A Really Good Page of Really Bad Hemingway

I was shoehorned between two other steel prisons on wheels; positioned deep in the asphalt recesses of the parking area fronting The Hill of Sugar's elementary school. You might call my predicament ironic, as I left grade teaching behind so many years earlier. Now I was here for something even grander than my own education.

There is always a woman. This one was different than most. Smaller, blonder, cuter, and heart capturing; she drew me through suffocating traffic on a hot August day, without asking. It was neither the chocolate milk nor the veggie burger than intoxicated me, but her smile.

I walked in the neat office and put my name on the list. Someone with some kind of medicore authority insisted on knowing I was there to see there beautiful learned one. I dropped the pathetically cheap, probably Walmart purchased, black ink pen in the metal cup and applied my day glo green name tag, then walked towards my prize.

The cafe was buzzing with life and glowing with personality. I nodded hello to a  dark complexioned custodian and he politely opened the eating place doors. There she was. A flowing, pink, bowed dress fell impressively over white sneakers. She looked at me pensively. I smiled, desperate to feel her approval. Finally, aching with style, she grinned like a self satisfied feline. I reached out to hug her and she said abruptly, "we have to go over there". I looked up nervously and saw another area of the cafe. A long wooden table, housing other couples. Mostly middle aged mothers with orange and white Hill of Sugar Longhorn school spirit attire eating comfortably with their significant others. Chivalry overtook me and I asked for her tray. A veggie burger, a stick of processed American cheese, a red apple, and that glorious institution, chocolate milk all accompanied by plastic utensils and a napkin. I followed her religiously over to the "parents" table. Her walk was prideful, almost arrogant. She was where she wanted to be. I was just happy to be with her.



*blogger's note - My favorite writer is the late, great Ernest Hemingway. Every year, a contest is held called Internation Imitation Hemingway aka A Really Good Page of Really Bad Hemingway. My bucket list has me entering said writing competition. Today I had lunch with my five year old daughter, known internationally, as The Goose. This is my attempt at bad Hemingway, and honoring my beautiful little girl. I do reccomend the veggie burger and the milk. Her dress was stunning.

Lance