Friday, February 15, 2013

Conversations and a minor mishap foretold by K

K walked in an hour late. She usually was on time for our not frequent evenings together. So if she kept you waiting, you knew it was for a good reason and one not concerning you. This is a comforting thing to know.

Excerpts from a thread of conversation an hour and a carafe of the house red thereafter.

K : So if I understand correctly you've found yourself a Zelda who'll soon turn you from the Hemingway you think you are to the Scott Fitzgerald that you are.
Me: I'd rather you prefer a softer metaphor like Pattie Boyd ,Harrison and Clapton.
K : Train wrecks are train wrecks. I'll mince no words. I don't like the sound of her. She can't do you any good. You can't do you any good already and you could do with a little less of that.
Me: All this you conclude from my narrative about a woman I haven't yet met?
K: For all your faults, you make for a delightful teller of stories and coherently interpolated narratives from distant observation points with little standard deviation to the actual event set.
Me : Your statistical methods degree hasn't ever served you better than in that sentence.
K: I measure people by means of standard deviance.
Me: You are the outlier?
K: I agree to meet you on a weekend I was supposed to do my taxes. I must be.
Me: You do know you are hard to unlove.
K: I try not to be. Getting back to the issue at hand, you have to start believing me, that you shouldn't be feeling the way you are until you've waded shin deep in the waters. Not when all you have is a hint of moisture in the air.
Me: K, It's not so bad. She's just a girl who probably is no different from you. I'll never know if I don't go looking or wading or whatever metaphor you choose to use. Besides it's almost rude not to.
K: No. I am definitely prettier and I'll never be your girl.
Me: But you are already.
K: Shut up and finish those mushrooms. You want more olives?
Me: Yeah. Feta too.
K: How long do you think I'm gonna be the gangman pushing levers and breaking my freshly painted fingernails to shepherd your train away from tracks leading into imagined sunsets?
Me: K, I think I'll take my chances here. What's the worse that could happen?
K: The sooner you men realize that all you are looking for is a warm bosom to cry into and stop over analyzing obscure micro poetry and demagoguery, the better. Stop grinning. I can't wait to tell you I told you so, the next time we catch up.
Me: I'm trying hard not to. I'm also slightly worried that one of these days I will end up as a character in that novella you are writing and I am wrongly portrayed as the person I'm not.
K: I could do worse and write about you as the person you are.
Me: You are hard to unlove, K.So damn hard.

We ran through another carafe and it was a fine fine December night that we walked back to the familiar lanes of forgotten childhood games and then on to our respective homes.

I called K today, almost two months since the day we last met, and told her she may have been right about some things she told me about over the two carafes.
She spared me the 'I told you so's(she never 'I told you so'd me ) and asked me if I had made any plans yet for the spring break I usually took in March and how she was looking forward to my photographs.
That's why she is hard to unlove.

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