One Minutes and Forty-Six Seconds to Read

Publié le 17 août 2015 par Troy

This was the morning of Saturday, December 7th. It is composed of perfectly true events.

Sometimes, the intangibles are too good not to capture.

“So where ya off to?”

Behind me sits the seed of a new love affair. It may blossom to a flower if it is watered. An older man with a red nose bandies a bouquet of flowers, fighting his way into a café against the inclement and unexpected weather. An excited look gives his eyes a youthful glint as they dance around the room searching for the recipient of the anti-effluviums. He is the first to arrive and he is eager, boyishly so.

Two minutes earlier I am sitting in a café in front of a plate of eggs Benedict by myself with a mendacious smile on my face. I am fighting back tears thinking about what a tenuous philosophical situation I’ve gotten myself into: stewing in an emotional hangover and mourning the death of fictional characters.

Ten minutes earlier I am on a bike, sloughing through the blistering (California standards) cold neutrally and unabashedly taking in everything and trying not to filter it. I want unadulterated world.

Eight and a half hours earlier I wake up (thats a lie, I am reading) to the sound of police breaking down the door of my neighbor s house to arrest him as a torrential rain discharges from the clouds, batting and burbling off the thin roof above.

Four hours before that I am sitting next to the door with my roommate as he is about to leave for The City (of San Francisco though you never say that around here) listening to police heatedly rap on the aforementioned neighbor’s entry way and yelling:

“JOHN, THIS IS JUST A MISUNDERSTANDING COME OUT AND TALK IT OUT! IF YOU DO NOT WE WILL RETURN WITH A SEARCH WARRANT!”

I like to think that if I get into an emotional altercation with someone I’ll yell at the top of my lungs: “I JUST WANT TO TALK THIS OUT - JUST TELL ME HOW YOU FEEL! IF YOU DO NOT I WILL PUNCH YOU!”

Subtext comes across much clearer than content. The conversation behind me will begin after the man stakes out a table, orders a cup of coffee.

His potential counterpart enters with glamorous class and grace in a long tan coat; lingering silver strands of hair cascade down her shoulders. She wears a contented smile and I pretend that in a vacuum, she is perfect for the childishly nervous man. The first thing he says: “So where ya off to?” I never caught her answer and I’ll never know how this new beginning will end. And it is such a youthful and exciting new beginning that it reminds me of all the experiences we won’t know we’ll have until they happen. At the moment, Im jealous.

The intangibles are just too good to not capture.