The only questions really worth asking are definitive ones. Yes. No. Simple and impossible to misconstrue. They put the wind in your sails off into that beating blood-red sun setting so close on the horizon. Off into the wild unknown in a beat-up two door Explorer. The passenger seat's broken. It always flies forward so as if to offer someone a seat in the back. The problem's that it never flies back, which really isn't a problem so much as an inconvenience for those precious soldiers sitting in it. And of course, for those sitting behind, because the seat just rocks back and forth when it's occupied, depending on how hard you lean back. It always give someone a jolt the first time they're encountered with it, a hodge-podge of emotions; confusion, embitterment, pessimism. I think it gives my car some character. Fix it? Why would I pay money for someone to take that away? That jolt. Oh that surprised tingle, oh that half-held-back gruff of a laugh. It lightens the day, it does, starting each new car venture with some sass. And maybe that's something I need right now, so I think I'll keep it just the way it is. Definitively. With clear conscious.
Sara didn't seem to mind. "Ey-ee like your car," she said.
"Really?"
She paused for a moment, considering it seriously for half a second. A short poised and concerted "Oui, j'aime!" and then she's all glowing giggles, full-smiled laughter that I can see in her eyes. They brim with joy and yearning and pent-up passion, so when I look over at her while we're stopped at the corner of Post and Stockholm waiting to turn, I see her French heart restless and stabbed through at my departure. It's a beautiful sight. Since we're still not moving (it's Union Square on a Saturday), she sighs heavy and says she can get out here.
"Are you sure? We're just about there..."
"Ah oui, c'est bien"
And she grabs my knee and squeezes hard while she leans in. She looks sad and her lips quivering, so after a quick glance forward at the traffic that still wasn't moving, I kissed her soft, then hard, and her hand moves up from my knee, grabbing my shirt and pulling me close over the center console. My pointer finger follows her jawline up just behind her ear and the rest of my fingers lock in her hair. She kisses me conservatively, tight-mouthed, like a girl not getting her way, so my thumb pulls her chin down and I breath in deep until she shudders and pulls away, eyes still closed, still smiling. When she looks up again, she's the same as before except more so, catching her breath. And she kisses me again quickly, holding my lips for a moment with hers before she opens the door to leave.
"Au revoir!"
"A bientot!"
She smiles somberly, and it almost feels like my fault. Almost. I'm lost again, at the drop of a question. But at least now I know for sure.
She said "no" and I can't stop thinking about her. I'll see her back in Santa Cruz.
