My body awakening to the feel of his fingers with in me as he kisses me roughly. God why am I feeling like this? Why am I wet at the thought? I cry silently. He pulls his fingers from me and pulls me upstairs. Hello. My name is Scotty. A voice brought me out of my memory with a start. Looking into his eyes…I smell his cologne. Hmmm Hello. I say in a purr. His Scottish burr called to me. His scent called to me. This is my wife, Blossom. He said as he lay his hand on her shoulder. I looked at her. Big and Beautiful, came to me as I saw her. She smiled at me and hugged me. Setting at a table we talked about many things. With them came a man named Wolf. I never caught his real name. Setting there I drank several more beers as we talked. Blossom confided in me that Scotty and Wolf took her panties from her as she was there with out them. Her dress was very sheer. But enough to not show her body. Soon we are playing pool. Scotty came up behind me and kissed my cheek. His cologne filling. Waiting for a good tide, then – as now – I recalled how we’d motored under a vast parade of jets landing at LaGuardia, and eventually, how we ran the slack tide and slipped into the East River. Then – as now – I’d wanted to stop in New York City, but frankly, the place scared Ruth. And, I realized now, everything scared me. Life, love…all of it, and I was tired of the certainty of all my uncertainties. A year had passed, and yet this was a different trip. No, trip isn’t quite the right word. Journey, perhaps? No, that’s not it at all…too open ended, almost too noble sounding. Too many memories to make on a journey, too, and I wasn’t sire I liked the idea of making more memories. You run across too many unexamined corners in the darkness on that kind of journey, too many choices best left undisturbed. So not a trip, nor a journey. What the hell do you call running away from memory? From memories of a life cut short. Pain comes to mind. The pain that comes from memories you can’t shove.
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