Wildflower
She came sailing out of left field, like the perfect throw from an outfielder to catch a runner at home plate...yes, a perfect throw. I cannot really remember anyone quite like her, before or since, if you want to know the truth. She was always so warm, her hands soft and soothing, her brown eyes inviting and loving.
When was the first time I held her close? It wasn't too damn long after I had met her. She was the epitome of the beauty found in the central plains, and if I travel to the ends of the earth I shall never find another like her. Less than a year, I believe, was the amount of time I was lucky enough to love her, but that was time enough to burn a lifetime of longing into my heart......
My friend had fixed us up as he was dating her roommate. I don't believe it was meant to be any big deal, hell, it was just a college town and guys and girls got together all the time. Nonetheless, I took my time getting ready as I was hoping for the best and anticipating the worst...I had been burned before by blind dates.
Music, a most important part of my persona, was flailing out of the speakers as I got dressed. I must confess, that many times I received inspiration from album covers. The covers have good looking long haired rockers posing in a relaxed, laid-back manner. Mannerisms, dress, attitude...all those things I took from the covers...they were the Sears and Roebuck catalogs of my life.
I sat in the bar with my friend waiting for the girls, nervously fingering my glass of beer and smoking a cigarette. I had never met either before so when they approached I was not sure who was who. My friend went to his girl and gave her a peck on the cheek...that left you know who.
She sat down across from me. I could not take my eyes off her hair or her beautiful brown eyes. A very important girl in my life once told me to always love women with deep brown eyes. This thought jumped to the front of my temporal lobe and I felt like a newly minted lobotomy patient. In a word, I was dumbfounded.
Through the fog I heard the conversation, it sounded like Mandarin Chinese. I reached in deep and pulled myself back to the surface. Something was being discussed about football or basketball or school or some such bullshit...someone asked me a question...was it her? Was she speaking to me? I mustered up my energy and coughed, I think. What a dope! I was blowing it! Wake up, stupid!
She didn't seem to mind, she seemed to like me anyway despite the spittle flowing out the side of my mouth and the glazed-over eyes of a serial rapist. My God, what a beauty. I looked down at the table and was amazed at how delicate, how beautiful, how unpretentious her hands were. I mean, girls at that age ofttimes don't know when to stop applying nail polish and have all manner of adornment on their hands. Her's were unassuming, plain yet exquisite.
We all stood to leave, I helped her on with her coat. I looked down and I saw "it". Her jeans encased it like it was the rarest of gems. Smooth, pert, round, taut...I had to have her, to make her mine forever, to somehow convince her that her future lay with a long-haired drifter.
I fooled her for about a year, but then she took hold of her senses and went back to what she was supposed to be doing with her life, hurt but never angry, I slowly got over her. What is the saying? Forgive but never forget? Twas Ever Thus.
