The Ducks

I sat with my head tilted to one side. I forgot where I was for a second. It was early in the morning and the music in my car pulsed through the dashboard, up into the steering wheel and right into my finger tips.

I tapped lightly against the warm leather as my head bobbed to the beat of the rhythm. I was mentally psyching myself up. I could do this. I could get through another day with myself. I was okay with myself. It was the endless reminder that I had to give to myself...a lecture, a pep talk. I found them more necessary.

This time, she didn't ride by as I sat in traffic, so I couldn't really think about her. But...but there were ducks. In a pond. Splashing around happily. They dipped, they bobbed, they floated seamlessly. They quacked, loud and harsh, uncaring of the disgruntled commuters who were stuck in their cars heading to another long day of eternity. Why should they care anyhow? Not when those same commuters never took notice. We were all irrelevant to one another.

I sat and stared however, watching them. Did I want to be them? No, that's silly. But they brought to mind a long ago hidden memory, one that was trying desperately to flutter in front of me, to remind me of it self. But the music, the music distracted me as I hoped it would so I let the memory filter into nothingness. What did I need another memory to dredge itself up and haunt me for anyhow?

Later though, much later was when it would come to me. A long ago day, sunny with the nip of fall in the air. Walking down The Mall with him. He strode next to me tall, confident, achingly handsome and oh so unattainable. I was shy, my face suffused in a blush. Not because he had said anything to invoke such a reaction, but just because his presence made me blush. The feelings, overwhelming, totally foreign to me.

I knew then, he was so out of my league but still, surely it was okay with the heavens that I walked next to him? No, I was not equal to him in any way...not in beauty, intelligence, wit or age. But I had humor. I had him smiling. And I hoped that the light in his eyes were happiness due to me. Surely not. I knew in my heart that I could never (again) invoke such a reaction in anyone.

We walked for what seemed ages. Miles…miles upon blissful miles. My feet had not ached, I felt no urge to whine or lament regarding the distance. As long as I was next to him, I would walk through eternity. And I would gladly hear his deep baritone voice for the rest of my life. He told me of things, such things that no one had ever bothered to speak to me of before because up till then I was insignificant. But he didn’t seem to think of me so. No he wanted to tell me things and he wanted to ask my opinion. Had anyone ever wanted my opinion about anything in my life? Not that I could recall prior to that singularly wonderful occasion.

My chest puffed out with pride as I gave every single word that came out of my mouth a fair amount of consideration. I would not prove to be the tender 17 year old that I was, naïve, childlike and ill-bred. No, I wanted him to take me seriously.

The ducks now where in that same pond then. They splashed much in the same way but the difference was, it was dusk then. Soft orange, red, and a shade of blue that were the first tell tales of night were already streaking through the sky like some sort of painter that had dropped several of her colors onto a clear canvas. It was startling in its depth and light and I stopped to stare in awe. I said to him, “it’s so beautiful.” He looked up, nodded and we walked on.

I heard the quacking long before I saw them. The ducks. I stopped to watch wistfully as they glided through the water, which was surely quite cold, so beautifully, so effortlessly, so graceful. I thought how cold their little feet and butts must be. A child’s musing in so many ways. And secretly throbbed because I would never be so many wonderful things. No one would ever look at me and think, she’s so beautiful, she’s so graceful. I was gangly and chubby and thoroughly awkward.

He hadn’t noticed me stopping. But when he had he turned to come back crossing the 10 or so feet with an easy lazy stealth that made me jealous. He was so confident, so worldly and I was so … juvenile. But considering our age difference, that wasn’t so surprising, was it?

He came to stand beside me looking at what I was watching. I half expected him to chide me, “don’t lag behind, the others are waiting.” But he said nothing, staying very quiet. Then I looked up at him, “We should go, the others are waiting.” Beating him to the punch was what I thought I was doing but he shook his head, “No, they can wait.”

I loved him boundlessly, innocently, without any hindrances of age, culture or society to mar that perfect moment. I loved him not like a child, but like the adult I was already in so many ways, yes even if I was only 17. I wanted to be apart of him like that forever and I wanted to remember the moment when someone had said to me, “No, they can wait.” I felt so utterly special that I doubt I had since then felt quite like that again. If he had said to me then, die for me, I would have. I would have. I would be with him forever.

That wouldn’t happen.

Now I remember. Stupid ducks. Damn ducks. I’ll watch for them tomorrow also.