Standing in Line

I'm standing in line again, and I'm yellow today- the only yellow I have.

I've seen you in that shirt before, she says, what's it about?

I point to my shirt:

Well, I used to stand in line at this place.

That should have been the end, but she can tell there is more to it than that, but doesn't say anything.

I would stand in line and on most mornings, She would serve me.

As soon as the words spill out, I realize that I've crossed some boundary

She? Oh- I see... she trails off, but in an encouraging way.

I'd known Her for a while then. We spent a summer standing in line at that very same place together. That summer was cool during the days and hot at night. She had this apartment right above the town square. Her bedroom was all windows and in it we floated over many of those summer nights together. The curtains, the sweat, and the sound of the waterfall.

I shrug and point back at my shirt

But that was all before She worked here. When She served me, she served me like the guy who never tips. But I did tip, and I tipped well. I tipped like a man in church- filling the Offering- hoping to buy back his soul. But, She was the tender and I the patron and our talk was ever on the present and never on the past. Finally, I moved on, and on my way out, I bought this shirt. I liked the design, the color, and the irony. I liked to remember that place.

Yes, it is sort of funny that way, isn't it? She smiled and continued, What ever happened to She?

Well, turns out She contacted me after a while. We hadn't spoken in a long time- besides, I had moved on- so I told her I thought that speaking to me now was very odd. But She pressed the matter, and soon a summer past seemed more present. We started growing close again, cautiously, but definitely.

But hadn't you moved away?

I had, but it didn't seem to matter to either of us. We spoke of our similar, transient situations, and that connection seemed to smooth our path. Of course, she opened up more than I did. Not surprising- that was always the problem. But we moved forward together. And a few months later I had to go back for a few days. We decided to meet.

Wow! And did you?

We did. A couple of times, actually. I took her to a fancy dinner. I never told her, but a pen broke while in my pocket and I went to buy new clothes right before we were to meet. The dinner went well. We talked. There was wine. We left, and I left a good tip. But at her doorstep, it was clear that even with all of our talking, we still hadn't communicated. I had asked for too much, even though all I wanted was a few more moments. During the aftermath and final fallout I told her we had come so far, but she had retreated. She forgives me- though for being open, I don't know why I asked it of her- but I doubt we'll speak again.

Is that sad for you?

Hard to say. Maybe if I burned this shirt, I would know.

What would you say?

I laugh.

I'd say,"Goodbye Blue Monday."