07/02/2024
-Titanium White and You-
Betsy a D.C debutante, father a writer, Stephen King stood on the line. Her mother a gorgeous brunette in a long bangless bob, elated eyes, and ready reach for my forearm during the chat up. Betsy was at Converse while I was at Wofford dating a smart young beauty who ran cross county with ease, Louise. Messy dirty blonde, uncharacteristically b***y for a runner, and perfectly puffy lips. She liked her body.
1981, we went to see Epcot over Christmas break, first grade.
Peter Pan's shadow stitched to heel struck a chord of curiosity from the playground of catching silhouette glances of my moving existence through space, in light. The Disney geodome tour rounded to a grey carpeted alcove with carpet boxes arranged into a semi-circle, corned in white stretched paper walls, and overlapping spot lighting. We stood for a flash and turned to watch our shadows suspended on the angled field, long enough to be inspected, hands lined up and matched before the grey form blurred with pink edges as it faded to nothing. Again, Again, Arms Out, Jump, Wave, cartwheel, study the eye lashes, the height, finally.
I see you.
Betsy called,
