Collision; there are two sorts of it—one more popular than the other. There’s the violent, painful one—the reason it’s so misunderstood. The collision where car meets person, where flame meets oxygen, where rams butt heads. But then there’s a good sort of collision. Imagine life without fireworks or cannonball dives. Those are collisions. Or there’s the magic that comes with the splitting sound of a bat meeting a baseball. There is the collision of oil and potato’s—nothing like some French fries to make you smile. But people don’t think of that as a collision—people pray to never taste collision. I was one of those. For a while.
I was a bachelor; 37 years and still aging. I can’t say I was suave or debonair. Because I wasn’t. I lived in my bachelor pad, I began to bald and wrinkle and grow width-wise. And for the most part, I was okay with it. Or at least used to it. I was an orphan—I had already seen a lot of the bad sort of collision. I was a twin; he had died at seven. But that’s another story in itself; I won’t go there. My parents collided with a semi when I was seventeen. My mom had just unbuckled her seatbelt to get a drink I had refused to—I had been mad at them. The last words I spoke to them—right before the collision—were “You guys can never understand—you don’t even have a life”. I can remember my dad cursing right before, telling me to shut up. And the semi had spun into oncoming traffic and our car had flipped; colliding with a barrier. I can still remember the sound my mom’s neck had made when it collided with the hood. I got a bit bitter, but eventually got over it. Well, came to accept it. I even went to church for a while, but I don’t think I was ever the same. And maybe that’s a good thing. In any case, I was alone and I was fine with that.
I had never been part of the in-crowd. As a young adult, I was attractive. But I was a geek. And that was a turn off to most. I’d get those flirting eyes from girls but as soon as they saw the pen in the pocket, they just started laughing and pointing. But that didn’t really matter to me; I didn’t like any of them. But I don’t really remember why; I can’t figure out why I don’t mind being reclusive or why I never bothered to date or…anything. I mean, I wasn’t one of those super geniuses—I didn’t start my own company or make billions. But, on the other hand, I also wasn’t working at some video game store or selling sci-fi books. I was comfortable, but I wasn’t living. And a collision made me see that—a good one…though it started out a little rough.
It was grocery time and I went to the store, going in for nothing more than green beans and chicken. I went to get a cart, bent down to pick up a piece of trash and suddenly I was lying on the ground, a cart slowly stopping by my head. I heard a curse and then I sort of zoned out—but not completely. A brunette kneeled down, freaking out and asking if everything was fine. She mumbled on about how she hadn’t seen me. Finally I sat up, blinking and looking around. The woman—she couldn’t have been more than thirty—touched my head, feeling the slow drip of blood. By now a small crowd had gathered. I stood, rather drunkenly, asking what had happened. The crowd eyed the woman angrily as she supported me, my arm draped around her neck. She just patted my back, telling me I was fine—she called me sweetie and kissed my cheek, leading me towards a bench. I was really confused and tried to walk away, but I was still seeing stars. She sat me down and told me, which, to her, was synonymous with honey or sweetie, to wait a second. Finally the crowd started to go and I just touched my head gently. She came running back with paper towels and a cop. I don’t think she meant for the latter to follow her because she swore under her breath as she sat next to me, seeing him coming closer.
“Good morning, officer!” she said, a smile tying at her lips. I was really confused. “This was just an awful accident!” she claimed, laughing lightly and touching my cheek again. “My husband here, he tripped right as I pushed my cart back into the…cart thing.” A nervous laugh and then she looked at me, her eyes pleading softly. I could almost see her whisper please, begging me to play along. I just nodded, my head starting to pound. Though I might have confused it with my heart; that was going wild too. Especially as she wrapped her arm around mine.
The officer stared at us, almost bored. “Well, as long as everything’s fine….”
The woman just laughed, pressing the towels to my head again. “It’s just fine…embarrassing, really.” That laugh was starting to get annoying. Luckily, as soon as the cop turned, she stopped. She handed the towels to me, looking nervously for her groceries and asking again if I was all right. I nodded warily and she started to leave. But I grabbed her arm again.
“Wait—what was that?”
“Listen,” she said, her eyes no longer laughing, “I really am sorry but I’ve gotta get going. Do you want money? Did you know someone here—your wife can yell at me later; but I really have to go now!”
“Wife?” I asked, my head starting to scream, “No, uh—no. What; why did you—”
And then I feinted, but not before I heard her curse. She did that a lot.
