sweetbriarpoet
Flower Fortune- Sweetbriar: Poetry and fragrance.
family They rolled down the hill, turtleneck sweaters sticking
to their sweaty shoulders. shards and splinters of grass sticking through to skin.
Summer smell on blonde hair and cheeks resting against
the hillside.
There were many times I had met "Edward" before I knew how I felt about him. The first day he was my professor we happened to meet each other inside a Starbucks. I was dying for a coffee, my whole day had been exhausting and relatively fruitless at the same time. I noticed him and went to tell him hello and that I looked forward to being in his class. We sat and talked for awhile. He made me laugh every five minutes, and I found myself slightly attracted to little things he did (pulling his beard or biting his lower lip, staring directly at you without blinking.) However, I thought nothing much of those little twitches that I would soon come to love.
I began inviting him over for supper. He and Harry hit it off right away; they both liked sports and knew team statistics by heart. But they were different enough to engage in debates and discussions. Intelligent about different issues, they both learned much from each other. Soon, "Edward" and Harry were golf partners, or they had drinks in the house during games. During class, I treated him as a friend, as someone I could trust and whom I liked, someone who was good with my children and who I could have an entertaining and interesting conversation with.
One night, Harry and I hosted a semi-formal black dress party to celebrate our anniversary. Everyone was dressed up nicely, our backyard had been decorated, and we had even hired a bartender and caterer. It was a beautiful party. We had set up a long table lined with candles and when it got dark out we all sat and ate a wonderful meal. We opened many bottles of wine, and my friends gave toasts to Harry and my marriage. We sat at the table for three and half hours laughing and having long conversations. During this dinner, "Edward" sat across from me. Even though my husband was beside me, holding my hand, I couldn't help but stare at "Edward's" apparent handsomeness. Something touched me inside as we talked and joked one another; every now and again he would pause to just stare at me (unblinkingly, as I mentioned before.) At the end of the meal, when people were finally starting to leave, he gave me a nod across the table. I know you, it said. He thanked Harry for the great night and left. I receieved forty thank-you cards within a week: everyone seemed to have a great time.
"Edward" and my family started seeing less of each other. The professor would still say hello to me in class, but also avoided my eyes. During one heated debate, he saw that I was about to speak, and put a stop to it by calling on another student. He was trying to ignore me. When I questioned Harry about it, Harry said the professor was much too busy to be catering to my whims all the time; why wouldn't I give him some peace? He said that their golf meetings had been postponed until the end of the semester, when class was done. I was angry and a bit hurt.
One day after class, I cornered my professor and tried to get an answer from him. I see now that you are much too busy for your friends, I teased. Haven't you even missed us at all? Harry's gotten horrible at golf. He wore an embarassed expression, but his eyes never left my face. You know what you are doing, he said. I played stupid. What I'm doing? I asked. He walked past me, leaving me behind. The next week, I wrote a mandantory essay analyzing some of my favorite literature. I ignored "Edward" just as he had ignored me.
When I got my essay back it had a long note at the end:
You're very talented at structuralizing your thoughts. Your arguments are all clear and concise, you have a definite passion for the material you read. Your words agree with each other and with the work, your only problem is you tend to see nothing but stars and ideals when you're critisizing. You think there is always room for improvement. Do you believe this in all areas of your life? Yes and no could both be considered a devestating answer.
If you were genuinely interested in spending time with me (talking about Eco, yes?) [An inside joke on a previous conversation we'd had.] then you must come see me after class today. If you don't come, I will not take it one way or the other because I almost never know what you are thinking. Intriguing, smartass, everything you are makes me wonder. Tell Harry golf is on Thursday.
I went to see him when all the other students had gone (besides one girl who had stayed a little to flirt with dear "Edward." She had long, chocolate hair and was very beautiful; he kept looking over her shoulder at me, to motion that I shouldn't go.) And you're here? he asked me. He came closer. I distinctly remember he was wearing a sports coat over a sweater, and lighter colored jeans. It wasn't a mistake, I said. Our anniversary night, I couldn't help thinking about you all through the next week.
But you can't do this, he said. Think of Harry and the kids.
We fell in love, anyway.
The five of them catching lighning bugs in a jar;
the lid snapping shut and capsuling time with fluttering wings.
