Norman, Oklahoma (music; amelie soundtrack)

The drive was straight north, a direct path into Oklahoma providing little distraction. My mind wandered. Scenery changed from cityscape to grass fields, rolling countryside to graying strip-malls. I passed time counting casinos and thinking of Andrew Jackson, my previous night in Austin with three of us on the bench seat of an old Chevy, each taking turns shifting the standard three speed, CCR missing from the tape deck. And Valentine’s Day.


I’ve never been in a Valentine friendly relationship. I’ve always been more inclined to purchase the gaudy red boxes on the 15th once prices have been slashed, dissecting its innards, carefully coveting the caramel and mint filled morsels. Hesitantly, I’d take bites out of others, gambling on their contents before placing them back in their indentation for future explorers. Arm in arm with my double-decker heart box, we’d begin our $3.99 week long romance. My +1. A bold take it or leave it moxie, poignant conversationalist, and giver, it had always been approved as a dinner guest. The right size also filled the increasingly noticeable empty seat around the table, a silent reminder and tribute to my failed attempts in dating. Upon introduction of my closeout special, axels were rigged to accompany a permanent third wheel. The empty chair was folded up next to the radiator.

The temptation is there, giving into my Valentine’s fling. Blind in a sugary passion, devouring fistfuls of milk and dark waxy chocolates. Fall asleep in my hotel room amidst empty wrappers and the overturned shell of the heart shaped box. But the affair is over. We greet each other as one does old co-workers, estranged relatives. We pretend not to notice, denying what we once had. I pass through the pink and red aisles of the grocery store with tense muscles, staring straight ahead, knowing it’s never as good as one imagines- never as good as the real thing.