of glass bottles and shiny labels. Stags, geese, bats, pirates, pipers, and the lady on the moon were the characters who populated my dreams. I could spend hours perusing the aisles which, ironically, took exactly twelve steps to traverse. The way the soft lighting accented the sparkle in the beautiful eyes of the otherwise haggard patrons and how it glinted off of the bottles filled with warm shades of amber, burgundy, brown, or clear gave the store the aura of a Byzantine cathedral.
Eventually I made a choice between two exceptionally pretty bottles that I had been carrying around and moseyed towards the counter with all of the feelings of joy and trepidation of a child leaving Disney World. I paid with my credit card, folded the receipt into my wallet, and shepherded my brown paper-bag to the house. I spent the night on the porch drinking and thinking about love, life, the universe, and everything.
A few days later, I was to be found shouting obscenities at myself and the washing machine while transferring laundry to the dryer. I had apparently forgotten to empty my pants pockets before throwing them in the wash. My clean and wet clothes were stuccoed to the side of the wash basin and were pebbled with credit cards, business cards, receipts, gum wrappers, and contingency plans. It all comes out in the wash My mothers wisdom echoed in my head. It certainly does! I cussed, as I chipped worthless pebbles from the fabric wall.
Just then, a nuclear wind blew through the window of my cerebral office, scattering memos and files in disapproval of their organization. As I stood there taking in the mess that was my mind, it occurred to me what a fool I had been. Like young Hamlet, I was squandering my life away making plans and back-up plans for tomorrow, next week, next year, someday, never. Nothing that had been in my back pocket, and was now in my laundry, had any valueNot the receipts for fermented munitions with which I would wage war on my liver, not the business cards from parasitical salesmen or hole in the-wall diners from last years vacation, and not even the credit card that continuously hiked my interest rate. It was now lodged in between a holey sock and some tattered drawers. Most worthless of all, I reluctantly acknowledged, were my contingencies. Most of them were no longer even viablethe ebbs and flows of life had long since caused them to expire. The greener grass has grown to seed.
I decided to hang my laundry out on the line instead; the wind would do it some good. My drivers license and ATM card were the only things I salvaged, and I only kept them because I would need them on the new journey I was beginning. I tossed out everything else before calling the bank to cancel my credit card. Then I tucked my battered leather wallet into my empty back pocket and started out for the liquor store. I needed to make sense of what had just happened.
I laughed at the notion. Not only because of how ridiculous it was, but also as an acknowledgement that I had yet another contingency to stow away in my back pocket. She was younger than her age, or maybe I was older than mine, but love? She tossed the word out as if it were business card. Someday, perhaps after gaining and then losing true love, she would become stingier with such delicate words and treat them less like business cards and more like nukes. Either way, I was more than happy to collect her dubious assertion even though it felt heavy, there in my back pocket.
The situation called for a celebration, I determined, and the couple of cowardly beers hiding behind the butter or in the crisper drawer would hardly be enough to help me revel in, make sense out of, or forget what had just happened. I grabbed my keys and stuffed my wallet into my back pocket where it would keep my plan bs company. I stumbled on her intoxicating words, which were frothing the thoughts in my head, as I set out for the liquor store.
A trip to the liquor store was far more therapeutic for me than a trip to the shrink, or the masseuse, or the gym, or wherever it is that most people go to get their head straight. It was my candy store. Except instead of marveling at a rainbow of sugary-sweet possibilities, I was captivated by the kaleidoscope of glass bottles and shiny labels. Stags, geese, bats, pirates, pipers, and the lady on the moon were the characters who populated my dreams. I could spend hours perusing the aisles which, ironically, took exactly twelve steps to traverse. The way the soft lighting accented the sparkle in the beautiful eyes of the otherwise haggard patrons and how it glinted off of the bottles filled with warm shades of amber, burgundy, brown, or clear gave the store the aura of a Byzantine cathedral.
Eventually I made a choice between two exceptionally pretty bottles that I had been carrying around and moseyed towards the counter with all of the feelings of joy and trepidation of a child leaving Disney World. I paid with my credit card, folded the receipt into my wallet, and shepherded my brown paper-bag to the house. I spent the night on the porch drinking and thinking about love, life, the universe, and everything.
A few days later, I was to be found shouting obscenities at myself and the washing machine while transferring laundry to the dryer. I had apparently forgotten to empty my pants pockets before throwing them in the wash. My clean and wet clothes were stuccoed to the side of the wash basin and were pebbled with credit cards, business cards, receipts, gum wrappers, and contingency plans. It all comes out in the wash My mothers wisdom echoed in my head. It certainly does! I cussed, as I chipped worthless pebbles from the fabric wall.
Just then, a nuclear wind blew through the window of my cerebral office, scattering memos and files in disapproval of their organization. As I stood there taking in the mess that was my mind, it occurred to me what a fool I had been. Like young Hamlet, I was squandering my life away making plans and back-up plans for tomorrow, next week, next year, someday, never. Nothing that had been in my back pocket, and was now in my laundry, had any valueNot the receipts for fermented munitions with which I would wage war on my liver, not the business cards from parasitical salesmen or hole in the-wall diners from last years vacation, and not even the credit card that continuously hiked my interest rate. It was now lodged in between a holey sock and some tattered drawers. Most worthless of all, I reluctantly acknowledged, were my contingencies. Most of them were no longer even viablethe ebbs and flows of life had long since caused them to expire. The greener grass has grown to seed.
I decided to hang my laundry out on the line instead; the wind would do it some good. My drivers license and ATM card were the only things I salvaged, and I only kept them because I would need them on the new journey I was beginning. I tossed out everything else before calling the bank to cancel my credit card. Then I tucked my battered leather wallet into my empty back pocket and started out for the liquor store. I needed to make sense of what had just happened.