There he stood in her doorway, tee-shirt tucked into belted jeans, with Birkenstocks and woollen socks on his feet. The sun gleamed down on his balding head. Soon his sweat would drip mercilessly down onto his “John Lennon” frames, as he boasted on splurging on a haircut at the barbers that day.
She contemplated that although they were the same age, he spoke like he was from another time. He was an intellectual mechanic, a professor in overalls. He was poised, had self control, his words, well measured, his gestures, precise.
With eager smile he stood before her, ready for a run.
She stared at the sight an instant then politely inquired, “So you’re standing me up?”
“No why do you ask?”
“Because you don’t have your runners on”, she offered but held back on the question that must have been written across her forehead, “you’re not thinking of running dressed like that?”
“Oh, I don’t believe in them”, he casually replied. “You can do anything in these things”. He lifted his right foot to show off his brown “St Francis” type sandals. “I got them a few years back. They offered me the Velcro type, but it’s not my style, I’m more retro”.
“No shit”, she thought.
She tried to reason with herself, “I didn’t have all the right gear the first time I ran”. The horrified side of her brain screamed “but I didn’t look like a dork”. “Shut up, Mary, you’re being shallow. You didn’t ask him to come with you for the way he dresses”. “Fuckin’ good job you didn’t” the evil side of her personality replied.
But she liked him. He reminded her of how she used to be. “Slightly retarded” the evil side of her whispered. The thudding of feet, the strain and pain of the beginning of a jog finally shut the dark side of Mary up. Her final comment being “fuck this is hard, why do I do this again?” And she was gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment