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They were on the deck of an old church near a gentrified former basketball court. a place from back in the day.
She never played sports. Only inside the head games.
"remember when you took acting class and you said it was like therapy? I''''d always sort of been curious with that as an amateur actress myself."
He was newly 55-years old. Narcissi got invited on this trip mostly because it was a spur of the moment lark, and he had loved seeing her with Leon and thought maybe some of that again.
Lance replied, "I never said that."
"you always say that."
---
she was back now.
back in place.
back in her stall.
waiting for the next
reprieve
last-ditch reprieve
and this one had been the mountain goats.
quelle surprise.
quelle pleasant surprise.
and those fucking lads.
the beauty and hope in them floored her ass.
it was especially fascinating to be such a LiV-ed hot mess remembering being in the town they were revisiting at the ages they were thinking the life she was about to enter was going to be....
it made her rear back her head and achingly sob in rhythmic syllabic grunts to recall the smashing of all of it in her feeling center cortex.
fuck.
the geraniums were pink.
the baseball was still in a yellow cup.
he hadn''''t loved her.
she was used to it.
she walked through a rainstorm that was so deluge
and got fucked up and in her huge beautiful be in Athens sobbed
"fuck you Leon. fuck you Leon."
until she went to bed.
and then another morning...
hooray
sigh
she looks at him through tears on the same lanais in the town they met -where they shared ...something, "WHY WON''''T YOU SEE WHAT I SEE AND BE FUCKING HAPPY!!!!"
he sighs himself. his stance is tense. he has a son. he has a wife. he has land. he has a farm. "goddammit why don''t you ever fucking understand."
"well fuck me asshole."
they laugh
maybe
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