The Beginning

I.
September was vaguely the colour of summer, and his hair was always shining in the sun, and things were easy and different. It almost seemed perfect. It could be one of those things that old women tell their grand-children it was so perfect, and I was not one to deny myself that. We walked in parks and laughed at the streams who watched us. We knew they would keep our secrets and couldn't see any reason not to skinny dip into their cold pools of water. They were really very refreshing, those streams. for a while, we picked up rocks to take home and remember each day, but that was pointless, and we both knew it, so we put them back and waited for them to turn into sand. It was blonde sand like his hair. It was just as dirty too.

II.
I once told him that the sky reminded my of time, because it was grey and went on forever and no one could ever change that. I guess it struck him as funny because he told me the sky could fit into my eyes and I had to disagree. Time could never be trapped like a fly stuck to a fly-paper strip hung form the ceiling of a horse barn. it wasn't that ignorant. It knew it had to keep going. If I could talk to time I would ask him to tell me what's happening. I'm sure he'd have an interesting story to tell. Maybe about Rommel. Maybe about the prime minister. I've heard things about that man, but only time will tell. But time is generally quiet. He's really very good at slipping by without being noticed.

III.
The restaurant looked at us like we didn't really belong there, not with the educated lawyers and the other people filling its upholstered booths. We knew what it was thinking and sat down anyway. We had money. We were hungry. We always ordered waffles and a milkshake wherever we went. it was like a tradition. The waitress watched us build statues out of the napkin dispensers and stayed out of our way. We really did want those waffles and that milkshake, but the waitress just wouldn't come close enough for us to get them. We were sorely disappointed. It was just another day, but the restaurant didn't like us and it knew the waitress wouldn't make it mad. We left without the waffles. We had a salt shaker instead.

IV.
He liked to tell me that I was bad at acting, but I was better than he thought when he asked me what I thought about things. He really was always asking questions about himself, and I didn't know the answer, and he didn't know the answer, so I made one up. I really was very good at that. Pretty soon I was able to pull the question off his lips and answer it before he even knew what he was asking. That's how good I got at acting. It's really too bad he couldn't see it for himself, you know. He was almost blind in one eye, but I always thought that was no excuse. He knew I couldn't act like someone prettier so I know he saw what I did too.