desert island

“If we were on
a desert island,
I would be like,
yeah…totally
into you.”

I was on my third date
with Bill. We were
walking around
his neighborhood…quaint
cottage homes on
winding streets
overlooking a small lake.

“But, we’re not
on a desert
island.”

“I know, that’s what I mean.”

It was September, and in the
cool of the morning I had put
on a sweater. Now,
walking in the afternoon sun,
I was beginning to sweat.

“So….you’re not
sure you want
to see me anymore?”

“No, yeah, I do…it’s just that
we’re not on a desert
island, ya know? I mean,
I’ve always believed that
a persons situation
shouldn’t determine
what you feel about them,
and that love should
see beyond that, and
I think you’re really great, Jen…”

A heron sailed down onto
the water’s surface; long
neck, long legs. Funny thing.
Looked a lot like Bill.

“It’s just, I think we’re at really
different places in our lives.
I mean, I want to travel, and
you’re working, and you’ve
got three kids, and you’ve just
started going to school again…”

It was getting really hot and I
was pissed. What the hell
kind of thing is that to say?
If we were on a desert island…

“But Bill, I’m just making the most of
the situation I find myself in…it’s not
like I wouldn’t choose to
travel if my life allowed it…”

I stared at the water.

I saw myself
breaking through the glassy
surface, and diving down and down
and down into the cool darkness.

“Yeah, you’re right,
Bill. We’re not
on a desert
island.”