Interlude

We sat on a red-checkered cloth laid out on a green hill. Ate slices of pineapple from a Tupperware container until our gums began to hurt.

“It’s a lovely day,” she said and I did not stray from the script.
“Very lovely,” I said. “And so are you.”

My cell phone was in the glove compartment a quarter of a mile from here. The Internet was a good day’s drive away. I might as well play along.

“I love a picnic,” she said and I smiled and nodded.

Trees in the distance swayed and all you could hear was the sound of their soft leaves rubbing together, like the hands of a million evil babies plotting something. Birds chirped like car alarms. Clouds floated by and she was happy, but I felt as if the world were spinning on somewhere without me--somewhere close by perhaps, but slightly off to the side.

“It’s romantic,” she said.

“Uh-huh.”

Through great effort, I did not check my watch. I pulled several muscles not doing it.