Poke holes in to let them breathe, and fill their lungs with
the freedom of their pasts.
to their sweaty shoulders. shards and splinters of grass sticking through to skin.
Summer smell on blonde hair and cheeks resting against
the hillside.
There were many times I had met "Edward" before I knew how I felt about him. The first day he was my professor we happened to meet each other inside a Starbucks. I was dying for a coffee, my whole day had been exhausting and relatively fruitless at the same time. I noticed him and went to tell him hello and that I looked forward to being in his class. We sat and talked for awhile. He made me laugh every five minutes, and I found myself slightly attracted to little things he did (pulling his beard or biting his lower lip, staring directly at you without blinking.) However, I thought nothing much of those little twitches that I would soon come to love.
I began inviting him over for supper. He and Harry hit it off right away; they both liked sports and knew team statistics by heart. But they were different enough to engage in debates and discussions. Intelligent about different issues, they both learned much from each other. Soon, "Edward" and Harry were golf partners, or they had drinks in the house during games. During class, I treated him as a friend, as someone I could trust and whom I liked, someone who was good with my children and who I could have an entertaining and interesting conversation with.
One night, Harry and I hosted a semi-formal black dress party to celebrate our anniversary. Everyone was dressed up nicely, our backyard had been decorated, and we had even hired a bartender and caterer. It was a beautiful party. We had set up a long table lined with candles and when it got dark out we all sat and ate a wonderful meal. We opened many bottles of wine, and my friends gave toasts to Harry and my marriage. We sat at the table for three and half hours laughing and having long conversations. During this dinner, "Edward" sat across from me. Even though my husband was beside me, holding my hand, I couldn't help but stare at "Edward's" apparent handsomeness. Something touched me inside as we talked and joked one another; every now and again he would pause to just stare at me (unblinkingly, as I mentioned before.) At the end of the meal, when people were finally starting to leave, he gave me a nod across the table. I know you, it said. He thanked Harry for the great night and left. I receieved forty thank-you cards within a week: everyone seemed to have a great time.
"Edward" and my family started seeing less of each other. The professor would still say hello to me in class, but also avoided my eyes. During one heated debate, he saw that I was about to speak, and put a stop to it by calling on another student. He was trying to ignore me. When I questioned Harry about it, Harry said the professor was much too busy to be catering to my whims all the time; why wouldn't I give him some peace? He said that their golf meetings had been postponed until the end of the semester, when class was done. I was angry and a bit hurt.
One day after class, I cornered my professor and tried to get an answer from him. I see now that you are much too busy for your friends, I teased. Haven't you even missed us at all? Harry's gotten horrible at golf. He wore an embarassed expression, but his eyes never left my face. You know what you are doing, he said. I played stupid. What I'm doing? I asked. He walked past me, leaving me behind. The next week, I wrote a mandantory essay analyzing some of my favorite literature. I ignored "Edward" just as he had ignored me.
When I got my essay back it had a long note at the end:
You're very talented at structuralizing your thoughts. Your arguments are all clear and concise, you have a definite passion for the material you read. Your words agree with each other and with the work, your only problem is you tend to see nothing but stars and ideals when you're critisizing. You think there is always room for improvement. Do you believe this in all areas of your life? Yes and no could both be considered a devestating answer.
If you were genuinely interested in spending time with me (talking about Eco, yes?) [An inside joke on a previous conversation we'd had.] then you must come see me after class today. If you don't come, I will not take it one way or the other because I almost never know what you are thinking. Intriguing, smartass, everything you are makes me wonder. Tell Harry golf is on Thursday.
I went to see him when all the other students had gone (besides one girl who had stayed a little to flirt with dear "Edward." She had long, chocolate hair and was very beautiful; he kept looking over her shoulder at me, to motion that I shouldn't go.) And you're here? he asked me. He came closer. I distinctly remember he was wearing a sports coat over a sweater, and lighter colored jeans. It wasn't a mistake, I said. Our anniversary night, I couldn't help thinking about you all through the next week.
But you can't do this, he said. Think of Harry and the kids.
We fell in love, anyway.
The five of them catching lighning bugs in a jar;
the lid snapping shut and capsuling time with fluttering wings.
Poke holes in to let them breathe, and fill their lungs with
the freedom of their pasts.
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