When I woke up, I was in a car and just as confused as ever. The woman was still by me, her hands pounding nervously on her wheel. I blinked quickly, nearly freaking out. She just looked at me, and whispered “finally”.
“Where do you live—I’ll drop you off.”
I shook my head, saying I would rather just walk. She laughed, a more bitter one than at the store. “Yeah right. I’d probably get arrested if I let you just walk off. Getting you out of the store was hard enough. Just tell me where you live—I promise I won’t stalk you. You’re not really my type.” She smiled at her own joke. I didn’t.
“Who are you?” I asked, not arguing but still scared for my life.
“My name’s Carline. Who are you?”
“Supposedly I’m your husband or your sweetie or something—something I wasn’t aware of before this morning.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a joke.
“Sorry about that, I didn’t want to deal with that crowd or you. I needed to get somewhere. Now, even that is doubtful. Now where do you live?”
“Carline, was it? I guess you’re not from here because you chose the worst street to drive down at this time. And my car—where is my car?”
Suddenly she looked scared. “You drove?” she whispered.
“Yes I drove! I’m not that old; I can still drive!”
“That’s not what I meant…. I just, I wasn’t thinking, okay? Can everyone just calm down?” But she was the only one screaming. I stared, now officially scared she’d rip my throat out or murder me on the highway. So I told her my street address and she cursed again.
“You’ve got to be kidding. Of course—why not? I mean, why would I think this day could be any good?”
I remaindered silent, she didn’t mind. She just went on.
“My boyfriend lives in that building. No, sorry, that would be my ex. The jerk slept with some blonde bimbo who can’t be more than twelve years old—on my birthday. Which was yesterday, which he forgot. And so I go to tell him off and—boom—some chick in a hooker outfit was making out with him. Oh, I told him off then. He almost called the cops, I got so loud. What is it with me and attracting crap?”
I’m not sure if it was a rhetorical question, but I wouldn’t dare answer it. I just stared at her, realizing I was indeed stuck in the twilight zone. I had never been so uncomfortable in my life. But she kept going.
“Does the traffic ever stop?” she screamed, slamming her fists on the horn and getting flipped off multiple times. “My life is some sort of hell-hole right now and what do I do? I go and knock some senior on his butt and now have to drive him to my ex’s place! There is no good in today.”
“Senior?” I scoffed, “I might be old, but not that old! And how can you be talking—your ex couldn’t have strayed that far from where he started! What are you; thirteen?”
She stared at me, a sharp laugh falling. “Oh, so the man has an attitude? No, I am very much not thirteen. I guess it just comes off that way, cuz the only guys I can get aren’t past puberty! What about you? You go for the younger chicks too?”
I rolled my eyes, “No, trust me.”
She sighed, looking back into the frozen traffic. “So what’s your name again?”
“Richard.”
She snorted and I scowled. “What is it now?”
“Nothing—I just can’t believe you’re not a senior with that name. I hope you gave your parents crap about that one.”
I actually laughed, only because it was true. And I had.
“So, Richard, what’s your story?”
“Excuse me?”
“Come on—this is going to take forever and I just told you my entire life! It’s the least you can do; I am driving you home.”
“Only because you threw a cart at my head and kidnapped me!”
She rolled her eyes, “Oh, come on! Real mature thought process. I mean, I would not kidnap you—what a waste of energy.”
I smiled, still not believing I was stuck here. She threw herself on the horn again, oblivious to the curses thrown back at her. “Okay, shy guy, I’ll make this easy for you. Where were you born?”
I sighed, already tired of this game. “Here. I’ve lived here all my life.”
She looked at me, her green eyes dazzling with unbelief. “Holy freak. How can you even stand that? I’ve been everywhere. Can’t stick in one place for more than a year or two. Don’t you wanna see something else? Please tell me you do not live with your parents.”
I shook my head, “They died when I was a kid.”
“Well, okay then. That works.” She didn’t get all depressed or sympathetic. Most people do. But she just smiled and moved on.
“’Kay, how ‘bout work.”
I stuttered for a moment. “Oh, grow up! I’m swear I’m not going to stalk you, steal your identity, none of that. I’m just really bored.”
So I told her. I had a cubicle job at a big company uptown. She found that more disturbing than my hometown history. She started lecturing me on how no one should have to work like that. That a box was so confining, that I should quit and move to Tahiti or something. Then she turned on the radio—really loud. And really not classical.
She laughed at my face, saying I was worse than her dad. But she turned it down. A little.
