| “You’re not like the rest of them,” she said. |
|
| “Yes, I know,” was his reply. |
|
| “Why?” she asked. |
|
| “I don’t know. I’m not sure. What makes you feel I’m different?” |
|
| She paused, “You don’t act the same as the rest.” |
|
| “How don’t I?” he asked. |
|
| “You don’t hurt things on purpose, like they do,” she replied. |
|
| “Yes I do.” |
|
| “But not the same way,” she answered. |
|
| “What difference the method – the end is the same,” he stated flatly. |
|
| “But you care more.” |
|
| “About what?” |
|
| “About everything! You smile, you see, you try to help, you care when I’m lonely or depressed.” |
|
| He smiled her, “And no one else does?” |
|
| “Not like you!” she answered. “When you look at me, something happens. It feels like you’re looking into me, not at me. Do you know what I mean?” |
|
| “I’m not sure,” he answered. |
|
| “It’s your eyes,” she said, “they’re funny.” |
|
| “What do you mean they’re funny?!!” he interjected. |
|
| “I don’t mean funny – humorous,” she said trying to soothe him, “or funny – stupid; I mean funny – weird.” |
|
| “Weird!” he replied straightening his back. |
|
| “Wait a minute will you?!” she pleaded. “I mean unusual, not weird.” |
|
| “Okay,” he replied, calmed slightly, but still on the defensive. |
|
| “I mean when I look at you I sometimes wonder what you’re thinking about me or about whatever we’re doing – “ |
|
| “So, everyone does that,” he interrupted. |
|
| “Will you keep quiet?!” she demanded. |
|
| “Okay,” he answered. |
|
| “Shhh!! Now I forgot – oh, yeah – and then you look at me, right in the eyes, and I get this shuddering feeling – “ |
|
| “Why?” he asked. |
|
| “Shhushh!!! I’m explaining – I get this slight shuddering feeling inside ’cause I have this feeling when you look into my eyes that you can see what I’m thinking and really feeling…” |
|
| “About what?” he asked. |
|
| “About noth — whatever we’re doing.” |
|
| “Oh,” he replied. |
|
| [I think those of us who love words and ideas all harbor the secret (or not so secret) ambition to write the Great American (or whatever) Novel. As much as I like adventure movies, the novels I’ve enjoyed have always had great conversations between people who came to feel real. Naturally, my first (and so far only) attempt had to be a conversation (the above). Written many years ago, “Oh,” seemed like a good place to stop. I did – and never got back to a preface or an ending… — KMAB] |
|
| . |
|
|
|
