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Silkworm Ink

January 10, 2014

“Hold that thought,” Sarah said just before running out of the living room. Five minutes later I walked around my apartment looking for her and she was gone—no note, no nothing only an open front door.
Two nights later she shows up at dinner time with Chinese take out and says, “Continue.”
That’s what she says “Continue”--nothing else—no explanation, no apology, no nothing.
‘Did you bring spare ribs?” I ask her.
“Yes, but that’s not what you were saying. Please continue what you were saying.”
Two nights earlier I had just gotten down on bended knee after taking a ring box from my pocket when she hit me with the “Hold that thought,” and disappeared. I hadn’t even opened the box yet.
I left the kitchen for the living room, positioned my self in front of the chair she was sitting in the other night and got down on bended knee once again—ring in my closed hand.
“Oh. Goody,” Sarah said sitting down. “Continue,” she said.
I bent my head and she said “Continue, continue,” trying to rush me.
Looking up at her smiling face, her receptive face, her mysteriously disappearing face, I bowed my head. “Look,” I said.
“Go on,” Sarah said. “Go on.”
 “Look at my scalp. Do you see the start of male pattern baldness?” I asked.
 “I’ll give you my answer tomorrow,” she said, giving me a rehearsed reply to a question not asked. 
“Let’s eat,” one of us said as I slipped the ring back into my pocket.

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