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Do It Again
Dedicated to Probably Fiction
Submitted by Slap
In an attempt to save on Ginger Ale of $1.49, the 79 cent Sprite alternative was a godsend 2nd-best.
My frequent shopper discount card offered another 1.6 cents of deferred saving and lo and behold, the contest liner cap was a winner.
A few letters and phone calls later, I was stunned to find that Hawaii was mine! Maui!
It was unreal. Travel agent window peerings in regularly beat Oahu poster prices.
Maui - island of twin volcanoes and fire giving demi-god.
I took a large part of my student loan to finance incidentals.
Surely no life mate was really within budget's reach.
Diana was a two-days-into-the-prize-trip-finding at a nightclub amid tourist rabble.
Her combination of polish, resonance, beauty and poise above pink drink umbrella was a test.
My intent was lechery at first, ‘pure' and simple.
I got that old feeling of when I had funds for a night out.
My vocabulary would have to carry me where funds wouldn't.
She was impressed. One dance led to another.
Home we went to a remaining 5 nights and 4 days.
I spoke of fabulously wealthy, accomplished parents (adopted from news clippings).
Would she be able to tell?
How she kissed me made me all my lies forget.
Would my truth telling at the end make less her side of those lip meetings?
Further description is for proper lecherous 900 numbers alone.
On the last day, only a grim future of economic reality lay ahead.
There were so many lies and so little hope of redemption.
How would I present my case for an insecure future? Nothing but fiction as a future?
Perhaps I should have prepared at home.
Was pleading the whole thing ‘inspired ad lib' the right course?
Was it the quality of my lying that was supposed to be acceptable tribute of her today for some number of additional shared tomorrows?
Was it the length and breadth and depth of my ‘creativity' that was to be the basis of our future to be?
"I've never lied so much to any woman and no woman could possibly be more worthy of future lies than you!"?
It sounded so lame.
Do I just look down dejectedly and throw myself upon her mercy, a rag doll now from the dash-her-off-her-feet-pumpkin-prince vacationed?
She was past rag dolls, and I was past other than dreams of rag doll toting girls we might have had together.
If I had only had the boring courage to present myself humbly with humor earlier.
Her one slap across my face was resounding end to my stories.
At least I hope that one slap was ‘balance of accounts'.
Even missing her feels good.
Really home now, nightly Maui dreaming, wondering what new ‘history' I'd try instead,
I go out walking after midnight long lonely thoroughfare.