“Well, it’s my turn. Carline—did you choose that or were your parents just on drugs when you were born.”
“Well, duh. You obviously know little about giving birth—the shot was the first thing my mom got. But no, actually, I chose the name. It’s my middle name—my parent’s let me choose it for my sixteenth birthday. My real name…that, you will never know.”
I stared, suddenly entranced by the way her smile made her eyes crinkle. But I was more intrigued by her name. “I have to know now! You can’t just build me up for such a cut-off, that’s not fair.”
She laughed, “Life’s not fair—didn’t your parents ever tell you that?”
“Dead; remember?” That wasn’t a sullen statement, just fact. Strangely enough, I was comfortable talking about it with her.
“ah, yes.” She smiled, “well, then I guess you’ll have to hear it from me.”
“You’re not old enough to be my mom.”
She scoffed, the laugh falling loudly and dryly. “Isn’t that the truth?”
I smiled, sitting straighter and touching my head gingerly. It still stung, but the blood was dry.
She glanced at me. “So, Mr. Richard of the cubicle and most pathetic life ever, what is it you like to do. And it better be interesting, cuz so far your life is anything but.”
My smile stopped and I started to think about my life; what I did for fun. There was really nothing. I’d never even gone bowling or ever played a sport. My dad had had a useless arm and had never thrown me a ball because of it. My mom hadn’t had time to put me in any classes or teams. All I had were my books, but I didn’t even really like those. When I was at home, I would eat or shower or read a little or watch some T.V. But there was nothing I would really call a hobby. And you know, I had never really thought about it before.
I told her this and her jaw just dropped. “What?” she nearly screamed, “You’ve never been bowling? What do you do here? I mean, you have to live here your whole life and you don’t even have a way to spend it? Richard, it is official, you are pathetic—way worse than my dad.”
“Is that an insult?” I laughed. But she didn’t.
“Yeah. A major one! My dad is the lamest guy ever. That is, he was, until you came along.”
I stared down, trying to smile, but finding it hard to. It was like my life was nothing and I just realized it. I realized that I hadn’t even been living, I had just been breathing.
“Oh, don’t go all depressive on me! You know what, no, we are going bowling.”
And suddenly she pushed her way through two lanes and took the exit. I didn’t even know where we were. But I was scared. She just mumbled under her breath about how pathetic I was. Then she pulled into the first bowling alley we saw and demanded me to get out. She mad me pay, saying she bet I made more than her and I needed it; she didn’t. So I paid for a lane, put on those awful shoes and picked up a ball. It was heavy. She just rolled her eyes, saying that if I couldn’t pick up a bowling ball, I might as well call myself a senior and get the discount.
Then she bowled, getting an easy ‘spare’. I went up, almost nervous. So she came over, stood by me and told me to just swing. That everyone is born knowing how to throw a ball. So I threw it and knocked them all down. I cheered, knowing that was good. She just looked at me, her eyes strangely jealous yet humored at the same time.
“Are you sure you’ve never played before?”
I just laughed, meandering back and sitting lazily. And, for the first time in a long time, I really, truly smiled. And it felt good.
Playing that game I realized just how much girls could talk. She just went on and on—about anything and everything. Which was understandable, since she seemed to know everything. She had been to every continent—except Antarctica—at least once. Had a boyfriend in each. She told me everything about her love life, how even in high school she could only get the scum. I mentioned she was rather pretty so it was understandable. She asked, with a laugh, what that’s supposed to mean. I told her guys were only brave enough to go for someone if it was a shallow sort of thing; they didn’t have to put anything into it yet they could get everything they wanted out of it. And most shallow guys only cared for the gorgeous girl.
She stared at me for a moment. I asked her why and she just shook her head, knocking another pin down and then sitting by me. “It’s just…weird. You could be my dad, but you’re still…young.”
I scoffed, almost embarrassed by it all. “I could not be your dad—I’m not that old.”
“Okay, but you’re like, what, pushing forty?”
“And you’re, what, pushing twenty?”
She laughed; a short, humored laugh that made me smile. “You wish. Let’s just say I’m pushing thirty.”
“And you’re not married.” I said; it wasn’t a question. And I quickly bowled before she answered.
“No. I’ve never really felt the need. I’ve tasted too much of life to just throw it away and settle.”
She blushed as I laughed, “What?”
“Nothing; it’s just, the way I’ve heard it, family is life.”
