“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]
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