The Fictional Diary #2

Woke this morning, just now, the pen hasn’t settled in to my fingers, kind of numb there.

I’m not hungover today, which is almost worthy of a celebration itself. No booze now for over six weeks. Outside the window, the snow absorbs all sound. It’s so quiet, all I hear is the faithful purr of the refrigerator motor.

I’m not so sure I like yesterdays font. Maybe too much flower for a day that was anything but.

I popped a crown two weeks ago. I’m waiting for glue to arrive from the U.K..

My tongue still hasn’t gotten used to the semi void along the upper left roof of my mouth.

Along the romance front. I had a date last Saturday, (New Year’s Day). We’d talked       

on the phone a few times, we met on one of those dating sites, auspicious beginnings they all seem to promise. 

We met along the Delaware Raritan canal, she’d wanted to go for a walk, different first date for the early first day of the new year.

I got there first and popped three squares of ‘berrylicious’ Glee gum into my mouth. Real sugar in that gum, no aspartame there. The gum had to be chewed on the right side of my mouth to avoid it getting stuck on the crown-less peg.

I wondered how many secrets I’d spill past the normal banal banter of a first date. She pulled up next to me. I got out and rushed around to her closed door. Too eager?

The small parking lot was still host to about six inches of snow. She opened her door and good smells rushed out. It was bouquet of fresh shampoo, and her name was Jen, her boots were in the back seat, and we shook hands as she reached for them. It was all in that order, and I felt as if I were juggling all this newness.

My gum was stuck to the peg as I introduced myself alongside the canal. We had to raise our voices a bit over the crush of water as it squeezed itself inside the crumbling lock, then fell to the reservoir below. It was a gray day, not too cold by our standards, besides, assessing one another was a good workout.

I asked her if she’d eaten lunch yet. “No” she’d said, then tagged it with: “Just breakfast.”

We entered into the low light of a place called “The South Street Grille.”

Things were going well I thought. She had an appetite.

Jen was short, about five feet, four inches. We were almost the same height on the bar stools. The bartender was a pretty girl and she looked a lot smarter than what she wore, but I was no one to judge.

Jen ordered ice water with a twist. Too much tequila during last nights party. I had stale iced tea with no sugar.

She told me of her first marriage in between bites of her rueben, and we split some fried calamari as I listened.

I did have an urge to order a martini, I won’t lie. But, I was strangely happy to be lucid and absorbing all conversation.

After that late lunch it was almost dark outside as we stepped down to the sidewalk. That shampoo smell still flushed from her long hair, and I almost couldn’t get enough of it. We returned to our cars there in the snow by the canal. I said goodbye and our lips pressed together, almost that fast. They were like tiny garage doors with electric openers, just not sure if they should open on the first date of the new year. In the old days it would have been automatic, unfeeling, thieving, but, I left all as it were.

That’s what I did a week ago today.

I have a lot of catching up to do, and I haven’t called Jen since that first date. Auspicious beginnings.

There’ll be more tomorrow if I don’t die. Chances are there will be more, I just like to be morbid sometimes.

GJH 10