untitled communication sage (conclusion)
Eleven:
We continued, on and on… as if nothing unusual happened. We went through a continuous rigmarole of how-do-you-do-I’m-fine-nice-to-meet-you-how-are-you-everything-is-good-put-it-there-buddy-yadda-yadda-yadda-yadda-etc. until there was nothing left to say. She must have been geared for the long haul, planning on never ever letting go… like a weird fairy tale or a practical joke consisting of her gluing our hands together. Such a situation would drive me insane if not for my ability to stay calm in adversity where anything of the ordinary can happen. Did she pretend to give me a quarter and then want to make sure I did not drop the coin so she gripped my hand as a precaution? Right now, all I could think about was how ours no longer remained a greeting but a fixed endeavor.
Twelve:
She hung on to my tree-of-a-hand like a piece of fruit never coming off no matter how many times one tried to yank it free from the branch. I swayed my hand to and fro as if controlled by the wind while she stayed calm and serene, holding securely my hand as if hers was a mode of meditation and mine was the still-life object focused upon. However, time was even more of the essence and I could not let the cultural differences between us guide our communication problem any longer. She was to let go of me as soon as possible and I would make sure I went towards all lengths to escape. My persistence was all I had left.
Thirteen:
DAMN IT!! She was a stubborn thing and I was in a mode of panic because I tried every which way – using all possible combinations – in order to free myself but there was no slack in her hold. I grunted like a caveman while she smiled, listening to me as if I was an avant-garde singer previewing a new song for her enjoyment. If nothing else, I was glad at least one of us could find such a situation amusing but the energy from her hand was getting more intense and I was apparently feeling her thoughts as they were pumping into me like blood going for the heart. A dance of the hands this was not, though she looked dreamily as though I was her faithful Mr. Trippy Fantastic and now I knew how weird our town could be. I made sure I would ignore her and walk away, regardless of her response.
Fourteen:
Something was holding me back. However, I persisted. For each struggle in life, there was always a way to overcome obstacles. She was an obstacle to my otherwise regular environment consisting of eating packaged noodles with garlic and tofu and hog jowls with an occasional drunken spree while listening to Mott The Hoople. Hers was a romantic la-la humdinger of a romantic conceptual world where people met each other and never let each other go. If not for her attractiveness, I would have no reluctance to do what I was doing. However, life – if not intuition – told me to scram.
Fifteen:
Well, okay… I conceded. She was now my new companion. We would go either where I wanted or where she chose but we would go places together. In our town – if one really observed fine details concerning how people related to each other – one could see other couples similar to us: people who held hands for a long time. Perhaps there were less extreme examples of our case floating around but every example was different. In the long run, there was nothing wrong with what we were doing. She shook my hand – giving me a permanent handshake – and I would have to live with it.
We continued, on and on… as if nothing unusual happened. We went through a continuous rigmarole of how-do-you-do-I’m-fine-nice-to-meet-you-how-are-you-everything-is-good-put-it-there-buddy-yadda-yadda-yadda-yadda-etc. until there was nothing left to say. She must have been geared for the long haul, planning on never ever letting go… like a weird fairy tale or a practical joke consisting of her gluing our hands together. Such a situation would drive me insane if not for my ability to stay calm in adversity where anything of the ordinary can happen. Did she pretend to give me a quarter and then want to make sure I did not drop the coin so she gripped my hand as a precaution? Right now, all I could think about was how ours no longer remained a greeting but a fixed endeavor.
Twelve:
She hung on to my tree-of-a-hand like a piece of fruit never coming off no matter how many times one tried to yank it free from the branch. I swayed my hand to and fro as if controlled by the wind while she stayed calm and serene, holding securely my hand as if hers was a mode of meditation and mine was the still-life object focused upon. However, time was even more of the essence and I could not let the cultural differences between us guide our communication problem any longer. She was to let go of me as soon as possible and I would make sure I went towards all lengths to escape. My persistence was all I had left.
Thirteen:
DAMN IT!! She was a stubborn thing and I was in a mode of panic because I tried every which way – using all possible combinations – in order to free myself but there was no slack in her hold. I grunted like a caveman while she smiled, listening to me as if I was an avant-garde singer previewing a new song for her enjoyment. If nothing else, I was glad at least one of us could find such a situation amusing but the energy from her hand was getting more intense and I was apparently feeling her thoughts as they were pumping into me like blood going for the heart. A dance of the hands this was not, though she looked dreamily as though I was her faithful Mr. Trippy Fantastic and now I knew how weird our town could be. I made sure I would ignore her and walk away, regardless of her response.
Fourteen:
Something was holding me back. However, I persisted. For each struggle in life, there was always a way to overcome obstacles. She was an obstacle to my otherwise regular environment consisting of eating packaged noodles with garlic and tofu and hog jowls with an occasional drunken spree while listening to Mott The Hoople. Hers was a romantic la-la humdinger of a romantic conceptual world where people met each other and never let each other go. If not for her attractiveness, I would have no reluctance to do what I was doing. However, life – if not intuition – told me to scram.
Fifteen:
Well, okay… I conceded. She was now my new companion. We would go either where I wanted or where she chose but we would go places together. In our town – if one really observed fine details concerning how people related to each other – one could see other couples similar to us: people who held hands for a long time. Perhaps there were less extreme examples of our case floating around but every example was different. In the long run, there was nothing wrong with what we were doing. She shook my hand – giving me a permanent handshake – and I would have to live with it.
posted by lookingforlike at 1:48 PM
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