I wasn’t going to write about it. It happened two days ago. I thought I had put enough distance between the memory and now to where I would lose interest in writing about it. But, there it is, sitting heavy in the back of my mind. Alright, then, I guess, when it comes down to it, writing is a form of exorcism, but I sure as fuck ain’t no priest; there’s bound to be residual memories clinging to me.
I hadn’t been there since I was with her. I’m not sure what drove me there. I mean, I was behind the wheel, I had my foot on the gas, but I don’t know why I went there in particular. There were other options. Alas, there I was and there our spot was. Weird, thinking back on it, our spot was next to a dumpster. Maybe that was just right. I peeked over at it and turned away, as if looking at it too long would drudge up good memories I didn’t want. And they were damn good memories…
Sitting in my car, I was spooning some Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, I forget the flavor (does it matter?) and the stupid plastic spoon broke off. We shared hers. The spot overlooked the water with green, purple, red and others lights reflecting off of it. It was pretty; she was pretty. And we talked. And that was it. That was all of it. I remember at one point, I got out of the car to throw away the empty ice cream container in the nearby dumpster. And as I walked there, shivering from the cold air, I looked back into my car; I couldn’t really see inside of it because of the shadows, but I saw her outline: the long hair, the slender shoulders, the eyes, I could see she was watching me watching her. Man, that was fucking perfect. Nothing’s perfect, right? But it sure feels like it in the moment.
And there I was, back again, this time with a grease-tainted bag and an empty seat.