She rolled her eyes, standing to bowl but still talking, “No. Not in my eyes—you don’t know my family. I watched my mom and dad divorce, get married, and divorce again. I don’t think I’m the family type. But, Mr. Richard, what’s your excuse? First wife leave you for another man?”
“No. Never been married. I guess I just…never really looked for it. I don’t really…date. Besides, the only girls who go for me are twice divorced with three kids or absolutely drunk.”
Her laugh broke across the room as I went up to bowl. I got a gutter ball. “Huh? So, ‘sweetie’, which one do I fall in to?” It was a joke, but I didn’t laugh. I just bowled and willed my heart to slow down. Suddenly she was standing by me, offering a high-five as I got a spare. “We live in a weird world, huh? Nothing really goes like it should.”
“And how is that?” I asked, staring into her eyes. They seemed to darken, but they still looked beautiful.
“I mean, we’re good people; we’re nice—nice looking—and everything. So why aren’t we settled or at least…pro’s at this love thing? People look at me and think it’s my fault life won’t work out for me. Like all those people who saw me push the cart at you; I get those looks every day someone finds out I didn’t go to church, or every week that a ring remains off the finger. You know, it makes me sick. Life’s not all fairy-tales, but people—even ones stuck in crap—think it is. And they get mad when I don’t reach it. Life is just life, you know. It’s not like I need these…judgements to realize I’m missing out on something. But is it my entire fault? Like, really?”
She was no longer bowling. She was just sitting, holding her soda and looking through me. I slowly sat next to her, a sort of relief flooding over me—I wasn’t the only one. It was a sort of connection; we both had different stories, but the same results.
“Yes, I know what that’s like. But still, you can’t be disappointed in your life. You’ve tasted things most people only dream of. You even said you don’t want to settle.”
She looked over at me, her eyes mischievous. This is when I found out how confusing girls can be. “Yeah but, I can’t say I really meant it. I mean…there’s always been that pull for something more. I just don’t wanna admit it. Cuz life can be a total bag of manure sometimes, you know?”
I slowly started to nod my head, then started to shake it. I really was confused. She laughed, her solemn look finally shed.
“I get that a lot.” She smiled at me, her knees pulled up under her chin. She truly was beautiful. And it was then I knew what it felt like to have your heart collide with your chest. I knew what it was like to have emotions crash with your thoughts.
I wanted nothing but to get the chance to hold Carline—a woman I had known for less than twenty four hours; a woman who was probably ten years my junior; a woman who looked at me as a father figure; a woman who’d just broken up with a boyfriend. And then I was mad. Mad at me, at her, at the day. I wasn’t supposed to be here. It was grocery day. I was supposed to be home, starting dinner and thinking about work. I probably would have turned on the T.V. and then picked up some random book. I would have gone to the bathroom and looked in the mirror, looking for grey hairs. Instead, I was out bowling with a beautiful girl who had previously given me a concussion. And, in the few hours I’d known her, my world had been flipped upside down. I didn’t want to go back to breathing—I found I liked living.
I stood up, took a bowling ball, and threw it into the lane, getting to hear the solid sound of the ball colliding with all ten pins. She was by me again, a sort of stunned yet humored expression across her face.
“Thanks, Richard. But just because you happen to be an absolute pro at this game, doesn’t mean I want you to bowl for me.”
I blushed, keeping my eyes away from her face, desperate to remain a man. I knew exactly what she’d do if I fell to my impulses—I would probably do the same if I were her. So I sat back down without a word. And she followed.
She ordered a pizza, saying she was absolutely starved. I told hr I was quite the cook. She laughed and said it was nothing she hadn’t heard before—that guys always used that line to get her to come over but it would always turn out to be take-out. I assured her I was totally serious and she just winked, saying she’d have to come over sometime and see. But then she told me the different types of food she had tasted. Said caviar was vile, but she’d eat roasted squid any day. I told her that was disgusting. She laughed. As the pizza came, she went on about her Italian adventures. How true Italian pizza was nothing like the American version. I told her about pizza my mom used to make; with macaroni and cheese, canned tomatoes and peppers. She thought that sounded worse than anything. But it’s actually pretty good. She said I’d have to make it for her sometime.
The mood went somber. Both of us seemed nervous to speak. She finally rolled her eyes. “Yes, I said it. Geez. It’s not like we have to get married! I just want to try a mac and cheese pizza—is that such a crime?”
I laughed, nearly choking on my food as her face reddened. She smiled too, saying I was such a kid—that she’d baby-sat more mature boys than me. I just smiled, quickly asking where she lived now—if she had reached the two year limit.
