© 2014 Kenneth Harper Finton



Driving down the road I’ve got no secrets,
no one with me nothing to conceal.
I don’t know why I even stopped to call her.
I was feeling good behind the wheel.

My words, said in anger brought her tears
while words, said thoughtfully bring cheer.
Words can make a smile come to her face
or words can bring disgrace.

There’s something on my mind that makes my words come out that way.
I didn’t want to hurt that girl, she knew I’d like to stay.
Sometimes I need to talk about the trouble that I find
and there within the darkness I can then begin to shine!

Words, said in anger brought her tears,
while words said thoughtfully bring cheer.
words can make a smile come to her face
or words can bring disgrace.

So I’ll go home and try again to make a better day.
Pleasant smiles require such little effort from my face.
I didn’t mean to let my troubles get me down inside.
My duty is to wisdom and my downfall is my pride.

Words, said in anger brought her tears,
while words said thoughtfully bring cheer.
Words can make a smile come to her face
or words can bring disgrace.

The night is black and only the streaming glow of his headlights light the road ahead. White dashes – dotted lines of lane dividers – rush by in a stream.

He drives by rote. Traffic is light and he is thinking of what he should do now.

The argument had not been that serious …  or was it?

She had made what he thought was a snotty remark.

“What is the matter with you, girl,” he had said. “You are really beginning to piss me off. I was not flirting with that woman. We were just talking.”

“And that’s why you asked for her ‘Facebook’ address?”

“She’s a world traveler, woman. She goes places. She’s headed to the Himalayas in a month. It would be good to follow her trip.”

“Follow her butt,” you mean, she has said.

The road curves ahead and he slows down.

“Follow her butt,” he thinks. “Maybe I do. I follow all the butts. My God, if you can’t appreciate the rounded hips of life, then what in the hell can you appreciate?”

He should have told her that. Instead, he just got mad.

Walking out the door mad.

It really didn’t occur to him to think about a destination –– a place to head toward –– until he started the engine. Then he realized he needed to pick a road.

He had headed to the mountains. The mountains always make him view himself from a height.  The world he left below is becoming visible now, but viewed from afar in a rear view mirror.

He knows the problem. He makes her feel unwanted too much. He’s so damned busy with himself and his own concerns that he does not take enough time to express the appreciation she needs.

She begins to feel uncertain of his love.

It doesn’t take much to go from that thought to: “He is looking for a replacement for me.”

“As though there could be a replacement,” he thinks. They had made a decision a long time ago that there was to be no replacement. They were always there for one another. That was the pledge.

Still, he was a man. Men look at women with lust in their hearts and desire in their loins. They were made that way. Nature herself seems to think it should be so.

Who was he to question nature? Who was she to question nature as well?

“How would you like it if I looked down the trousers of every man I see in the street?” she had said,

The truth is, he would not like it. It would make him feel insecure.

The highway is quite dark now. A startled deer stands at the side of the road as his car swhishes by.

“So I want to possess her?” he asks himself. But it seems to him that she wants to possess him equally.

“Women do not think that way,” he tells himself. “They do not want sex with every man they meet. They have a certain criteria. A woman is the one that makes the choice to possess.”

He seriously doubts that she would lust after every man she meets. That was an important character trait that he looked for in women.

“She’s too snotty,” he thinks. “She is very opinionated. Most men cannot live up to her expectations.”

He suddenly realizes that he is not living up to her expectations either. Regret sits down upon him like the first clod of dirt thrown into his grave.

“Besides,” he thought, “I would not really pursue another woman. One is trouble enough.”

“So it was all about nothing. Much ado about nothing,” he thought. “Someday I’ll have to read that play. It’s a great title.”

To him it seemed easy. He could do it. At least he could try. He could do better. “We all can,” he thought. He has to love her a little more. He has to giver her a little more time and focus.

That being decided, he turns the car around on the deserted highway and heads back down to the valley.



Thanks for listening and reading.

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