“I have been jaded by life…but mostly, by, women.”
NO, response, but a simple and lovely giggle. The kind of chuckle given unto young females who have a zest for the untold. Purposeful philosophers, say, somewhere between the ages of 25 to 29.
Within the whisp of her menthol cigarette, a smoked filled rasp of quiery arrived. It curled between the seats of the old ridden hard Subaru.
“Do you think anything will change? Politics? HRC ? There must be a place where making a difference….(long, drawn out, and ultimely, very sexy, tobacco laced pause)….”
And, than, there had been no ending. As if the conversation, lay in wait for a better, brighter day.
Had I been sly? I would have pocketed the opportunity to make love to Ashland’s ideals. Had I known…what I swore I had learned…years before, charm would have been the last choice.
But than…I only knew charm and treachery!
“And, the one eyed undertaker blows a futile horn! What does suppose he means by that? I’ve searched the world over. Not an answer worth speaking…is to be had!” I spoke with hopes of more interaction.
Again, silence. Yet, via the crisp New Hampshire air and the waves of not quite red, not quite strawberry blonde hair. Wedged under the earthiness Ashland wore like a badge of nonsense. A badge of nonsense that clearly stated…anything was game.
In the middle of mid day, with certain feelings not tucked away…no response was needed.
Yet, I yearned.
I exhaled and breathed in the common bond that is shared between dreamers.
“Tell me, what was your major in school?”
“Philosophy!” a burst of info handed to me like buttered bread handed to a starving whore.
“Well, than, I know you have thoughts! Hand them over!”
I have never been one for photographic memory. I do remember, Ashland, smiling, seductively and comically. A vision of what is right with the world today.
She spoke of death, love, giving in and sometimes, giving up. Her message had been clear…
“…we are not all built the same. Some of us refuse to see. Refuse to follow what might feel right…For the simple reason that…we are more at home with wrong.”
Our day progressed. Deep, dark and stark ideas were exchanged. Laughter had been a must.
And, one memory is for certain…
As I left her at a dirty curb’s end, she smiled that smile again…
Leaving me with one thought…
Beauty walks a razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine
If I could only turn back the clock to when God and her were born
Come in, she said
I’ll give ya shelter from the storm