A rush and a push...

Catholic Girl?

And with that, a diploma, some gift cards from relatives, and she's back to Milwaukee. Yes, we made out to Gordon Lightfoot. Is there any mood he can't facilitate? Many firsts for her: boyfriend, kiss (official), use your imagination, but keep it within tasteful limits. She didn't drive, is fearful of it, and so I made many round-trips to her efficiency off Snelling. Her Futon was broken, and so became a permanent bed.

She was so (insert superlatives) good for me, my confidence, my ego. Seeing myself reflected back through her made me feel like a zillion damn dollars, Euros, or whatever currency's on top this week. Great Catholic, one of the first that didn't make my tongue itch, (almost) made me consider the faith again (almost). Neil, Bert, Hepburn, Clue, Choke; Cold Coffee, Glee, Brother Maynard, five is right the hell out, isn't it? That's the verbal splatter that comes when relationships are rushed by anticipation and oxygenated blood.

Never any (goddamn) thing but positive. Never. Impossible? Bullshit. Not for her, intelligent, tactful, decorous, gentle, talented (auditioned for a popular TV show), like a cake that bakes faster than usual and then gets the first blast of sprinkles that fall too quickly from the confectioner's hand.

I supported her (past tense deliberate) and reciprocated the warmth and rainbow hues whenever I could. Bought flowers, made her mix-CDs, listened. Listened. Listened. If for whatever reason we never meet again, I was first boyfriend. Number One. I led off with the right foot, and threw that disc a quarter-mile.

Her parents: they're opposed to the age difference, like I'm a dessicated corpse. Angry about it. Just marry her off to the church, then, or find some Ken Doll who strums G major chords 'round the collection plate. Trade her for a prayer card. Then, finding your personal pavement from your parents' isn't easy. She'll do it, smart girl. Can't, won't visit Milwaukee, stay in Motel 6. She might visit this summer, in a green dress (cost eight dollars), and I'm leaving my window's open to catch her, along with whatever pollens arrive on 94's Eastern breeze.

I'll miss you Caitlin, very much.