Friday, April 25, 2008


I blame Donald Fagen for the whole thing.

It all started when I forgot the words to "International Geophysical Year" while riding the subway with a friend. I grappled helplessly with what made that damn train so special before a voice gently reminded me.

"Graphite," it said.

I turned around, and she was sitting there, looking up at me.

"What?" I asked, incredulous.

"Graphite," she responded, "It's 'on that train all graphite and glitter'."

Needless to say, I didn't get off at the stop with my friend.

We strolled down the avenues, her iPod's earbuds divided between the two of us, holding hands and listening to Steely Dan. We went home and we danced to "The Nightfly", we found a Green Flower Ct. in Salt Lake City and visited there, because we were in love and that's the kind of things you do when you're in love.

The Mormons didn't seem to approve of PDA's.

When she broke up with me, she turned on "The Goodbye Look" and gave me a wry smile.

I couldn't listen to Donald Fagen after that, and that made me really sad. For two years, I sulked.

It was three summers from then when I finally brought myself to hum a little "Walk Between the Raindrops", and when I did break into the words, I realized I had forgotten the chorus. I cursed myself.

The girl behind me gently reminded me that the word was "umbrella".

I ignored her.


Ello said...


Abby said...

I think this one's a keeper, Sam. It's got all the things that make short stories good: clear prose, a simple plot, and irony. Definitely a keeper.