She smiled, staring at me for a second too long to be comfortable. “Yeah, actually. I lived by my boyfriend for almost a year. Too long. I actually have a ticket to Austin, Texas—tomorrow morning.”
“Texas?” I said, trying desperately to hold myself together. She looked down.
“Uh-huh. I got a job.”
“What do you even do?” My voice cracked and she laughed—another one of those mesmerizing laughs.
“Anything and everything. This is a graphic designer position.”
“How do you even live like this? All this moving and going and stuff?” It could have been nosey, but she didn’t care.
“When you really want something, you go for it.” Her glance lingered—I’m sure she noticed mine too. “And, since I can’t seem to decide what I want, I go for a lot.”
I just nodded. That’s when a worker came over and told us they were closing—it was eleven o’clock. We were both surprised. Carline quickly asked how much that would cost. The guy just shrugged, saying it had been a slow day and we’d gotten through with just one payment—no biggie. So we quickly left, thanking them and leaving a quick tip. Not to mention half a pizza. But I don’t think they really wanted that.
We got in her car and started off; it was silent. But not awkward. We just both seemed to be thinking. All I could think of was the day—her laugh and how random everything had. How absolutely abnormal it was to me, but how it felt just like it should. I thought about how, when she smiled, a wrinkle would appear just by her left eye. Her bangs, just growing out, always managed to slip from behind her ear and slide onto her face. There was the way her foot swiveled when she stood still for too long. Or how she cheered when she hit a strike. And her eyes—just how green they were. And I thought about what she had said; how her philosophy on life was so different than mine. How…opposite she was from me, but how much I longed to be her. “When you really want something, you go for it.”
I looked at her, my mouth suddenly dry. She was humming along to the music, her head bobbing as her hands set the beat on the wheel. She seemed oblivious to me. But then she smiled.
“What you looking at so intently; you have some radio station you’re dying to hear—maybe the classical channel? Or some talk shows?”
It wasn’t rude and I smiled, quickly saying no and looking out the window. The traffic was gone and the night was dark.
“So, where’s it gonna be? Your house or your car?”
“Excuse me?” I said, shocked and almost scared. No matter how much my heart pounded when I was by her, that still seemed a little too…quick. Not to mention wrong—in a lot of ways.
She looked at me and then burst into laughter—a loud, totally happy laugh. “I mean, where do you want to be dropped off! Man, Rich, somebody’s mind is in the gutter!”
I smiled, blushing horribly and mumbling about how I was just thinking and that it had come out wrong. I told her my car would probably be best, and closest. She mentioned something about how that also meant she couldn’t stalk me. But I was only half listening. She had called me rich. Nobody had ever called me Rich before—nobody had ever called me anything but Richard. But I liked it.
Too soon, we were at the grocery store. It was easy enough to find my car; it was one of the last there. She laughed when she saw it; calling me a total geek. But it wasn’t rude. It was just Carline, and I was starting to like that. She parked, and I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to say so much and the other just wanted to hide. Finally she smiled, and said it had been fun—way more fun than hanging out with her dad. I laughed, thanking her. The doors were still locked, but I didn’t want to tell her.
“Can-can I have your number?” I asked, quickly adding the fact that I needed to arrange a time to make mac and cheese pizza. She smiled, not even blushing or fidgeting. She just gave it to me and then unlocked the doors, almost as if she had been waiting. Then I got out and started to my car. But she called me back.
“Rich,” she said, leaning her head towards my opened door, “sorry ‘bout that…collision…with the grocery cart.”
“Don’t be,” I smiled, “I’m not.”
She smiled too, sort of biting her lip and then sitting back. But she popped back out again.
“Oh, and rich, you really don’t look forty. You’re cuter than my ex boyfriend…not that that’s saying much.” She laughed at her joke, giving me a double honk and yelling something about ‘sweetie’ as she drove off. I just laughed, getting in my car and willing myself to remember how to breathe. I didn’t dare turn on the car; I felt drunk. I just watched her pull out and get back on the freeway. It hurt; watching her go. All I could think of was what she had said—how you should go for the things you want. But everything I’d ever known told me it was ridiculous; that it could never and would never work out. So I just drove back to my apartment and went to bed. And, for the first time in my life, I didn’t brush my teeth. And it felt strangely good.
