Thursday, April 4, 2013

Chinese Noodles


"Oh but I love you!" is what you said in explanation of nothing. But over a pile of hot Chinese noodles, with your chopsticks hovering above, tickling the tendrils of steam rising up, it somehow seemed perfectly right. Yes, it seemed the perfect answer to the age-old unasked question. Do you? Yes. I do, too.

If I hadn't known you well before, hadn't known you in that circuitous way you know everyone in a small town, I would have thought you quirky. Maybe even odd. But I knew you as deliberate: I knew those words probably sat on the back of your tongue for weeks while you assessed their flavor.

And now here, over a pile of steaming Chinese noodles I'd doused in soy sauce while you laughed, those words came spilling out, seemingly as haphazard as a girl's giggle on a warm summer day and tasting of your sweet smile.

And it was a great night for $11.75 on a side street in Chinatown. It really was. I knew, too, that we'd never come back again, despite it being our favorite place. I knew we'd let this moment hang forever here, chiming softly through the passing breeze of time going by, undisturbed by the inevitable breaking in of our love, as it was rubbed by the years, by long nights, by arguments, by sorrows and happinesses until it became as soft and familiar as a pair of old flannel pajamas.

No, we would leave this moment here, twining about your chopsticks, curling perpetually into the night with the lazy happiness of new love.

*I made this photo with a few others and a little Photoshop. You can see the originals over on my other blog, Benign Objects.

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