Oh, sweet Bethany, I love these early morning drives we take together. My day does not begin until I see your beautiful face sitting a mere seat away from me. All I need do is reach out and touch your angelic skin, but I dare not. I sit here, morning after morning, loving you from afar. Though it may be from a distance, my love for you knows no bounds. Dear, dear Bethany, if only I had the courage to tell you of the way I feel, of all the ways in which you are perfection itself. Your body is a work of art, worthy of the careful sculpting and polishing of Michelangelo himself. Your every curve takes one’s eyes on a fluid journey across your Osh-Kosh-Bgosh toddler jean overalls, as though God was your personal tailor. Yet, all these wonders pale in comparison to your deep, sultry, brown eyes. I could melt if only those eyes would look at me with the same longing I have in my heart. If only for one…brief…glimpse…
“AAAHHH!! OOOWWW!!!”
“Beth, what’s wrong?!”
“(sniff) Harris (sniff) poked, poked me (sniff)…he poked me in the eye!!”
“Harris, what were you doing?!?! Stay on your side of the back seat and keep your hands to yourself!! Say you’re sorry!!”
“(mumbled) Sorry.”
“There, Beth, it’s ok.”
Bethany, I am sorry, my love. Sorry you did not see the anguish buried beneath my childish gesture. Sorry that my touch did not propel you to the point of ecstasy – a journey that we should have made together. You must see my advances for what they are: the poor attempts of a man not worthy of your love, yet whose only goal in life is to bask in its warmth. Yea, it may be raining outside this car, but the energy reflecting off your blond mane is enough to make any man soar. Would that I had a lock of your hair to keep close to my heart, so that even when you are away, a part of you would always be with me. It is a poor substitute for being with you, but it would be a salve on the wound that beats savagely in my chest. Just a lock and I could live with your memory till the rest joins me…just a lock…
“AAAHHHAHAH!! (Crying)”
“Beth, what now?!?”
“He…Harris pulled my hair (more crying)!!”
“Harris, what did I say?!!! If you so much as move before we get home, you’ll get no dinner and be locked in your room!!! Now apologize and promise not to do it again!!!”
“(Mumbling and looking at feet) Sorry…I promise.”
Ah, Bethany, the games lovers play, and look at the toll it is taking on your spectacular hands…