Reunited for a Blink

How, in truth, he never really anticipated that he’d see her again was a marvel to him. Five years had gone by since then. They had been over on any terms. She just went to smoke without a word, without biding him a heart-felt farewell. She made him feel perfectly persecuted because of her ineffectual handling of it all. She was bold as brass. Now her reappearance was a mixed blessing, maybe. He couldn’t as of yet identify what he felt.

A little earlier he just prepared himself for a trip around the bookstore. Nothing special. He had always done this in the past. If his eyes caught something of interest and if fortunately he had money to spare, he’d get one. Last week he bought himself Edith Wharton’s The Buccaneers. It was too late when he learned that the book was unfinished. He couldn’t return it so he tried to read it right through the end. The conclusion made him feel somewhat placated. Later he decided he should grab another book since his supply had been running out as of late.

He hadn’t even settled which to purchase when she saw her. She was listlessly scanning through the general fiction area. He wasn’t sure if he remembered her reading anything when they were together. He could hardly suppose she was as much a reader as he was. Then she looked at him, as if by force of instinct. He was ready to turn away as he never liked awkward encounters resembling this. But it was too late. He was caught even before he could digest the shock.

Did she smile at him? Maybe. She flicked her hair in front of him then, her ritual of vanity. There wasn’t a hint of hesitation in her. She came right up to him as though they’d just had coffee the other day. That casual. He for his part, wanting to put off the impending disaster, backed away. But of course it was pretty much too late. The proximity was unavoidable.

Greetings were exchanged sooner than he knew what he was saying. She seemed happy. She told him about the new guy she was engrossed in. What an impertinence. He hadn’t yet learned how to be cruel enough to get across her that he wasn’t interested. So he nodded. Would he like some lunch? Incidentally he was hungry. It was plain to see. So she took him to a Korean restaurant. Her reassurances seemed to say they were not going to have anything more than a tacit conversation. She knew he hated vulgarities. It maimed his joy to be delayed like this. Truly.

She asked him if he had been dating lately. As usual, decency in any sense was lacking in her. Wow. Had they no other things to say to each other but banal stuff about love life? The trivialities of being unattached? No. The answer to that ever so pervasive question was easy; he hadn’t been dating since she ditched him. He had in fact dedicated the remainder of his life to sulking around. He had, however, pledged union with literature. What about her? Had she been reading? Yes, actually. She adored Da Vinci Code. You know, by Dan Brown.

Well, that just about appalled him to an inch of his life. Being fundamentally scornful of lowbrow taste was ever his watchword. And things like Da Vinci Code the destroyer of his mood. He wondered why he ever dated a pea-brain like her. He almost fell for her. Two can play the game, so they say.

Well, he should be going now. Thanks for the quality time. She gave him her new number, as if donating a part of her fortune to the boring and the socially deprived. He made a salute. There was vague look on the girl’s face as though she was wondering if she said something bad. Well, never mind. He was always that wacko. Always easily disturbed and undecided and given to inconclusive actions.

He returned to the bookstore, resuming his search for a time-killing book. The meeting rendered him partly contemplative and he wondered if it had meaning. Perhaps. He headed to the classics again. His eyes were mesmerized by Don Quixote, particularly Picasso’s sketch on the cover. One thousand and fifty pages. Perfect. His problem just formulated an answer on its own. According to the reviews, this was a witty novel. Chances are, he was going to enjoy each page. Hopefully.

He looked back at his life. It was empty romantically speaking. But at least he knew he was nothing, and didn’t pretend to be something else. Maybe that’s the trick of his contentment. He hoped to hell that this time, it was he who left her with thoughts that hurt.

END