'Playing "Summer Wind" on the jukebox of the bar we used to go'
The Story So Far
Shannon Barry
Issue date: 10/12/06 Section: Opinion
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Like the ocean, our love came in waves.
When we first met, me cleaning my car and us later going to the rock show together, it was puppy love.
But as we lay sprawled out on the blanket that night, I realized it had become something much deeper.
***
The TV hummed its continual monotonous tone. Always something on and never anything worthy of interest. Fueled by the economic entities of society.
She looked around her apartment. With "Psychology Today" magazines strewn about, movie posters hanging on the walls and compact discs lining the rows of her otherwise vacant entertainment center drawers, she realized that she too had become a victim of her environment.
A self-consumed society seeming to worry about nothing more than the have-beens of today and the what-have-beens of yesterday.
She scanned the room and squinted her eyes to adjust to the light.
She squirmed, moving quickly, and leaned to her right side to look at me.
"So watcha thinking about?" she asked.
So bored with the silence and the unknown that she had to say something, anything to fill the void.
As if superficial words, talk composed out of the sheer interest of killing the "dead air," would actually do anything.
She stroked the topside of my arm, showing some sign of caress.
Because for her, and the security of us, she needed this.
As if projecting her feelings of me without telling me what she needed would actually help.
"Nothing, actually," I responded, knowing I was digging myself a hole by saying it but hoping we had become strong enough that little things like this would no longer matter.
"Nothing? How can you be thinking about nothing? You're so closed off …" she trailed on as I reflected on times since gone.
Going to the beach, dancing at the rock concert, cuddling in bed, drinking boba tea. Just watching her smile, especially if I was the cause of it, made me happy.
When we first met, me cleaning my car and us later going to the rock show together, it was puppy love.
But as we lay sprawled out on the blanket that night, I realized it had become something much deeper.
***
The TV hummed its continual monotonous tone. Always something on and never anything worthy of interest. Fueled by the economic entities of society.
She looked around her apartment. With "Psychology Today" magazines strewn about, movie posters hanging on the walls and compact discs lining the rows of her otherwise vacant entertainment center drawers, she realized that she too had become a victim of her environment.
A self-consumed society seeming to worry about nothing more than the have-beens of today and the what-have-beens of yesterday.
She scanned the room and squinted her eyes to adjust to the light.
She squirmed, moving quickly, and leaned to her right side to look at me.
"So watcha thinking about?" she asked.
So bored with the silence and the unknown that she had to say something, anything to fill the void.
As if superficial words, talk composed out of the sheer interest of killing the "dead air," would actually do anything.
She stroked the topside of my arm, showing some sign of caress.
Because for her, and the security of us, she needed this.
As if projecting her feelings of me without telling me what she needed would actually help.
"Nothing, actually," I responded, knowing I was digging myself a hole by saying it but hoping we had become strong enough that little things like this would no longer matter.
"Nothing? How can you be thinking about nothing? You're so closed off …" she trailed on as I reflected on times since gone.
Going to the beach, dancing at the rock concert, cuddling in bed, drinking boba tea. Just watching her smile, especially if I was the cause of it, made me happy.
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