my one other semi significant literary work.
The danger in posting this story lies in the fact that with this and my one whopping other piece posted before I will be completely out of pre-written goods. This means I'll prolly have to get back in the habit of writing or something in order to update this with any frequency. But, what the hell, here goes.
September first
And there they sat. Midsummer lover’s whose autumn had arrived. And before them, reality. She was scheduled to leave for SUNY Brockport the next morning and he was but three days from a plane ticket to Fort Hood, Texas. The sun was setting on this day, one of those peculiar shades of yellow you just have to see on a upstate autumn sunset in order to understand. The sky around it fading orange to red with a combination of pastel colors that just seemed so warm as to make any onlooker question the veracity of the thermometer and it’s reading of 59 degrees. They sat in an old swing the boy’s great grandfather had built, hanging from his grandmother’s house overlooking the rolling fields his great great grandfather had first tilled. His right arm was wrapped around her shoulders and her head was upon his chest, a gentle breeze played with her raven black hair as only the wind may and upon its undulating surface he could see a reflection of the sun. At this he simply smiled contentedly and began stroking her shoulder.
Eight hours before, they had ended it. In a not so entirely tearless series of phone calls they had heeded the advice of their friends. Long distance relationships just didn’t work they all said, many with a woeful story or two to back up their claims as well. Indeed, they had both begun that morning with the intention of ending the relationship. The passions of July and August were simply not enough to support the distance and cold, due to come. That she called him was simply a matter of coincidence and a strange twist of fate. He had awoken with full intention of calling her and ending it right then and there. However, his mother awoke with full intention of him running to the grocery store, post office, bank, printer’s office and Dunkin Donuts. He protested this plan for about thirty seconds; his mother was not one to argue with, gave up and went about his errands as quickly as possible. Such were his chores that when his soon to be ex-girlfriend called, he was somewhere between the printer’s and Dunkin Donuts and his mother was charged with the task of letting him know he’d been called. Unfortunately, due to the broken coffee pot, hence the trip to Dunkin Donuts, his mother had not yet had her daily caffeine fix and therefore was not responsible for her inability to remember who had called for whom.
And so, distracted from his original mission by his chores and later the philosophical debate on whom the Detroit Lions should start at quarterback, it fell to her to call back a half hour later to have this discussion of relationship termination. At the sound of her voice all the glee from having convinced his brother that Joey Harrington needed another year on the bench before he’d be an effective starter dissipated from him as he was reminded of the painful task that lay before him. The shocking part of it all was that the words coming out of her mouth were very much like the ones he had intended to speak to her. Dazed somewhat by this revelation he found himself reluctantly agreeing to all of her points on just how impossible it would be for the two of them to maintain a workable relationship over all the distance it would entail. For about twenty minutes they spoke and reassured each other that what they were doing here was right, that they loved each other but it just couldn’t be. And so it ended, the relationship died a peaceful death, unlike so many others.
For about ten minutes.
Walking out to his car, not entirely sure why, he turned eastward and looked out over the road, again for no particular reason, and turned right back around and re-entered the house, this time for a very particular reason. He stepped inside picked up the phone an fumbling with the ancient dial a few times, called her back. For the next hour or so he begged, pleaded, offered a whole line of perfectly logical, perfectly practical means of keeping up the relationship over a thousand or so miles. The irony was not lost on him that just a few hours before he was prepared to throw away what he was now so desperately fighting for, nor was the point lost on him when she delivered an exasperated, teary “no” and hung up on him.
He just sat there, at his kitchen table, glass of milk in front of him, not very sure how it got there or why it was there. It sat on one of the few clear areas of the table, the rest occupied by stacks of magazines and newspapers, someone’s loose change and a half finished game of solitaire. He just stared at it, watching a few bubbles float around the top, eventually popping. When the milk itself was completely placid he gave into curiosity and had a drink; at least it was cold, he thought and drained the glass dry. Coincidently, as soon as he finished off the glass, the phone rang; startling him from what had been an unusually prolonged silence in his house.
It was her, she called to apologize for hanging up on him so abruptly and with the resolve of someone who has just regained their composure, reaffirmed that there could be no more of ‘them’ and told him that she may stop by later in the day, after she finished packing. With that, she hung up and his entire body sighed. She herself went back to crying.
Tears at his eyes, he slumped back into his chair, sat there for about five minutes and then got up and walked up the road to his grandmother’s. It was a brief walk, only a quarter of a mile or so under the midday sun as he walked along the side of the road, kicking any offending pebbles out of his way. As he approached the driveway he took a moment to open the old mailbox, its rusted hinge providing only the slightest resistance to his quest for the mail. He continued up the winding dirt driveway and was greeted by the sound of a diesel engine starting. His uncle passed him along the driveway, setting out on the John Deere 4430 in pursuit of a second cutting of alfalfa to bale. He waved to him in a manner far more cheery than he actually was and continued along to his grandmother’s door.
