Tiny puddle

A small thunderstorm blew through this afternoon and dropped the temperature 20 degrees, prompting me to invite Blaine to go for a walk after work.

I had hoped to walk at the lake, but it flooded early in the month when almost 9 inches of rain fell in three days and there’s still a lot of mud on the paths. Instead, we walked over to a bike trail that runs along the edge of his neighborhood. There’s a “secret” way that residents can get to it from the neighborhood (follow the correct golf cart path until you reach a wood chip trail leading into and through a stand of trees, step across a foot bridge built over a ditch, and go up an incline to the path--DON’T TELL).

Blaine filled me in on a couple of things and then said, “Tell me something good. What’s good with you?”

“You.”

He smiled. “What else you got?” He bent down near my ear. “Although I’m glad to be on that list.”

I told him about an email I received from my alma mater earlier in the week. The lit magazine is producing a special edition of “the best” 50 stories and poems published since the founding of the magazine. Something of mine will be included.

Fussing commenced. I would have put a stop to it but it included a big, tight hug so...waited until that ended. I asked him not to tell anyone because it isn’t a big deal. It’s nice for me, certainly, but we’re hardly talking The New Yorker. Overall, it’s embarrassing. He attempted to talk me out of keeping silent but in the end agreed to keep it between us.

“I will require more information if I’m to keep your secret.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to know more about this and you’ve given me the leverage I need to obtain the details.”

I stopped walking. When he did too, I said, “That’s disturbingly criminal-like for a lawyer.”

He shrugged, all too pleased with himself.  “Is yours a story or poem?”

I stalled with a series of eye rolls, head wobbles and general hand waving.

“Answer the question, please.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “At one time I thought it was cool to know someone involved with the legal system. I don’t feel that way anymore.”

He allowed a slight grin. “It’s a simple question. The answer, please.”

“One story, one poem.”

“Two? I’m impressed.”

I shook my head. “Big fish, tiny puddle.”

“What are they about?”

“The email didn’t provide titles. They’re holding that information until the magazine is released. I only wrote one poem in my life and all you need to know about that is I was 19 years old.” He waited, all blue-eyed focus on me. “I was 19! It was about a guy! But it read like it was about other stuff so it received favorable attention.”

“Are you getting a copy of the magazine?”

“They’ll mail it.” I attempted a blank, innocent expression. Didn’t work.

“Are you with withholding information?”

“That’s such a cold, untrusting expression, don’t you think?”

“And accurate.”

I told him they were presenting the magazine at an alumni dinner Homecoming weekend. He wants me to go. Although I love my college, I’ve only been back once for an event -- my five-year reunion. But this...

“Maybe,” I allowed. “You’ll be my plus one?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe yes then.”

Maybe. It's just so embarrassing.