Celtic Ink
March 25th, 2009
She sits across the table from him at the Bone Pain, her elbows on the table. She leans toward him as she speaks. It is important. She is earnest. Her long blonde hair flows down to her shoulders and bounces to underline her point. She has just enough baby fat in her face to look perfect for her age – a twenty something working class beauty. I can’t hear her, but it looks like she is telling him he’s the one. I’ll bet she’s too smart to say that, but I’ll bet he knows that’s what she’s saying.
He sits with his shoulder toward her. i think he had Jesus turned to her. I hope he wasnt’ showing her the grim reaper. He only rarely looks in her eyes. A shame – they are beautiful earnest eyes. I think he is afraid – afraid to be too close to her. I think he is afraid – afraid to be to far from her. He is right to be afraid. He who plays too hard to get – for whatever reason – doesn’t get got.
Celtic Ink, trust me on that.
I’m not saying it’s easy. I have a clue about what I don’t know. People struggle horribly with it. When they fail, it seems to be shattering. But when they succeed, they seem transformed. They make me feel like I have missed something. Something important. Something dangerous, but worth the risk.
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