She thanked him for bringing in the mail with a kiss on the cheek, once he bent low enough for her to reach him, and asked how his day had been. “Eh, alright.” he lied and proceeded to ask her if anything of note had occurred. During her, response which included updates on all manner of family friends and distant relatives that he was ashamed to admit to himself he didn’t really know that well, he learned that his father was at an auction in Poughkeepsie. That would explain why he was charged with all those errands this morning. Following the update on so much of the world he didn’t know, he did something he had never really done before. He asked her to tell him about her life when she was his age. His grandmother, thrilled at the prospect of telling the tale of days gone by and not watching the television for the entirety of the afternoon, smiled replying “I’d be happy to.” And so, the gray haired 87-year-old woman led him out to back porch. Upon the swing that her father had built they sat and throughout the afternoon she told him of her childhood in the 20’s, the great depression, World war two and meeting her husband. Intently he listened, taking in every detail of the history of this magnificent woman he had always known as his grandmother, not even noticing as the hours went by. So engrossed he was with her story that he never noticed as his recently ex-girlfriend’s old Plymouth pulled up the driveway. As she walked around the house to the swing where he and his grandmother sat, his grandmother’s tale reached the beginnings of what he already knew about her. At this, the old woman, recognizing the approaching girlfriend and reading the nature of the situation, greeted the girl, made some excuse about the cooling of the air and returned to the old farmhouse, leaving the once lovers to each other.
A tired “hey” was about all he managed for a greeting as she sat down on the swing next to him. For quite a while neither of them spoke a word, the only available distraction being the steady kick of hay bales into the air in the field across the road. Eventually, however, his uncle made his last pass on the field and with a half filled hay wagon, drove slowly off to another barn for unloading. Their distraction now departed and both of them left to think solely about ‘them’, they interrupted each other as they both tried to say something. This produced a short-lived laugh and served to break the air of nerves that was beginning to surround them. They spent the remainder of the afternoon just there in that swing; arms wrapped around each other, talking about what a beautiful summer it had been, lamenting that its end was now at hand. Once more they went over the logic of their friend’s advice, their fears and concerns regarding a long distance relationship. They studied how good a decision it was to end the relationship now and still be friends. They locked eyes, his brown staring into her blue and hers staring back into his.
There could be no ‘logical’ conclusion to this relationship. They decided. Advice be damned, no matter how ‘good’ or ‘right’ and idea it might be to end the relationship now and not risk the friendship, hearts learn only through experience. With complete absence of the logic and rationality that had gone into their first phone conversation that day, they decided they’d give it a try, learn the hard way, if need be, as to just how impractical a 1500 mile relationship could be.
Upon a swing that had seen four generations worth of memories and precious moments, one more was added to the list, as two lovers decided to remain so, practical or not. Neither knowing what the future holds, knowing simply what they want out of the present: a chance at the future, a chance at the dream of love, regardless of the pain it may hold.
September first
And there they sat. Midsummer lover’s whose autumn had arrived. And before them, reality. She was scheduled to leave for SUNY Brockport the next morning and he was but three days from a plane ticket to Fort Hood, Texas. The sun was setting on this day, one of those peculiar shades of yellow you just have to see on a upstate autumn sunset in order to understand. The sky around it fading orange to red with a combination of pastel colors that just seemed so warm as to make any onlooker question the veracity of the thermometer and it’s reading of 59 degrees. They sat in an old swing the boy’s great grandfather had built, hanging from his grandmother’s house overlooking the rolling fields his great great grandfather had first tilled. His right arm was wrapped around her shoulders and her head was upon his chest, a gentle breeze played with her raven black hair as only the wind may and upon its undulating surface he could see a reflection of the sun. At this he simply smiled contentedly and began stroking her shoulder.
Eight hours before, they had ended it. In a not so entirely tearless series of phone calls they had heeded the advice of their friends. Long distance relationships just didn’t work they all said, many with a woeful story or two to back up their claims as well. Indeed, they had both begun that morning with the intention of ending the relationship. The passions of July and August were simply not enough to support the distance and cold, due to come. That she called him was simply a matter of coincidence and a strange twist of fate. He had awoken with full intention of calling her and ending it right then and there. However, his mother awoke with full intention of him running to the grocery store, post office, bank, printer’s office and Dunkin Donuts. He protested this plan for about thirty seconds; his mother was not one to argue with, gave up and went about his errands as quickly as possible. Such were his chores that when his soon to be ex-girlfriend called, he was somewhere between the printer’s and Dunkin Donuts and his mother was charged with the task of letting him know he’d been called. Unfortunately, due to the broken coffee pot, hence the trip to Dunkin Donuts, his mother had not yet had her daily caffeine fix and therefore was not responsible for her inability to remember who had called for whom.
And so, distracted from his original mission by his chores and later the philosophical debate on whom the Detroit Lions should start at quarterback, it fell to her to call back a half hour later to have this discussion of relationship termination. At the sound of her voice all the glee from having convinced his brother that Joey Harrington needed another year on the bench before he’d be an effective starter dissipated from him as he was reminded of the painful task that lay before him. The shocking part of it all was that the words coming out of her mouth were very much like the ones he had intended to speak to her. Dazed somewhat by this revelation he found himself reluctantly agreeing to all of her points on just how impossible it would be for the two of them to maintain a workable relationship over all the distance it would entail. For about twenty minutes they spoke and reassured each other that what they were doing here was right, that they loved each other but it just couldn’t be. And so it ended, the relationship died a peaceful death, unlike so many others.
