tryst

"Let's go", he says. I sigh as I see the daily jumbles clutched in his hand, and a sly smirk upon his face.

He is always victorious with the jumbles. I'm stumped by the third one.

This has become routine. "You're the one for me, Fatty" is playing and I realize I'm missing enjoying my cd pick for jumbled jumble concentration. Anagrams of death. I inform him that I will be replaying "National Front Disco" when the torturous game is over... and I did.

----- time passes-----

I put in New Order -- Get Ready -- it slams into "Crystal", and noone is in the store but Matty and I -- we are suddenly an independent movie. We are the movie.

He is mopping the floor, and I am lighting a cigarette at the counter. I lean on the counter and examine his quick mop strokes. We make eye contact, and smile at eachother. I tell him that we are an independent movie. He, of course, understands exactly what I mean.

"Crystal" is clearly the soundtrack for the scene -- and the scene is flawless.

-----time passes-----

I am walking toward the frozen food case with watery eyes. Yesterday the thought of him dying crossed my mind as I was sitting on the spinny chair in a messy room. The thought brought watery eyes yesterday. The thought that he might not understand the implications of that brings them tonight. I did not phrase it completely right, afterall. It did not seem the nicest thought when put into words -- words spoken to him -- but of course, he did understand.

-----time passes-----

I am leaving. Walter's song is playing on my car stereo. He knocks on the window, makes a movie comment, and hands me my half-munched bag of Guacamole Doritos. We smile. I drive home.