Returning home last night around 8:30, an achingly young couple sat on the bench playing checkers. "Is this yours?" they asked me about the checkers, their tone apologetic. I explained about the free bench, all the while examining them. They were cut from the same cloth: pale, clear-skinned with dark hair - hers past her shoulders - slender, dressed in a way that I think of as outside of time - a white cotton shift for her, slacks and a light-colored button-down shirt for him. She wore large glasses, and there was something ungainly about both of them. How do we ever find each other? That is what the sight of them made me wonder. Two thoroughly uncool, gawky kids playing checkers. The checkerboard was gone this morning.
No comments:
Post a Comment