jonberger

He noticed her at his mother’s funeral
which was a great consolation.
He was unable to get away
to thank her for stopping by
but it was perhaps the most meaningful visitor
he saw on the day
other than the deceased
(though if she hadn’t shown up
it would be a very different
sort of occasion!).

He wanted to offer her
his great appreciation
for her kindness that day
and devote as much attention
as she would allow
but he never found the chance
before he left the town
and moved away
where he thought about her
more and more
until, like his mother,
his love for this girl,
too, passed away.

She never knew he loved her.
Years later
after everything had died down
friends let her know
and she had to be reminded who he was.
She said, wrinkling her forehead,
I remember getting a letter
from a secret admirer,
that he would graduate
then come back to marry me
and that I should wait for him.
But he never gave his name
or his address
so I had no way to ask
just how long to wait.

Eventually she married another
someone whose identity and location she needn’t guess.

He put a letter in the paper
congratulating her
but it wasn’t her local paper
so she didn’t see it.
She might not even have seen it
years later
after everything died down.

When asked if she suspected
his affections, she would remind
that, to her recollection,
they had never spoken.
He had never introduced himself.
She had no way to know him
as much of anything.

It’s strange, she said,
he would hardly have suffered
from too much shyness
considering.
Of course, she said that later
wrinkling her forehead
after everything had died down.

When he had to go out of town
he asked me to stalk her for him.
He wanted to make sure
he didn’t miss anything important
on her day to day activities
I guess.

Either this was before social media
or maybe she’d blocked him
I don’t remember.

Either way
I had the assignment
of following her around town
keeping tabs on her life
providing back in curt reports
occasional pictures
short descriptions of her activities
informing of all her adorable goings-on.

I did not get caught.

Did I fall for her?
Of course not
though she was a beauty.

I was steadfast in my objective
a loyal friend.
I served him well
and offered him more ammunition
for his secret love affair
with the girl
he was too frightened
to ever talk to.

Her eyes were very beautiful.

He loved her from afar.
He would never walk through
though the door was oft ajar.
The width from which he watched her
was enough to see her well
enough to tell me tales
of just how much his heart would swell

when glancing at the vision
of her passing in a coach.
"Why don’t you ever talk to her?"
I once ruthlessly broached.
"I do not flirt like officers,"
he answered haughtily.
He was the most imperious
best friend I’d ever see.

Still, devotion was his byword;
he loved that girl quite greatly.
He even drew up kidnap plans
to use precipitately.
As all this tale, his snatching plans
never would occur
for though it shocked me to see
my friend proved quite demure.

The time I wrote my big-ass essay
about staying at the 24-hour Red Lion Diner
during a late-night snowstorm
was posed as an adventure
but I did it when my friends
had opted to hitch-hike back to school after midnight
and that was just a bridge too far
over the bridge back to Amherst.

So I stayed in Northampton overnight
looking for stories in a sleepy greasy spoon
where really,
everyone was just looking for a little peace and quiet
and really,
I was just looking for a little safety and security
and everybody got what they were looking for.

Just to set the record straight.

She told somebody else that she liked how I danced
so that piqued my curiosity
my interest
and my attraction.

I went to visit her dorm
and because she had trouble sleeping
occupied her attention well into the evening.
That sounds more salacious than it should.
She gave good conversation.

She was my object of affection
for many a month
but I was never her object of interest
which is an oft-repeated tale
a dance that repeats
randomly, through endless permutations
until all the attendants end up exhausted
and off their feet.

For a while there, though,
she certainly swept me off my feet.

Walking down to the pier
my sister asked an uncomfortable question.
“How long have I been dead?”
“You know I don’t like to talk about this,” I said.
“Still, it’s been weighing on me.”
“It’s impolitic.”
“Hey,” she said, “Hey! It’s my life!”
“Well…”
“I want to be more in touch with my existence.
If you can help, shouldn’t you?”
She tried to grasp me, but I was being difficult.
“I get it; I do. It’s just painful to talk about.
Your passing was really hard on me.”
“I’ll bet it was no picnic for me, either!”
“Can we talk about this later?”
The rest of our walk was silent.

It was, in fact, the last time we spoke.

When you asked if we were dating
I thought, “Shouldn’t you know that already?”
but I sighed and I smiled
and I said with the patience of a marm
that we were dating if you wanted us to be
and I guess that worked out kinda well
as we started seeing each other.

When you wondered
if we were in love
I answered honestly
to the best of my recollection at the time
and explained where we stood
and what we understood of each other
and how we felt
and where we might be going
if we could stand the strain
and go the distance.
I gave my long-range predictions
and you clearly liked the odds
since you stuck it out.

When you queried me
if we were getting married
and I thought,
“Finally! The kind of question
that OUGHT to be asked!
At last.
At last…”
and I gave you the words I hope you longed to hear
and I know I had been meaning to say
for at least seven days
(since I’d first seen the ring bill come up
on our shared account)
and all was good.

When you asked if we had ever seen Memento
I don’t know what came over me
but after that
all the questions
just came over and over again.

And over and over again.

And over and over again.

And over and over –

The filth quietly collected,
grimey and dirty and full of grease,
all around the kitchen
for what seemed like years.
All was good with the world
until the evil mop came
to dispel the peace.

With a bucket of ammonia
and a couple of swipes,
the mop and awful intentions
began its attack
on the decades of degradation
captured in that kitchen.
The mop would move
and the dregs would disappear.

Wiping and washing,
the heinous mop would bring about
the destruction of the decay all around the dining area.
It was disgusting.
How dare the mop do that!
It was malicious, that thing was.

Finally, when the germs were gone
and the vicinity was spotless
the wicked wiper went away
not to be seen again.

Its legend lives on, though
and the evil mop is still whispered about
wherever the filth lingers,
fearing for its future.

Kat, I think I lied
to you, to me
about the state of we
– of us. That’s what I should’ve said.
I always sought the easier way to say
the words I wanted said.
I wanted you so much back then
I’d far from danger tread.

And you betrayed me often,
that’s how the story went;
how I’d describe it frequently
to all the ears I’d bent.
You’d give me jam in January,
but abandon me for Lent.

So though you hurt me commonly
on occasions multiplied,
I said it before and I’ll repeat
it’s possible I lied
about degrees and expectations
and speciously amounts,
for though we broke up thrice,
twice I can discount.

You left me for an old boyfriend
from whom I’d stolen you
and then again an older one
from your old high school crew.
In truth, these sort of silly actions
should have been expected
from the kind of girl you proved
to be, in retrospective.

And I had been collecting silver bolts and screws to give
to show you how I could trust you with love I had to live.
As my faith in you grew, the screws, too, grew in shape
and when you left me finally, no bigger than a grape
was the final screw I’d offered, so little trust was shared. You hadn’t earned my faith again; in you I hadn’t dared.

So I’m sorry for bad-mouthing you,
providing the bad rap.
I was bitter and mean spirited;
a simpleton sad sack.
It’s been so many years now,
I just thought, “What’s the harm?
If you’re free, could you and me
see if fourth time’s the charm?”