But I woke up with a headache; a huge, pulsing headache. And at first I thought it had all been a dream. But the taste of pizza still hung on my breath and my phone was lying on the counter, her number still in it. I reached for it, wanting to call. That’s when I remembered she was leaving—to Texas. I went in the bathroom and, after getting ready, just stared at myself, but not because of the threat of grey hairs. Rather because I felt like, if she went, living would leave to. It was as if my entire life was built up into that yesterday. As if all I had to live for was about to get on a plane and leave—live a life she wanted. And it was then when I realized just how desperation could change a man.
I pulled my phone and called her, needing to tell her—everything. But I got her voicemail. “Hey, this is Carline. I’m probably too busy living to answer; sorry. But I guess you can leave a message—“ a laugh, “and maybe I’ll get back to you…if you’re in range.”
So I did something more desperate. I grabbed my keys, jumped in my car and sped off to the airport. I didn’t even know when she was leaving. But I knew I had to find out. I laid on my horn, willing the traffic to disappear. For the first time, I was flipped off. But I didn’t care. I kept calling, willing her to answer, though I had no idea what she’d say. Probably file a restraining order.
It took me an hour to get to the airport and then I had no idea what to do.
I went up to the desk, asking if they could tell me what flight Carline was getting on. They said they could not, especially if I didn’t have a last name. I wanted to swear, but instead I just begged. I told them my life relied on this girl; that I had to find her. They didn’t buy it. Told me to move on—from the ticket booth and the girl. So I walked away, my eyes pathetically filling with tears. More because my head was killing me than anything, but still. I was crying. I just fell on a seat, letting my head fall between my knees. The incessant clatter of heels on tiles taunted me. Children seemed to scream just as they passed me. Adults would yell at spouses or children top hurry up or slow down—right by ear. The whole world seemed to be out to get me; my head was a circus and I couldn’t focus. But suddenly, I felt a hand on my head.
“Here sweetie, let me help you.”
I choked; the voice was too sweet—too perfect. It was as if all my hopes and dreams were in that voice and I didn’t dare look. But I did. My tears were still dripping down my cheek and my head was still pounding. But a sort of peace came over it when I heard her laugh. And then I saw those eyes. She was kneeling on the ground before me, her pencil skirt just touching the floor. Her hair was swept back in a ponytail and she smiled sadly at me.
“What’s a matter—someone would think little rich had his money taken by the playground bully.” Her laugh collided with her own joke and I smiled, letting her hands grasp my head.
“You did this to me.”
“Well, that’s real romantic.” She said, still on the ground.
“No, I mean my headache. It’s been pounding since you tried to kill me with a grocery cart.”
She sighed, a sort of laugh lacing it. “Now that is even less romantic.”
I laughed, but suddenly I went serious. “Carline—“
“It’s Jemima.” She whispered, a coy smile playing at her lip. And I laughed. Right then, I knew I could do what I had to. So I did.
Jemima Carline, I have to tell you something. Because right now, I just can’t breathe.”
She just nodded, her eyes wide and innocent.
“You have totally changed me. I was a senior till you ran me over and kidnapped me and…all that. I woke up and—I just can’t live without you. I know this sounds ridiculous. I hardly know you. I could be a crazy rapist drug banger…and visa versa. But I want to try. I wanna try. To Live, to settle. And I want to try it with you. I—I’ve never done this before, but if what I’m feeling isn’t love, I don’t need love. Cuz this is good enough. You, carline, have stolen my heart—within hours of knowing it. You taught me to go for what I want and I want you.”
She didn’t laugh, she didn’t cry, but she smiled. And it was beautiful. She stood slowly, her hands slipping into mine. “Well, rich, looks like we have something in common.”
And then she sat on my lap, looked into my eyes and laughed. And then we kissed. And that was the greatest collision I have ever felt. It was the greatest collision I had ever tasted. The world seemed to spin and it was just her and me. For a moment we parted and she whispered in my ear, “I hope you know that go for it stuff was crap—I made it up, just to get this.” Then she kissed me again. I could almost feel her laugh. We were soon absorbed and passion collided with humor, chance collided with reason, we collided with each other. And even as the call for final borders to Austin rang out, we still remained. My head still pound, but not as hard as my heart.
My crash course in collision taught me two things: there are two sorts of collision. One, considered bad. Two, absolutely delicious. But, isn’t it interesting; one can lead to another and both share a same sort of consequence. They both leave you breathless—simply and completely breathless. And that is why I pray for them; every day. Because, if you let them, they always remind you to live. Always.
