At last
Our love has come along
All wrapped up in clover
And life is like a song.*
Gotcha, didn’t I!! Right now you’ve gone there. You know where. With …
Cuz it feels good.
Sweet.
Memorable.
Took you back.
To that perfect moment. With …
And it was good. Soooooooooo good.
You lingering.
Just for a moment.
Because it never got better than that.
Different. Nicer. Longer.
But not better.
Because the first time …
No, no that first time.
The first time … you felt ‘the love’. The umph. The mighty mighty.
Dells playing in the background. Spinners on the radio. Maxwell keepin’ the beat.
In your head. Alone. Because all other thought is gone gone gone.
Your breath is deep.
Goosebumps popped on your arms.
Heart smothered.
Air thickened.
At last.
That was the ‘one?’
Not the one.
Maybe not even the best one.
An asshole, jerk, or heifer.
The bubble just burst.
You remember the rest..
Wasn’t all good.
A breath too long.
Finally over.
At last.
But for a moment. You forgot all that.
Because when you hear the words.
Remember the melody.
All you know is ‘it was good, to the last drop’
At last..
I love chick flicks.
Surprise, surprise.
And every guy is now nodding while thinking, ‘of course she does, she’s a chick.’
And they’re right.
100% grade A chick.
And I love chick flicks.
The happy ever after.
That first look. When they know.
That first touch. Never softer or more electric.
That first smile. Full of promise.
The first dance.
The first moment.
The first kiss.
That’s what I love. The firsts.
Some firsts are better than seconds.
While others build to the second.
Yet some never get to second …base or any where else.
I love chick flicks.
Sure they’re not reality.
No one looks that good, has breath so sweet, or keeps their hair in place after that much delight.
No relationship, outside Harlequin romances and the soaps, screams ‘I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I love you, I love you, I love you, take me, take me take me’ like it’s the most normal way for a relationship to progress.
It’s rare that it happens that quick.
So easy.
Yet …
Yet …
We’re not immune to the desire.
Or the hope.
Or the romance.
Or the remembrance.
Of that moment.
That first moment.
I love chick flicks.
Call me sappy, silly, or stupid.
Your perogative.
But don’t be the kettle calling the pot stainless steel.
Translation – If you like them and you know it, clap your hands. Raw.
Because a façade is just a front. An edge with borders and boundaries.
Nothing gets on.
Nothing gets off.
Because there’s … nothing. Left.
When you really wanted something. Somebody. At some point. For certain.
You can get past it – to it – over it.
You can get on your knees and cry holy.
Or you could just …
I like chick flicks.
And strolling in the park.
Wine at a brasserie.
Holding hands at the show.
Falling asleep being held.
Rain in the morning.
Football on Sundays. Sorry that slipped in.
Maudulin? Cutesy?
Yeah.
But I don’t care.
I love chick flicks.
Because I want to believe the good guys do win, sometimes. Go Yankees and Cubs.
Perseverance pays off.
Success occurs more than failure.
And dammit, because that’s the way I want it to be!!!
At last.
Bachelor. Bachelorette. Average Joe. Marry my Dad. Marry a Stranger. Don’t know all the names. Don’t watch the shows (except for Newlyweds: Nick and Jessica and Trista and Ryan’s wedding).
But whether we watch every episode, memorize every line, sigh over every heartbreak, when the barriers and boundaries are scalloped … we want to believe … that it can happen. Who cares that we physically don’t look like them, we are them. We can be them. In reality. Not candyland.
At last.
I love chick flicks.
Because they remind us to trust.
Between the rush and the jade, the job and the house, the kids and the pets,
The pain and the hurt. The accusations and the …
We lose faith.
In ourselves.
To pick.
Hearts can be mended.
But trust … puzzle pieces are hard to find.
I love chick flicks.
We love being in love.
We love being loved.
Love, given and accepted, makes us a better and stronger people.
Better and stronger people make a better society.
A better society … you know where that goes.
I love chick flicks.
Gives me hope.
For us all.
At last.
*At Last: Etta James (1999)
