My mouth must have forgotten how to function.
Right there, in that McAllister’s deli, I mistakenly said those three words to you.
I caught myself, and put my hands over my agape, foolish mouth. I started burning up, faster than a summer in Texas. Redder than the reddest red you could imagine. I started tearing up with little embarrassment tears. Not sorrow. Or joy. But recollection.
My mind was just so used to saying those three words with my last. So open, so comfortable and careless. Free words. Little bird-words just fluttering around without a cage to hold them in.
My hands didn’t know what to do. Grab a napkin. Cover my mouth. Touch my hair. Put them on the table. Cover my mouth again. Wipe my little tears I had welled up in my eyes. I was tripping over my words, and sentences. My paragraphs were mush.
But, he looked at me so….lovingly, with his blue swimming pool eyes, and smiled a fuzzy, warm grin. He gazed upon my bashful, beet-red face and said, “it’s okay. It’s crossed my mind too”.
I felt the cement brick called relief roll off my chest. It’s so early on, and so fresh, I feel it’s not the right time to say those three words. They’re such lethal little weapons. Miniature pistols that fit into garter belts and lapel pockets. Small but mighty. Can shoot a man dead with a quick draw and healthy aim.
I don’t want to rush things and make it grow the way I WANT it to. I want it to grow freely, how it should, for US.
But who’s to say I haven’t been thinking about it lately, either?