Ever Do That Thing Where You Fall In Love With the Wrong Person?
The three us us were on a blanket, having a picnic dinner in Joshua Tree. We were at a retreat.
Steve was my boyfriend. You were my new love interest.
We had made your acquaintance that afternoon at the pool.
I watched you from the outdoor shower as you emerged from the men’s dressing room.
I saw you seize up the situation of a mostly vacant area and plop your stuff down two lounge chairs away from Steve. In that whole, empty pool-scape, you chose to be near him.
I wondered.
Stevel did have a nice body. I was drawn to it as well.
You had my attention even before you “chose” Steve. A triad of a slight limp, hint of pudgy love handles clinging to your sides, and a messy, sculpted hair-cut — you seemed interesting. But, mostly tired.
Like me.
I gave you a minute to be near Steve’s near-naked body, alone. Then I came over, the proud girlfriend. I sidled into a lounge chair near Steve. I pretended you didn’t exist.
I read my book as I read you.
One of us said something.
