Summary: Angela revisits a weekend she had hoped was long lost in her past.
"Ode to Angela"
In common things, I'm reminded of her
The sun, the moon, the stars, yes sir
And in the garden, all of nature sings to her
The birds, the bees, the sycamore trees
And the snails, oh those snails
They leave their glistening trails
Beetles, bedbugs, spider mites
Might I love thee day and night.
It's not exactly Keats or Shelly, but I'll treasure this poem for the rest of my life. And if I weren't so self-conscious about removing the crumpled — but finished — draft from the trash, I'd march right up to Tony and ask why he threw it away. As it is, I'll have to settle for knowing it's been salvaged, and being able to revisit it and recall the sweet memory of those few precious minutes at the end of a harrowing weekend.
It has been years, many, many years, since I had even thought about Brian Thomas and our impulsive weekend. To find him on my doorstep three days ago was shocking enough without having the single, isolated, most irresponsible moment of my youth resurrected for everyone to hear. I never told a soul about that weekend – not mother, not Michael, not Trish, not my roommates, no one. It was my secret that I was perfectly content to carry with me to my grave.
Despite the utter mortification of having my deepest secret revealed, there were some warm nostalgic feelings rekindled. It was exactly what I told Tony – my chance to see my poet knight one more time, to be reminded of those wispy romantic notions that danced their way past my studious veneer and compelled me to board a plane to Las Vegas on a distant Friday night.
Brian and I hadn't even really dated. I attended several poetry readings at the campus coffee shop and just sat mesmerized by the silken flow of his voice. I was captivated, and after a few readings, we began talking, and talking more. We were two awkward souls, with nothing better to do on a Friday night than visit a coffee shop. He read poetry, and I pretended to study. It was a harmless flirtation.
And then spring break arrived and we found ourselves alone on campus as everyone took off for sunny beaches, surfing, and sunbathing. One lonely night we were sipping coffee, lamenting our sorry state and one-uping each other on the sad status of our social lives when he blurted out, "Let's go to Vegas and show them all we're wild and carefree!" It was just meant to be a fun trip to prove we could be fun and impulsive, too. We caught the last flight out, arrived without reservations and were lucky enough to find a room at the Lady Luck. Five margaritas and a $600 hit on a slot machine was all it took to convince me to really show everyone how wild and crazy we were by getting married.
What a disaster. We spent the $600 getting the marriage "annulled," once the alcohol and adrenaline left our system, and were back on a plane heading east less than forty-eight hours after arriving. I saw Brian around campus from time to time but never attended another poetry meeting and never saw him again after graduation until he showed up on my doorstep three days ago. I was partly embarrassed, and partly in denial that the weekend even happened – which is I never recorded my recollections until now.
I could tell Tony was thoroughly perplexed by the whole situation and was even more confused by my admittedly ambiguous behavior. I don't love Brian, and never for one minute entertained the notion of reuniting with him. But seeing him again just brought back so many memories and feelings, some good, some bad. Brian was my escape, my fairytale, with his winsome words that drew such colorful images in my mind. But that's all he was, really, a dream, an image, a figment.
If there was ever love involved, it was for his poetry. And I know that now, because as beautiful as his poems were, they never once evoked in me the emotions conjured by Tony's simple rhyme, which now holds a coveted place close to my heart.