From the bottom drawer of the refrigerator, I remove several fingers of ginger root.
“What’s that?” asks G, looking at the beige segmented cluster inquisitively.
“Ginger.” I reply, holding it out for his closer inspection.
“How long has she been dead?” he asks with incredulity.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Friday, August 14, 2009
Two Months
“Yeah, you don’t seem to be thinking ‘I wish she’d go home’ about me,” I say to G as we talk over dinner on the two month anniversary of my moving in with him.
“Oh, I think that a lot, actually,” he says casually, “but only when I’m at home and you’re not.”
“Oh, I think that a lot, actually,” he says casually, “but only when I’m at home and you’re not.”
Nevermind
We return in my car to his workplace, where his motorcycle is, on the industrial side of town after dinner and socializing downtown. He goes into work to get his helmet and leather jacket while I leave for home, having agreed we’ll meet there. I head east on Hall Street, to the 131 North onramp and hop on the freeway. I cruise along at 82 mph, a rate that is somewhat above the limit, true - it’s a beautiful summer evening, and I’m feeling good.
I take the I-96 interchange and head west into the sunset, thinking about G. We take a couple minutes to watch the sun set together most nights, and it pleases me to know that he is some miles behind me in traffic, seeing the same sunset, and that he is probably thinking much the same.
I am a few miles away from my exit when I notice a motorcycle approaching from behind at a fairly good clip. I know that it cannot be G, because I have been traveling at 82 mph continuously, and he’d have to be going quite fast to catch up with me, considering the late start and all. Quite fast. At the rate the motorcycle behind me has been traveling, I expect it to pass me fairly soon. When it does not, I check on it in my rearview mirror. It’s keeping time with me now, oddly enough.
I take my exit, as does the motorcyclist, and by now, I can tell that it is G. I start to wonder how fast he was going to catch up with me, and ponder this the last few miles home. We pull into the drive together, I get out of my car, and start towards the pole barn where he parks the motorcycle. As he emerges, my first words to him are, “How the hell fast were you going that you managed to catch up with me?”
He grins widely and says “I was ONE light cycle behind you - how the hell fast were YOU going that it took me over 20 miles to catch up with you?”
Oh.
Right.
Nevermind.
I take the I-96 interchange and head west into the sunset, thinking about G. We take a couple minutes to watch the sun set together most nights, and it pleases me to know that he is some miles behind me in traffic, seeing the same sunset, and that he is probably thinking much the same.
I am a few miles away from my exit when I notice a motorcycle approaching from behind at a fairly good clip. I know that it cannot be G, because I have been traveling at 82 mph continuously, and he’d have to be going quite fast to catch up with me, considering the late start and all. Quite fast. At the rate the motorcycle behind me has been traveling, I expect it to pass me fairly soon. When it does not, I check on it in my rearview mirror. It’s keeping time with me now, oddly enough.
I take my exit, as does the motorcyclist, and by now, I can tell that it is G. I start to wonder how fast he was going to catch up with me, and ponder this the last few miles home. We pull into the drive together, I get out of my car, and start towards the pole barn where he parks the motorcycle. As he emerges, my first words to him are, “How the hell fast were you going that you managed to catch up with me?”
He grins widely and says “I was ONE light cycle behind you - how the hell fast were YOU going that it took me over 20 miles to catch up with you?”
Oh.
Right.
Nevermind.
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