I had half dried tears in my eyes, tiredly creeping down my face exhausted. I pushed them away for company, for the promise of forgetting... I dressed tight and nice, with a hint of green as traditionally acceptable. I picked him up and we drove the hour to Carson City. I made him laugh and he thougth about holding my hand and my face. He wondered if we would ever be naked together as we ate buffalo wing flavored dorritos. Sitting in the stands I felt odd that all the other players girlfriends probably thought that I was his new girl and I really wasnt. Like when you think someone is waving at you so you wave back and quickly force your hand down when the person behind you waves for you. The truth was I was someones old girl, recently removed. More like a scab really, itching and irritated. Not even a wound, a remnant. An ugly memory of the intensity of bloodloss. He scored 2 goals and everyone winked and knew it was because I was there.Numb fight to forget. He came back sweaty and smiling; proud. The guys gathered, undressing in an acrid circle and recounted the game. The girls stood on the outskirts waiting for the testosterone to subside.
Out at some bar, away from everything familiar was familiar to me. Green beer, baileys, irish nachos, tight smiling, quarters, everyone a little friendlier demanding that we do this again soon. Eyelids gain weight, beer warming, dvd menu screen, everyone recedes to bed, knowing what will happen if him and I are left alone. Oreos and old memories and "Im glad you came out" finally those half dried tears resprung and werent pushed away for company. They came deep and heavy, flooding his high hopes of my heart. Fine kindness as he rocked me to sleep in my wet regret. I couldn't have done it without his arms, a solace for sadness.