Confession

(The reprise in italics, to J.P. Donleavy)

i.

Like me, you didn't have much to do. You were sick of staying in a small, silent apartment on a Sunday afternoon. So like me, you got yourself together and started off down South Oak Park Avenue to go do something, like harmless window shopping, or visit the bookstore where I saw you again after the time I walked by you on Lake Street, pretending that I didn't notice you.

In the used bookstore, I was surprised to see you. As before, I secretly admired your poise and your smooth brown hair, how your hair spread out over the shoulders of your white jean jacket. I said nothing to you, because I didn't want you to think I saw you first on South Oak Park Avenue and followed you up Lake Street. I didn't want to appear to be completely ridiculous.

But here you are again. I can tell you are lonely, and like me, you read just about anything, and I suspect you have no close friends. It could be you are going through some tough changes -- getting divorced, like me. But what can be said? Nothing can be said, regrettably. I try to forget about you.

Later, outside the bookstore, I see you one block up with your back to me, coming out of the GAP. You've not bought anything. I comprehend I'm in a crazy groove of certainty, tuned with the universe: I know if I wanted to catch up with you, the next place I'd be sure to find you is in the fresh bread section of Whole Foods. I don't bother to go there because this would be weird; you'd know for sure I was following you:


We may be far away from Victorian times and conventions
But still, even today, meeting a strange man in the street
Without a proper introduction
Is no way to meet a man
For the first time, alone, amen


ii.

I go off to a bar & grill nearby for a hamburger; it is a nice place where I am sure you wouldn't visit this afternoon. As the pretty blonde waitress take my order, I see you will not be coming in here. I wonder if you ended up buying anything at Whole Foods, or when you dropped by the GAP for a second time.

Later, I clearly see you walk home along the same route you took from your apartment -- I can see you walking with the same poise and your fine brown hair spreading nicely over the shoulders of your white jean jacket, slowly, with no hurry at all in the world!