A Good Day

“We had some good times too, didn’t we?’

He smiled…nostalgically, humidly…and nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, “we did.”

“Then it was a good thing.”

He nodded again. It was an awkward coming together…they had once meant so much to each other…they had once shared secret smiles and tender kisses…they had once known each other’s bodies in ways that both thrilled and terrified them. And then…suddenly and not suddenly at all…they came apart in waves of acrimony and disappointment and regret.

“Do you ever think about me? Do you remember the good days?

He nodded yet again. “I remember lots of good days. We had lots of good days.”

“Which one was your favorite?”

He took a deep breath and then he smiled again. “The day the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame concert was broadcast. You remember that?”

“Yes. Yes of course I do.”

“We were alone together in that great old house you used to have…the one with all of the nooks and crannies and wonderful angles…with MTV playing the show loud and the two us laughing and drinking raspberry tea…and the two of us cooking side by side in our underwear…and the two of us tumbling in and out of your big, soft bed kissing and touching and discovering new and wonderful angles at which our naked bodies could fit together…”

“Yes…”

“We heard only some of the concert…saw even less…and it was amazing. I’m not sure we were ever as utterly together as we were on that day. It was a good day.”

“Yes, it was a really good day.”

They laughed…remembering and regretting, almost but not quite touching each other…and luxuriated in the precious memory.