Surfing Romance

This Valentine’s approaching, he asked for my address

To announce that I was not an e-pen pal merely.

Neither meeting nor even speaking since October 1st,

Over a Star Trek Convention we met in Parsippany NJ.

Three days in a lounge, of 8 of us, paying to be there.

An exclusive experience, meeting each other and the stars,

In 10 minute intervals, glimpse into secret realities.

Then emails, Christmas cards, phone exchanges, numbers only.

No calls. Invitation to another convention, but neither NJ nor Las Vegas, a small one.

Offering admission and air fare. Wow, surprising!

But still unreal, as intangible, and no convention listed online.

But Valentine’s! Something real, indicating I had moved

from a  lady met to a friend to a Valentine.

 

Does he dream of me? When did I become his object of desire? All we did was chat, in

writing mostly. Eleven years my senior, but smart, authoritative, retired military, and on

television even, once annually, with the POTUS. And he’s mysterious. All pluses.

Hopeful, gratified, but also non-plussed. Riding the wave, no more, no less.

Accept the gift, with thanks. See where it goes, as if there’s plenty of time,

with a teen-ager’s view of life. No pressure, no expectations.

 

I am a surfer on Waikiki Beach and he is the beautiful koa wood beneath my feet,

supporting me, to shore. Homeward bound, he carries me.

 

Without his support, I would have been swallowed by the wave. But instead, I rode him

confidently, aware that something fundamental inside of me had changed.

And the sunset, as a metaphor for our beginning, it too was unique and beautiful.

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