She sat in the car and began adjusting the stereo. The music, quite obviously, did not suit her mood. However, the next selection only suited her briefly. In the interim, she began moving objects in my car, thoroughly distracting me from driving. I started to wonder if I had ever ridden in the same car with her before, as such constant fidgeting would normally have been punishable by death or at least avoidance of the same vehicle. Suddenly I realized that I had known her for a year; we went lots of places together; of course, I had ridden with her before, but she had never been like this. What the heck was wrong with her?
One cannot ask these questions of her because not only will you not get a response, you'll make it less likely that you'll ever actually find the answer you ultimately seek. No, with her it is much more like fishing, where you wait in the bitter, bitter cold, and hope that something bites. (In Florida the fishing is comparably warmer, but not at all what I am used to.)
Traffic was quite a nuisance and we were late as it was. Her flight was leaving in a couple of hours and I needed to get her there in time for check-in. In my world, check-in is merely a guideline and not a rule, as I've sailed through security in as little as ten minutes as the airport crew rush me through all the procedures. However, the hour minimum to her was mandatory and not to be deviated from. I had arrived to her house on-time but she, of course, was late. The story of her life, late for everything but always moving like a small tornado. Truly a marvel to watch.
She picked up my iPod. The nice thing about an iPod is that even if you have never touched one before in your life, you quickly figure out how to access everything on it without much direction. The cooing sounds of Norah Jones seemed to be calming her down, or maybe I had just gotten used to her colorful animation. No, she was slowing. Something was about to come out of her; she was getting to that stage where lucid communication was possible.
"I'm afraid of flying."
"What?"
...
"Well I guess that explains things."
One cannot ask these questions of her because not only will you not get a response, you'll make it less likely that you'll ever actually find the answer you ultimately seek. No, with her it is much more like fishing, where you wait in the bitter, bitter cold, and hope that something bites. (In Florida the fishing is comparably warmer, but not at all what I am used to.)
Traffic was quite a nuisance and we were late as it was. Her flight was leaving in a couple of hours and I needed to get her there in time for check-in. In my world, check-in is merely a guideline and not a rule, as I've sailed through security in as little as ten minutes as the airport crew rush me through all the procedures. However, the hour minimum to her was mandatory and not to be deviated from. I had arrived to her house on-time but she, of course, was late. The story of her life, late for everything but always moving like a small tornado. Truly a marvel to watch.
She picked up my iPod. The nice thing about an iPod is that even if you have never touched one before in your life, you quickly figure out how to access everything on it without much direction. The cooing sounds of Norah Jones seemed to be calming her down, or maybe I had just gotten used to her colorful animation. No, she was slowing. Something was about to come out of her; she was getting to that stage where lucid communication was possible.
"I'm afraid of flying."
"What?"
...
"Well I guess that explains things."
lol... well written post! \
ReplyDeleteOh and I just tagged you over at my blog... not sure if you are the playing type but I thought I would ask! cheers K