For about ten minutes.
Walking out to his car, not entirely sure why, he turned eastward and looked out over the road, again for no particular reason, and turned right back around and re-entered the house, this time for a very particular reason. He stepped inside picked up the phone an fumbling with the ancient dial a few times, called her back. For the next hour or so he begged, pleaded, offered a whole line of perfectly logical, perfectly practical means of keeping up the relationship over a thousand or so miles. The irony was not lost on him that just a few hours before he was prepared to throw away what he was now so desperately fighting for, nor was the point lost on him when she delivered an exasperated, teary “no” and hung up on him.
He just sat there, at his kitchen table, glass of milk in front of him, not very sure how it got there or why it was there. It sat on one of the few clear areas of the table, the rest occupied by stacks of magazines and newspapers, someone’s loose change and a half finished game of solitaire. He just stared at it, watching a few bubbles float around the top, eventually popping. When the milk itself was completely placid he gave into curiosity and had a drink; at least it was cold, he thought and drained the glass dry. Coincidently, as soon as he finished off the glass, the phone rang; startling him from what had been an unusually prolonged silence in his house.
It was her, she called to apologize for hanging up on him so abruptly and with the resolve of someone who has just regained their composure, reaffirmed that there could be no more of ‘them’ and told him that she may stop by later in the day, after she finished packing. With that, she hung up and his entire body sighed. She herself went back to crying.
Tears at his eyes, he slumped back into his chair, sat there for about five minutes and then got up and walked up the road to his grandmother’s. It was a brief walk, only a quarter of a mile or so under the midday sun as he walked along the side of the road, kicking any offending pebbles out of his way. As he approached the driveway he took a moment to open the old mailbox, its rusted hinge providing only the slightest resistance to his quest for the mail. He continued up the winding dirt driveway and was greeted by the sound of a diesel engine starting. His uncle passed him along the driveway, setting out on the John Deere 4430 in pursuit of a second cutting of alfalfa to bale. He waved to him in a manner far more cheery than he actually was and continued along to his grandmother’s door.
She thanked him for bringing in the mail with a kiss on the cheek, once he bent low enough for her to reach him, and asked how his day had been. “Eh, alright.” he lied and proceeded to ask her if anything of note had occurred. During her, response which included updates on all manner of family friends and distant relatives that he was ashamed to admit to himself he didn’t really know that well, he learned that his father was at an auction in Poughkeepsie. That would explain why he was charged with all those errands this morning. Following the update on so much of the world he didn’t know, he did something he had never really done before. He asked her to tell him about her life when she was his age. His grandmother, thrilled at the prospect of telling the tale of days gone by and not watching the television for the entirety of the afternoon, smiled replying “I’d be happy to.” And so, the gray haired 87-year-old woman led him out to back porch. Upon the swing that her father had built they sat and throughout the afternoon she told him of her childhood in the 20’s, the great depression, World war two and meeting her husband. Intently he listened, taking in every detail of the history of this magnificent woman he had always known as his grandmother, not even noticing as the hours went by. So engrossed he was with her story that he never noticed as his recently ex-girlfriend’s old Plymouth pulled up the driveway. As she walked around the house to the swing where he and his grandmother sat, his grandmother’s tale reached the beginnings of what he already knew about her. At this, the old woman, recognizing the approaching girlfriend and reading the nature of the situation, greeted the girl, made some excuse about the cooling of the air and returned to the old farmhouse, leaving the once lovers to each other.
A tired “hey” was about all he managed for a greeting as she sat down on the swing next to him. For quite a while neither of them spoke a word, the only available distraction being the steady kick of hay bales into the air in the field across the road. Eventually, however, his uncle made his last pass on the field and with a half filled hay wagon, drove slowly off to another barn for unloading. Their distraction now departed and both of them left to think solely about ‘them’, they interrupted each other as they both tried to say something. This produced a short-lived laugh and served to break the air of nerves that was beginning to surround them. They spent the remainder of the afternoon just there in that swing; arms wrapped around each other, talking about what a beautiful summer it had been, lamenting that its end was now at hand. Once more they went over the logic of their friend’s advice, their fears and concerns regarding a long distance relationship. They studied how good a decision it was to end the relationship now and still be friends. They locked eyes, his brown staring into her blue and hers staring back into his.
There could be no ‘logical’ conclusion to this relationship. They decided. Advice be damned, no matter how ‘good’ or ‘right’ and idea it might be to end the relationship now and not risk the friendship, hearts learn only through experience. With complete absence of the logic and rationality that had gone into their first phone conversation that day, they decided they’d give it a try, learn the hard way, if need be, as to just how impractical a 1500 mile relationship could be.
Upon a swing that had seen four generations worth of memories and precious moments, one more was added to the list, as two lovers decided to remain so, practical or not. Neither knowing what the future holds, knowing simply what they want out of the present: a chance at the future, a chance at the dream of love, regardless of the pain it may hold.