Monday, December 06, 2004

Teens In Love

He's doing better than I am, no doubt about it. He's got everything I wanted, everything. Looks, brains, everything. He's a fighter, he could take down every man jack of you and no mistake. So what if things are hard for him, we don't mind. It gets better, he loses love just so he can find it again a week later. That's called pathos, or at least that's what he'd like you to think is called pathos. But everybody has problems.

She's doing better than that other girl, all brash confidence and revealing nightwear. We don't like to talk about that kind of thing in public, it disturbs some people. She knows what has to happen, and she thinks she's going to do it. At least I think she thinks she's going to do it. Warm Wednesday nights give way to cold Thursday mornings, and nobody seems to notice the difference except her. She's beautiful, in a torn sort of way, like a dog-eared script to a play you've been rehearsing. Familiar like that, the lines of Thornton Wilder's Our Town on a high school stage every night until bedtime.

They found each other after three years of looking, and we were all happy for them. Gene Wilder came up and called us the dreamers of dreams. It was nothing new for us and him, but we thought he was dead so it surprised us.

But then again, it would have surprised us more if he really was dead.