I am on the Hampton Jitney, west-bound.
There’s just been a little to do, a dust up if you will, at the Amaganett stop.
“What happened?” you ask.
Well it seems that a fellow dropped off his visiting girlfriend at the Montauk stop, then got in his car and raced after the bus catch it at the Amagansett stop, just to give her one more kiss.
The bus driver was charmed. The woman across the isle clucked, “That’s so romantic!”
And the girlfriend?
Well it’s hard to describe how she sounded. She was sitting behind me and I couldn’t see her face, but she sounded almost… embarrassed?
I couldn’t stand it.
I stood in my seat and turned around.
“I’m sorry to be nosey, but I’ve made a few small films about how people love each other, how it gets so deep inside of us. Can I asked you about what just happened? I’ll sit right back down and shut up if you don’t want to talk.”
“He followed the bus!” her voice is almost horrified, but it’s not quite horror. It’s something different.
“Do you feel embarrassed?” I ask as gently as I can.
“No!” now she’s melting, eyes brim, then overflow.
“So he dropped you at the bus in Montauk, then chased the bus here to give you one last kiss?”
“It’s just crazy. Crazy!” she turns to the clucking woman “And I live in Chicago.”
“So it hurts in a good way?”
“It’s wonderful in a good way!” her lip is quivering. It’s time for me to back out.
“It’s a really wonderful romantic thing he did,” and I turn and sit back down in my seat, facing forward.
Over my shoulder I hear her voice, a little more composed now, and with gratitude, “Thank you for asking.”
—
My friend Alan Jacobs has a post up today about marriage entitled Mutual Society, Help and Comfort. Do yourself a favor and go read it.
I think it’s cute. My wife, she would be beet-red, which considering her skin color, would be quite an accomplishment.Report
David, I’d just like to say that I’ve really loved all your posts this week. You’ve been not getting many comments, because everyone is wonking out on the trade posts, but excellent stuff, dude.Report
In the Post & Comment blog format, commentary is the most obvious measure of reader engagement, and I sometimes marvel at what posts here and elsewhere will generate a 200+ comment thread, and (sometimes) wonder if I’m doing something wrong that my posts (often) do not generate much in the way of commentary.
Alan Jacobs and I have a long running conversation about various ways that different sorts of listening sound, and how poorly the internet re-creates these various subtle inflections of attentiveness. Thanks for your comment, Patrick. Mostly I write for myself, but not entirely. 😉Report
the most obvious measure of reader engagement
For the author, that is.
But it’s really no true measure.
I could spend a lot of time discussing that concept, but really, I have other things to do.Report
I like this one too. I think my reaction would have been similar to yours, wondering whether she was embarrassed or something else (or some combination).
This seems much, much more harmless than proposals at large sporting events, but they are both members of a common superordinate category.
But then I’m also really glad she’s happy with him, and he with her apparently, and I hope that sometime soon they are able to live closer to each other should they so desire.Report
Good stuff, David.Report
The day before our 25th wedding anniversary, early evening, my husband said he wanted to show me something on the roof. (He’s a HAM, there’s an access to antennas.) So up we climbed, 3 floors of barn, loft, ladder to access. We lean out, and he shows me a double rainbow hung across the sky. “Here,” he said, “I’ll get it for you.” He reached out, grabbed, and then handed me a piece of bling — a bracelet with a rainbow of gem stones, locally mined, made by a local artist. I’d admired it a few months before, having finally grown in to my girlish affection for rainbows.
Men. We women don’t give them enough credit for their devotion, their love, and the romantic ways they have of demonstrating it. (Bling, in my house, is not typical. But the love, devotion, trust and fun happen each and every day. That’s the real romance.)Report
“Why are you crying, miss?”
“Well, that was very sweet and all, but the bus driver’s my husband.”Report