Thursday, March 23, 2006
This was the piece I submitted for the writing group I am apart of. The subject was human connection.
I sit across the dinner table, hardly knowing who she is. Who is
this stranger I share a bed with? Our dinner is eaten in silence, her
thoughts her own, and mine, well, they have gone running back to a time
when silence between us was comfortable.
We were on our way to Pismo Beach one late morning. We had been married
for about eight months. We drove in silence along Highway 41. We would check
in with one another every once in a while glancing at each other with a smile.
Her smile was as warm as the July air that surrounded our black little car which
snaked along the highway through the hills that had been scorched bronze
from the mid-summer sun.
"There's the Mission we thought about getting married at" she said.
I acknowledge her with a smile, leaving her to daydream of a wedding
in a little chapel on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere.
We were bonded at this moment by our vows, our
dreams, our love and passion for each other.
Tonight I am unable to look into her eyes because of our pride,
but I realize that we are still bonded and connected by everything that
bonded us in the beginning, but there is a new adhesive; history. Our history
is full of good and bad memories, triumphs and failures, building up and of knocking
down and its good; which makes swallowing pride a bit more palatable.
I sit across the dinner table, hardly knowing who she is. Who is
this stranger I share a bed with? Our dinner is eaten in silence, her
thoughts her own, and mine, well, they have gone running back to a time
when silence between us was comfortable.
We were on our way to Pismo Beach one late morning. We had been married
for about eight months. We drove in silence along Highway 41. We would check
in with one another every once in a while glancing at each other with a smile.
Her smile was as warm as the July air that surrounded our black little car which
snaked along the highway through the hills that had been scorched bronze
from the mid-summer sun.
"There's the Mission we thought about getting married at" she said.
I acknowledge her with a smile, leaving her to daydream of a wedding
in a little chapel on top of a hill in the middle of nowhere.
We were bonded at this moment by our vows, our
dreams, our love and passion for each other.
Tonight I am unable to look into her eyes because of our pride,
but I realize that we are still bonded and connected by everything that
bonded us in the beginning, but there is a new adhesive; history. Our history
is full of good and bad memories, triumphs and failures, building up and of knocking
down and its good; which makes swallowing pride a bit more palatable.
