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Wednesday, October 06, 2004 Be warned. Mucho, mucho mush up ahead.Mario Puzo called it Italian Thunderbolt. He knows what he's talking about. That once in a lifetime moment when time screeches to a grinding halt, when anything that can make a sound or a melody is hushed, and everything at the edge of your vision blur, in abstract speedlines, and only for an instant. For a second maybe. And all you hear are the rapid contractions of your heart, skipping a beat, resets, resumes, but faster, and with more appetite. Italian thunderbolt, more than a decade ago. She was tall. With a boyish strut with a cocky spring to every step. She had hair that seemed more like it was towel-dried than combed, if that's the woman term for it, with each follicle left alone to pursue their own destinations. Radiance disguised as a smile followed her around. I would define that snapshot in time by borrowing a line from a comic scribe bordering on genius, "Beatific Magniloquence." Sounds apt. From that moment on, regardless of circumstance, I knew that Mario Puzo's phenomenon had struck without the least bit of warning, dodging, crisscrossing obstacles of different sorts in its line of sight. Italian Thunderbolt. When a mere second stretches to infinity. Today, tonight, more than a decade later, I'm looking forward to seeing her again, and seeing her again and again for as long as I live. My wife. My life. And I'm counting the minutes... no, the seconds.
posted by Alexis at 3:27 AM |
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