quarks and acorns
People’ve asked me how Peter and I got together..
They ask, "Where'd you meet him?" “Was he drunk?”
“Did you sneak up on him?” and “Couldn't he get away?"
It was a Saturday morning in March 2022, I was a lowly Yale sophomore, at the acorn, my favorite Yale coffee shop, head down, working on my iPad, trying to create a story-poem about recent happenings - time traveling in my mind you might say - back to things seen, said and done. When I heard an “Ahem.”
Looking up. I saw a skinny, twenty-something man, about 6'1", with jet-black uncombed hair, dressed ill-fittingly in drab browns and tans.
He was standing before my table with a satchel over one shoulder and a large coffee in his left hand.
“May I join you?” He asked.
I looked around, there was only one other empty seat available - at the far back.
“Sure,” I said, and noticing my bookbag was in the empty chair - I mumbled, “Sorry,” moving it next to me on the floor.
He nodded and began to move. “Peter,“ he said, in introduction.
“Anais,” I replied distractedly - my focus had returned to my poem.
After a second, as he pulled out his chair, he asked, “What are you writing?”
“Poetry,” I answered, not looking up.
“So, something imaginary,” he said, which sounded condescending and irritating.
'Who’s THIS guy?" I thought, and looking up, I asked, “Are you a student?”
“Doctoral candidate - applied physics,” he said, both off-handedly and cutting directly to the chase.
“Things too small to see,” I said. “Imaginary things,” I growled in revenge.
His mouth quirked - the suggestion of a smile dancing at the corners of his lips. He finished his coffee after a while and left.
I saw him on campus several times after that - It got to where we’d nod.
Then one thundering, rainy, dark-gray Saturday morning he was back. “Ahem,” he said, and before I could even look up, he asked,
“May I join you?”
I looked up, and around - there were plenty of seats.
”We can be imaginary friends,” he added.
I smiled and nodded ‘ok.’
.
.
A song for this:
Cannock Chase by Labi Siffre
Who Knows What Love Is? by Strawberry Switchblade
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