The Gray Day part 1
A poem by
Keith Douglas Alford
The gray day fading into night, the past sliding away from me, to become just that. The hurt and the pain that blinded and made red, now fades and diminishes and becomes just another moment of heart ache. The longing for a different place, or just another time, have come and gone, replaced by my regrets of that day. The gray that fades tonight. The stars that, fade in the day. The hopes that fade away. Are all the same. But passion can burn the gray away.
I had decided to walk the mall on Saturday since the weather outside was something out of a horror story. It had been snowing for about a week straight, and most business where closed and there was no work for me for at least another week. The mall was one of the few places that were still open, and it had a café house in it that the poetry crowd kept open. The mall was just down the street from my townhouse and my since of adventure wouldn't let me stay indoors. The gray sky thick with snowflakes and the air crisp having been cleaned by the snow falling so heavy was full of possibility.
I struggle through the snow mounds. The snow as low as 2 feet in some places and as thick as 4 where the snow plows had been was crunching under my feet. The quite is absolute and the knowledge that I'm the only person on my street out in this mess is refreshing. I was suffering from cabin fever and with spike at grandmas with about four doggy sweaters on; I really didn't have anything to do. The air blowing past lifts away my thoughts, and I concentrate on not falling down and getting kind of excited by my little adventure.
As I approach the mall like expected it looks abandon except for the café shop that is half full with local writers and hanger on's. I walk in and most people look up. The little shop doubles as a web café' with wireless Internet for those who bring there on lab tops and 6 computer stations for those who don't. People look up and smile and go back to what there doing. Some are getting ready for the poetry slam that starts at 6:00 that night. I find a place near the front in the corner and pull my pen and pad out from my backpack and turn towards the window. Feeling frost bitten I wave the waitress over and ordered a hot tea and biscotti.
The snow was falling heavy and visibility like the sun was falling. The quietness of the out side seen mimicked my attitude and my surroundings. The writing was floating in my head as the jazz and spoken word was flowing forth over the crowd. Time slides away when you write, and night found me still in the café. The computers had been put up and table lamps brought out, and the house lights dampened. A woman stepped to the stage and began her rhyme with,
"The man I see in front of me, who is longing to be seen, the man in front me of me is more then just a king. The man that is in front of me, I've never met, but I can see myself as his wife, his, bitch, and his what ever else."
The woman swayed back and forth and continued her chant. She had to be at least in her late 30's and was the vision of a mature woman. Her eyes spoke of a life lived and longed for. But they weren't the yellow of a smoker or a drinker, her eyes where just sad. Dovan lived in here eyes as she continued her poem about the man she wanted to meet.
It was full of pain in its middle, and the end described how even though she had been hurt, she was ready to love again. She stepped back from the microphone and the café was inflamed with the applause and finger snapping of its patriots. I put my head down as she stepped off the stage. I wrote a description of her down to use in a story later. And kept writing and longing to talk to her. My thoughts came quickly and I pinned them to the paper.
The nudge of the table jarred me from my thoughts. The woman I had mentally memorized stood there in her blue jeans and black boots, wearing a shear pink poncho top over her white sleeveless tee. Her waist was a 12 and her perky breast were at least a c borderline d. She stood there looking into my eyes with a child like mystery about her. She was a woman who knew what she wanted and the look on her face made it evident that what she wanted was Dovan. I had dated older women before, hell in fact I enjoyed older women, because they normally played less games and new what they wanted out of life and a man. Is this seat taken? And are you taken? She asked.
With the confidence that let me know that she thought it was. Yea have a seat. I responded. I have a confession I like to tell you. She said. First things first what's your name lady? Dovan said She was not a small woman but she wasn't a bbw either she was thick and healthy and looked like she exercised. My name, you want to know my name. It's Rhonda, Rhonda Johnson. Rhonda said speaking with ease like she was use to the ebb and flow of good conversation and was truly comfortable in the skin she was in. To answer your question Mrs. Rhonda Johnson, I'm single and very much looking. Dovan said, flirting casually with Rhonda.
You got one thing wrong with that comment. Rhonda said. What's that lady? Dovan said. I'm not a Mrs. But a Ms., but I let that slide. Since you are flirting with me. Does that mean you don't mind are age difference Dovan. Said Rhonda. Dovan asked in a somewhat awkward tone. Well be honest with me lady how old are you? I'm 37 Dovan. Said Rhonda. Looking a little sheepish. Well I'm 24 and as long as you don't have a problem and respect me for the hard working man who, although I haven't had as long as you have to accumulate life experience has still been through many things. Said Dovan.
Well sir you handle yourself with plenty of maturity and you respect every woman I've seen you with. Said Rhonda. So how long have you been watching me and checking me out Rhonda? Said Dovan leaning in and whispering. Rhonda leaning in to Dovan replied. Oh I was watching you for quite some time, and I been asking around about you a lot surprise no one has told you that I was interested in you. Dovan smiled and placed his hand on hers, feeling the warmth and a light sheen of sweat on her hand.
