Have a seat. Right over there, next to the bookcase. Don't mind the cat, she'll move. Yeah, see, there she goes. Smoke? No, no, of course not. I never figured you for a smoker. You don't have that look about you. You're looking good, by the way. Thank you for stopping by, I'm sure you're very busy. Heck, who isn't? Life can do that, get all tangled up in our plans. Playing tricks on us, yes, and not some lousy parlor tricks, no, real live tricks we don't even notice until later. Until we sit for a moment and... reflect, yes. Do you mind if I smoke? Yes, of course, it is my house but I like to be a gracious host. Well. If it doesn't bother you, I think I might have one. I'd also like to tell you a story, that is of course if you've got the time.
And my smoke doesn't get to you.
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Walking down the street in town, passing the shops. The flags waved just enough in the subtle breeze to hold their own beauty; their own peace. To my left the sun made prisms on the plate glass windows of the store I happened to be passing: Sherry's Soda Fountain. I looked in, and there she sat. Margret, the prettiest girl in the whole school, the whole town. The whole world, I tell you, she was the prettiest thing in the whole world on the prettiest day. I believe that was real, to the young man walking down the sidewalk, Margret was exactly, one hundred percent, the prettiest, most glorious thing in the whole world.
A smile lifted my face, and my cheeks grew hot. It was silly, she couldn't see me, she didn't know I was there. I looked up in the sun, I'd heard somewhere that would make you forget whatever it was you were thinking about. I looked back at the sidewalk in front of me and started walking through color changing spots floating around in my vision. Yet, I still saw Margret at the counter of the retro soda fountain.
She wore a pink sweater around her shoulders. At school, she fit in - better than most - and only her beauty set her apart from anyone else. At Sherry's Soda Fountain she stood out. She was different. Most of the patronage at Sherry's were the goth and punker kids. Mohawks, black eyeliner, leather jackets with studs, that was the norm at Sherry's. They didn't cause trouble there though. At school these kids stood out and spent a lot of time in the principal's office. Here, they were accepted - I guess - and they paid for what they got and they were polite, loud no doubt, but they were nice. They were just kids. And they accepted Margret.
Through the sun spots dancing around my eyes, I walked on by. I didn't have the nerve, I couldn't ruin such a beautiful day - you understand. I walked home in that perfect afternoon, with a perfect memory of a perfect girl, laughing and slapping her hand down on the counter. Long after the dancing colors faded from my sight, the butterflies continued their rounds in my stomach.
As I lay in bed after dinner, I promised myself tomorrow I'd go into Sherry's and talk to her. I promised, and I drifted to sleep with a smile on my face. A twelve year old boy in lovely bliss, because you see, tomorrow she'd talk to me. Tomorrow. I promised myself and went a step further, I promised on my Fender guitar. Tomorrow, she'd talk to me because I'd talk to her and the sun would shine and the flags would wave and the day would be warm. Today had been perfect, but tomorrow I'd improve perfection.
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