The overweight lollipop lady warned me. She was stood at the crossing in between my soulmate and me. Blocking him who had been standing on the edge of the opposite pavement side with both hands tucked securely in his front pocket blue jeans, she pushed out both her blubbery arms and waved madly at me. Yet, he watched my heart much wanted to pour out and pound onto his pavement side. Calmly, he absorbed the entire spiritual criticality.
I didn’t understand her urgency. There had been no cars, no children, around to direct; it was just us three. She was center stage. Her manic body, pinched in time, led me to run faster towards him. Until I felt forced to come to a full stop. On that blue day the winds danced violently.
At first, I couldn’t hear it, but I knew there was the sound. The lollipop lady had rushed an emergency in her pressed lips. It was that silver-plated whistle she blew so hard, she nearly swallowed the cork ball. She would have, had the cork ball not settled back in its slotted, empty container. However, the louder she blew into it, the more the cork ball grew its desire to burst out and escape.
No. My soulmate and I haven’t yet hugged or kissed.
We met for the first time in one of our many playground hallucinations.
Black Cat Words 