Between the time we ordered and the time the food arrived, Miss Fire Ant and I caught up on all the dreams that had never come true. Things had not worked out between us years ago, but thats how the breadstick crumbles. We never are who we think we are and the people we think we know are never the people we think we know and the country music station never stays in one place long enough for us to hear the end of the song. Every time Cinderella marries Rockerfeller, here comes Jesse James.
Miss Fire Ant had a dream all right. But, as often happens in this grainy old black-and-white world, her dreams were turning into somebody elses nightmare. As I watched an azure blue teardrop make a tiny little splash into her drink, I began to realize the somebody was me.
I took her hand and gave it a little squeeze. Her eyes were the color of Texas Hill Country bluebonnets after spring time rains.
She in turn squeezed my hand in the heart breaking manner of a child who now believed that everything was going to be all right.
"Let me guess what happened to your wrist," she said in a voice loud enough to make a number of nearby tables pause over their pasta. "You were jerkin off and your balls blew up."
Watching the slow decay, first written 2. Jan. 2009
4 months ago