They Capture Light Well

After the wedding I let Joe drive and we ended up at Thriftway with chocolate milks in our hands. I forget the name of the brand now. Something about moo, something with double vowels. Not too creative. I had been a little aggressive in my conversation with the cashier - I wasn't wearing shoes, I was over compensating. The boss from my summer job, (also named Joe) had said that most of his past girlfriends never wore shoes. He also told me they all had dreads. I never knew how to react to that statement, me with my little beaded knots of hair, so I would lean down and pull another root of ivy from the ground. Damn non-native plant life. 

I am nervous right now, can you tell?

Well, we sat outside Thriftway on a plant box with a wide enough lip for people to sit. It was made out of brick, or something like it. An obsolete building material kept around for aesthetic value only. I never want to resemble brick. Joe was talking about the wedding, "A pastor friend told me something the other day: he said that people do a lot of thinking, if not the most, at weddings and funerals. The think their thoughts at funerals, and at weddings. That's a reason I bought new pants today." (I still don't understand how that relates, but I'll let it remain a mystery.) 

I was momentarily captivated by the light coming from the street lamps. There was so much of it. It trickled down through the thick summer air and pooled in the parking lot. 

I don't remember what I said particularly about the wedding, but I had the over-arching impression of innocence and eloquence. ence ence ence. They captured the light well, with white sheets stretched out as drapes and shades along the sun-edge of the sitting area. I thought a lot. I decided I wasn't praying enough for my future One Love, and then I took that decision back. There is so much to pray for. I keep telling people that I just want a dog and a house in the mountains. Maybe that statement is real, will become reality.

I am afraid to use too many sentences that include the word I. I am afraid to spend too much time making assumptions about other people. I am afraid that I will never find the balance between the two and begin to be a real writer. When one is real, does she even have to begin?