KEIRA LYNN DODD

Waiting

 

He never wore a watch.
I gave him mine.
It wasn't gold or anything.
Just simple with a large face
so he could read the numbers.
It was reliable but cheap:
two things that rarely mix
these days.

 

I checked my cell.
He was late again.
I waited outside the mall.
It wasn't particularly cold or hot or wet.
I watched the cars circle
and park neatly into smallish
spaces, the SUVs more graceful
than I would have liked.
There was a silver one
that could have been his
but for the bumper sticker
that reminded me to
"Pray for Our Troops."
But why pray when
"Jesus Saves,"
albeit slowly and in his
own good time.

 

I shifted weight from
worry to resentment
and back to concern.
But I wasn't concerned.
Not really. 

 

Another silver jeep.
And another.
They were multiplying
like futures.
I gave up counting them.
Finally behind a white van
with white painted windows
I saw it.
This time the car
wound around to stop
against the curb.
I climbed in before
a thought could escape me.

 

I quickly became
a passenger.
The seats were comfortable
enough for a few moments
rest.  I didn't turn to him.
Not yet.
There was no need to return
his greeting.  No need to rush
a smile.  Just a few beats
more.  Finally I shrugged
the corners of my lips
into an "okay."

 

Everything's okay
when you're not waiting
anymore,
when you're finally
found. 
It's the wait that hurts
supposedly.
An arrival is always pleasant
unless of something unwanted.
But still I couldn't help but covet
the single slippage
of single seconds
when nothing was expected
except my simple presence
in the spot we'd agreed upon.
Nothing I needed to say or do
but stand and stare
and see the car in front of me
pull up and let me
slide inside.

 

It was understood that
I would sacrifice my watch
for supposed punctuality,
another thing that we
agreed upon. 
I didn't really care
that he was late.
I didn't really care.
It was something else
I cared about.
What, I couldn't say.
I couldn't and didn't.
I still can't.

 

What was I missing
that I didn't have
at some distant point
in some distant past?
When did I start waiting
for what?

 

But it's the arrival
that's pleasant,
and so was I,
happy to sit on my side
of the car. 
Happy to stare at the clock
just below the dash. 
The numbers were green
and easy to read. 
They said,
"9:51."
They said,
"It's time you headed home."
Fortunately, that was the direction
we were going in. 
That's the destination
we agreed upon.
That's where we would arrive.

 

It's the arrival that's unpleasant
unless what arrives is wanted
or where you arrive is where
you want to be.

 

We weren't waiting anymore.
At the door, we went inside.
It was time for bed,
time for laying me down,
time for the no time,
for the anticipated good night.

I couldn't predict when it would happen,
I couldn't predict when I would finally find sleep
and not count the seconds
nor the sheep, but let them
leap over the fence
unheeded,
unwatched for,
and therefore free.