flourescence

It was bound to happen. After a month of being in such close proximity to his apartment I've had to resist the urge to become a stalker, stop scanning every face on the block, and try to pretend I'd imagined the whole thing, I bumped into The Drunken Ambusher at the grocery store.

By some coincidence, we were both headed to the same place at the same time. I was with my friend Val whose food prediclictons are too powerful to ignore and she wanted ice cream. I headed to get some salad. If I'd ignored that urge I wouldn't have seen him at all.

I said hello and he turned. He offered his arms in a wide embrace which I fell into with great relief. It was awkward after that somehow, because my brain would not work. I stammered and muttered and drifted away. He did not detain me.

My brain was distracted by his obvious oldness in the glare of the flourescent lighting. Most of what's left of his hair is gray. His skin seemed pallid and wrinkled heavily. His posture was stooped and the weight he claimed to have put on seemed more evident. I was struck by the sheen of my thoughts this past month was not only not true, it was just the fantasy, the booze, the lie I wanted to believe.

Suddenly, my urgency to capture his heart has dwindled and I'm not fretting about his abscences from my world. I'm embarassed that once again I've let myself get swindled; by myself.