[THIRD-PARTY QUOTATION OMITTED — Dag Hammarskjöld, Markings — manual review required]while my physical library grew, our conversation diminished into words written by dag hammerskjöld or c. s. lewis. growing up together created a different level of friendship. after countless trips with her brother, my sister and our mothers, we had a deeply rooted problem: we didn’t know each other. now, almost twenty two years into out knowledge of each other, we stood waiting for the light to let us cross the street. i knew i wanted to spend the rest of my time with her hands so close to my heart. she let go as i opened the door to our record store. splitting up among the small group of kids looking for mint pink floyd on vinyl, we joined our group. a group with the mindset to not stop looking until they found exactly what they’ve been searching for since their freshman year, or earlier. heads bowed, fingers flipping, eyes looking, minds cataloging, we become workers. as always, i go straight to the seven inchers, she to the end of the full length lp’s. my search takes considerably less time, so i join her at the beginning of the alphabet and meet somewhere in the middle. neither of us have to retrace the steps of the other, she knows my tastes. after a very productive, fruitful search, we leave. i want to memorize the lyrics before i hear the music, so i give her the keys. i read to her lyrics now, not books:
[COPYRIGHTED LYRICS OMITTED — “The Blankets Were the Stairs” by Sunny Day Real Estate — manual review required]the light turned yellow, then red from the breaklights showed tears on her face as i looked up for the first time since she started the car. knowing what was on her mind, i hoped it was the song i read. we had to end it. our longest conversation began knowing it was our last. she pulled into the taco del mar parking lot as they turned off the open sign. she sat crying while i fumbled in the dark for reasons. the words from the song started the end. taco dell mar sign flickered off now, the closers had finished and unlocked the front door to open it then close and lock it for the night. she choked back the last few tears and started into all the problems with us. i didn’t want our final words to end. in order to keep the goodbye silence away, i told her about dreams i had of her. how, when i was running (in my dreams) away from the angry people, she was always in front of me until the moment i awoke after falling off the rooftop of some small-city building, i quoted john lennon. told her i wanted to be an old man sitting on a porch with her next to me in our bench swing. sometimes waving at cars that drive through our neighborhood. this can’t be the end, not with me thinking so clear. i didn’t want to say the words, but i wanted her to say yes. i had thought of ways to ask this question. times of hope. to save our perfection, completeness, i needed to say, or ask the few words. without a single syllable from my lips, she turned in her seat, looked at me and i knew she would tell me what i wanted to hear. she didn’t need me to ask, didn’t want me to. turning the key to start the engine again. it purred into reverse. then forward. the road was empty now. the light, red. i looked at her, reached over and put her hand under mine. green, twenty-five miles per hour. soon all the lights that glowed red turned into a wave of green. our talking never stopped. i still read to her, but i’ve little use for a phone. we started again without having to hear obvious answers to unspoken questions.
adam.
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