Change did not exist in 1973. The people and things I cherished would last forever, as is, without alteration. Time stretched infinitely into the distance, a conveyor belt to nowhere, carrying our faces, mom’s milkshakes, dad’s store, my orange chopper and blue sparkle drums, and all those “feel good” tunes playing continuously on big sister’s turntable – our endless theme for 1973.
© 2020 David M. Rubin. All rights reserved.
My clunker of an 1987 Oldsmobile came to a stop, but too abruptly for nurse Cathy’s liking. I’d applied a bit of excess pressure to the brakes, causing a slight jerking motion to our bodies, but no more. She was being Cathy the drama queen though. Her head shifted violently forward and then backward against the head rest, arms and legs splayed outward and apart, as if I’d crashed us – high impact – into a cement wall. She groped at her neck, whiplashed of course, and then her head toppled to the side, with tongue distended.
Dear Rebecca,
First off, I’m not being critical my love. I love you as is! It is just that, well, you always seem to be in flux, eluding my mental net of insight into you, which sometimes frustrates me to no end. And so I’ve been wondering, is this a premeditated effort on your end, for the fun or adventure of keeping me guessing? This seems to be a popular pastime among younger women nowadays. Or, is this changeability the product of your young, restless mind, always channel surfing or role playing one possibility after another, never settling down for long? I think it is mostly the latter.
Often, I stood waist deep, threatening to hold my ground against her tall waves, taunting them with laughter as their grandeur climbed upward like a tsunami before my innocent eyes, believing it was all in good fun.
And as always, I finally surrendered to the imposition of her will, which dragged me under and tossed my childish body around for a bit, like a flimsy blanket in a laundry machine, before gently depositing me on the warmth of dry sand.
© 2020 David M. Rubin. All rights reserved.
Early spring is a GIRL
with leafy green dresses
and yellow haired willows.
Her delicate, woody limbs
stretching in the wind,
plucking WILD BLUE ROSES.
The happy girl restored to us!
Earthy smells adorn her:
herbal washed hair,
blue cotton candy and
private musty spaces.
The wind soaked with HER –
carried to wide open nostrils.
Our happy girl inhaled!
Breathe deeply!
© 2020 David M. Rubin. All rights reserved.
Have faith my friends. We will breathe deeply again! The happy girl will return.
