Three People on a Couch
It took two solid days of rest before and after work, no coffee or sugar or sweeteners of any kind, no homework, no nada, and by this evening, finally, I feel more like myself. The entire clay studio up at the craft school got this head cold crud and I somehow picked it up from them so at least I haven’t been alone in my suffering, but Lord! It was hideous!
And today, the last of the snow melted up on Fork Mountain and the sun shone for deliriously swollen seconds atop Conley Ridge and my Irish Breakfast tea actually did taste like a damn fine substitute for coffee given the circumstances.
By nightfall, I was able to keep my dinner date with Wes and somehow she and Charley and I found ourselves driving down Hardly A Road to Barley A House (yes, those are REAL names) for further conversation and wine tasting.
And there we were. One of us, taking a break from a 14-year relationship to work on his art and rediscover himself as in individual. The other, sorting through the detritus of a breakup from months ago, trying to process it all in this beautifully human way. And then me, two weeks into this shockingly new adventure with a least-expected someone. No—this is not the smooch buddy. Forget the smooch buddy. The smooch buddy was an abstraction, might as well have been pretend. This is so much more.
So we’re sitting on the couch, one, two, three, spanning the spectrum of love and all its wreckage and reconstruction, the wine bottle tipped to empty and all the stars of Spring just itching overhead and I can feel their eyes almost laughing at us, a little bundle of the human experience so many miles beneath them on the planet Earth.