And she saw three shooting stars, but I only found a satellite.
Had possibly the mostest bestest evening ever with Angela last night. Of course, it began at Avalanche Lounge and a pitcher or two of beer. The same musicians were playing as usual, except that they were without the amazing singer. They were pretty good, I just prefer a female vocalist. Spent nearly two and a half hours sitting there having the most wonderful heart-to-heart (possibly our deepest conversation yet), trading stories of the goings-on over the last few weeks.
The musicians are playing a few originals, but mostly covers. By the time they get to U2's "With or Without You" and Oasis' "Wonderwall", the pitchers are nearly gone and we're both singing them outloud to each other. I'm kinda wanting some fresh air and a change of scenery, so I propose we go swing on the levee here in town and watch the river go by for a while. It's always been one of my favorite spots at night, with the courthouse dome and the rest of Troy all lit up across the water.
So we meet at the Hobart Arena parking lot and make our way up the back of the levee. Instead of sitting on one of the swings at the top and looking down, though, we descend the front face of the levee to go sit next to the water down on the flood plane. Perched at the river's edge, we smoke a little pot and get a nice (but not blitzing) buzz going. We talk about our goals in life. It's one of those perfectly clear nights, where the humidity is down and the temperature is just right, cool enough not to sweat, but warm enough not to shiver. If midwestern towns are good for one thing, it's peace and quiet, and sitting there, she points out how pleasant things are. A train, no doubt carrying automobiles to/from Detroit and the Moraine GM plant creates a white noise whirr punctuated by rhythmic clicks on the rails of the bridge a half mile down. Planes from Dayton International come and go overhead. The grass smells sweet and dewey, and there isn't another soul in sight. Just perfectly quiet peace in the dark.
Watching the sky, she sees three shooting stars. Sitting next to her, I lay back in the grass to look up, but only spot a slow-moving satellite. I want so much for her to lay back as well, as my outstretched arm on the ground was in the perfect spot to cradle her head. Not a lovey-dovey thing, we've both just had very trying weeks, and it would've been wonderful to lay there and watch the stars with the comfort of a good friend by my side. I haven't the courage to suggest this, though. The moment is already nearly as idyllic as a country ballad, I don't want to risk ruining it.
Had possibly the mostest bestest evening ever with Angela last night. Of course, it began at Avalanche Lounge and a pitcher or two of beer. The same musicians were playing as usual, except that they were without the amazing singer. They were pretty good, I just prefer a female vocalist. Spent nearly two and a half hours sitting there having the most wonderful heart-to-heart (possibly our deepest conversation yet), trading stories of the goings-on over the last few weeks.
The musicians are playing a few originals, but mostly covers. By the time they get to U2's "With or Without You" and Oasis' "Wonderwall", the pitchers are nearly gone and we're both singing them outloud to each other. I'm kinda wanting some fresh air and a change of scenery, so I propose we go swing on the levee here in town and watch the river go by for a while. It's always been one of my favorite spots at night, with the courthouse dome and the rest of Troy all lit up across the water.
So we meet at the Hobart Arena parking lot and make our way up the back of the levee. Instead of sitting on one of the swings at the top and looking down, though, we descend the front face of the levee to go sit next to the water down on the flood plane. Perched at the river's edge, we smoke a little pot and get a nice (but not blitzing) buzz going. We talk about our goals in life. It's one of those perfectly clear nights, where the humidity is down and the temperature is just right, cool enough not to sweat, but warm enough not to shiver. If midwestern towns are good for one thing, it's peace and quiet, and sitting there, she points out how pleasant things are. A train, no doubt carrying automobiles to/from Detroit and the Moraine GM plant creates a white noise whirr punctuated by rhythmic clicks on the rails of the bridge a half mile down. Planes from Dayton International come and go overhead. The grass smells sweet and dewey, and there isn't another soul in sight. Just perfectly quiet peace in the dark.
Watching the sky, she sees three shooting stars. Sitting next to her, I lay back in the grass to look up, but only spot a slow-moving satellite. I want so much for her to lay back as well, as my outstretched arm on the ground was in the perfect spot to cradle her head. Not a lovey-dovey thing, we've both just had very trying weeks, and it would've been wonderful to lay there and watch the stars with the comfort of a good friend by my side. I haven't the courage to suggest this, though. The moment is already nearly as idyllic as a country ballad, I don't want to risk ruining it.
posted by Grover at 7/07/2005 10:38:00 PM
5 Comments:
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Sounds exceptionally nice, a friend and I often used to walk up to the woods and sit near a meadow and watch the stars go by at night - spotting the satellites making their journeys. Bliss.
Though I'd prefer less city light pollution in my spot, and by the sound of it - less industrial background whirr in yours.
I can hear "Forever Young" by Rod Stewart playing in the background of this scenario. Hehe. Hope that doesn't ruin the moment for you, his voice irritates me. It just seems like an evening so surreal it's choreographed. I wonder how many of those moments we get in a lifetime.
Perhaps as many as we create...
If my life were a movie, Forever Young would've made an appropriate choice of background music for the scene. We both were noting just how unusually perfect a moment it was, and she lamented not being able to save it somehow.
This is going to be one of those moments I tell my grandkids about.
The idea of fate has never rubbed me right. I lean towards believing that life is what we make it. I could've given into my fear and just let her walk out of Avalanche, but I took the initiative and we made it happen.
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