I'd like to be on a long train ride with you, in a private sleeper cabin, or a diner cabin with our backgammon set laid out in front of us, while snow-capped mountains rise and fall past the windows. We would clink our glasses, then each lean out over the game and kiss, cementing that moment forever. And then I'd roll double sixes and destroy you!! You'd challenge me to another game, but no Hetchy, no. I like to quit when I'm ahead.
I'd like to be in a cabin with you, by the ocean. It would be so secluded, there would be no internet or tv, just a wall of games and our conversation. We'd spend our days wandering the beach, with the dog of course, leaving our tracks side by side in the golden lit sand. The tracks would tell how we slowed down, probably to watch the sun set and kissed, and maybe the footprints would even tell how we held hands the entire time. What the tracks couldn't possibly tell is how you made rude gestures with your other hand, and I pretended to hate it, but was actually spastically delighted by your audacity.
I'd like to be in a romantically lit room with you, where everyone is slow dancing, and we'll meet eyes and hop right in. But we'll spin too fast, and I might get dizzy, but it's ok, love. Just a little slower, maybe? But too late! A fast song has started and you lead me to a chair and then break into the Running Man. I slump in my seat and hope there's no way I can possibly be linked to the crazy man who has just broken into the Lawn Sprinkler, but then I start laughing. You're so damned funny when you dance, and I know you're doing it just for me. So I join in and show you Feeding the Chickens again, because that's a crowd-pleaser.
|"What do you mean where's your phone?"|
There's no pictures of me dropping my book in the ocean and kicking at the dastardly waves, or of us in an endless search for the last place you put your phone, but that's what the reality would be. You and me, Hetch, we're not the perfect romantic couple shown in all the pictures. We would try our hardest, I'd even buy white linen dresses that would flow in the breeze, but then I'd spill a v8 on the damn thing. And you, you would probably trip and stub your toe as we walked along the beach, hand in hand, and then have to limp to the nearest cabana.
We will be rumpled, tipsy, and too loud, whether it's in Belize, or on a train. And our stained clothes and wind-blown hair won't be making it into any pamphlets.
And, Hetch? I wouldn't have it any other way. Happy Valentines Day, my love.