top of page
Walking Into The Sun

          We sit on the grass and mutually worry if we are hurting it.  Not damaging the lawn. If the tickles and itches on our thighs and calves are the screams and protests of suffocating blades, their greenness draining out of them leaving them withered, dry, and brittle, but most of all dead.  We agree that that’s exactly what’s happening. Nothing likes to die without a fight.

          But that’s too bad.  The world is a cruel place if you don’t smile at it.

          You smile at me.  I don’t remember what I said.  I don’t think I said anything. But you’re smile is a response.  No, a conversation. I smile back. We have the best conversations.  

          We stand up.  The grass is matted but still alive.  It’s earned the right to keep on. We thank it.  We don’t apologize. You’re too wise for that.

          We walk along the path on the edge of the pond.  Benches run flat along people’s bottoms who have come to be close to flowers.  We realize the earth has received a manicure.

          “It’s pretty,” I say.

          “Not beautiful,” you say.

          “No, not beautiful,” and we reinvent those words as we color in the park around us.  

          We walk past the fountain and I say we are in a movie.  

          “No we’re not,” you tell me.  “This fountain has been in movies but we are not.”  I see the pleading in your eyes. Movies aren’t real.  This is real. Dammit Brian!

          I ignore that.  Movies are nice.  Real is challenging but today we are in one of my favorite movies.  

          Okay, your eyes say.  This is a nice movie. Except you know it’s real.  Your patience for me is love and I am a human who exists only theoretically.  The real me is hidden to all but you and that includes me.

          We walk up the stairs and the sun has draped itself across the tiled floor. 

          You take my hand.  You look in my eyes.  I take your other hand.  I look in your eyes. You are so open I feel I must close something.  But still, this moment is beautiful.

          No, pretty.

          Shit.  I forgot what we said.  

          I forget everything.  I fall into your eyes and you know it.  The sun is blinding off to our side but from our angle it is illuminating.  

          We turn and face it.  You still hold my hand.  You are small and warm and moist in me.  

          We close our eyes and rest them against the sun.  I feel you walk forward. I walk with you.

          I’m afraid I’ll trip and fall.  Somehow I know you won’t. I still hold your hand.  I don’t fall. I feel nothing but your warmth as the sun paints my face.  My eyes are closed and my world is bright fire that heats up my shirt and threatens to burn my pants.

          I stumble on a crack and my eyes open and the pretty park floods back to me.  Your eyes are still closed and your freckled face is glowing and I release your hand to watch you.  

          You turn towards me and I don’t pretend I wasn’t watching you.  You look into me and we both know that was a special moment, that moment we walked into the sun, together.  

bottom of page