I hadn’t thought of high school, those awful best years of my life, since college, not as ghastly. Afterwards I kept things on an uneven keel, keening not keening, that would be unmasculine, suddenly it was out – mine, hers, both? – can’t tell in this light, nothing’s hard, nothing will be, it’s the drink, not age, not me, it may be me, it’s
A screaming comes across the world, the stain of love upon the sky, that can’t be it, and yet
She, not seen since, moved one of the coats on the bed, cloaked the small intruder. “Not here,” she said.
“Where then?”
“Nowhere, I had a crush on you then but I’m in my fifties now and you”
“Never mind about me, just”
Then our song came on, dancing time. She smiled, crooked, led the way downstairs, not touching, we rejoined the party buttoned up as though nothing happened, nothing did, she rejoined her husband, I went outside, couldn’t retch, came back, cold, damp, not miserable, someday she, we’ll laugh, tell no one, blab it all about, what
I grabbed a cold one only to
Clyde Liffey lives in Ivoryton, CT, near the water.
