Because You Probably Want to Know What Happened

I could tell you that Saturday afternoon we set out for Boulder but changed course when we stumbled upon an airshow. Old World War II planes swooped in a pattern that resembled a winged waltz. Present-day fighter jets quietly approached before disappearing into the clouds, a thunderous boom following in their wake. And as we watched the sky, as we marveled at the planes twisting and turning, he loosely laced his fingers with mine.

I could tell you that at a certain point I lapsed into a pensive state that pulled me away from the moment. My tongue lashed against the back of my bottom teeth. I pressed my spine into the banquette in an attempt to disappear. Though music played loudly through the speakers, conflicting conversations cluttering my head drowned it all out. And there, in the midst of me withdrawing, he gently pulled me back.

I could tell you that when he dropped me off, after kissing me goodbye, I walked away without looking back. I curled my hand around the grip of my suitcase and settled my tote on my shoulder. Though it took a moment for the automatic door to start moving, I kept my gaze directed forward because I wasn’t sure I was capable of watching him leave.

There are a lot of things I could tell you about this past weekend. It is amazing how many moments can fill the span of forty-eight hours. Small moments barely worth a glance and more meaningful moments that linger for much longer. But for some reason, for some reason I’d rather keep those moments to myself.