"This is the Good Time"

she told me as she was slinging her bag over her shoulder and heading for the door.   I didn't say anything .   My feet were cold, my fingers numb and I wasn't feeling so good, truth be told.    Just as her hand touched the doorknob she paused a moment and then turned back around to face me and asked

  "Right?"

  I didn't know.    Was it?   Was THIS the good time?   I could not answer, not right then.  This would take more pondering in order to deliver an accurate estimation.   I made a facial gesture, I am not sure which one, and she stared at me for a moment before saying goodbye and then making her exit.

   I stood there in the room, alone, and listened to the sounds of her car door opening, shutting, engine starting, idling, and then revving as her vehicle ferried her out and away to some other place.   This is the Good Time, I reminded myself.   This time is Good.   I stood there a minute longer, wondering if she was going to come back, maybe to surprise me and show me just HOW GOOD this time was, but she did not come back and my toes were cold, my fingers numb.   I walked out of that room and that chapter of the day closed behind me like water shutting behind a swimming body.    I moved on, ahead.

   My body moved ahead, but my mind seemed stuck there in that room still.   This is the good time?  Is it?  I wondered on this as I moved about, shuffling cars,  cleaning the floor, arranging wrenches and tidying up.   I made up my mind to fix something even, a car.   I would be paid soon.  We would.   She would.    Was this the Good Time?    What was so good about it?

     I felt good a week or two ago, surprised even,  as decisions were made and plans discussed in the car.   Scenery flashed by outside the windshield, neon lights beckoning travelers to come eat or sleep or both, and she spoke to me in a serious manner, which she rarely does.  She may have said something nice to me, which also rarely happens.   I felt good behind the wheel, changing lanes every so often, listening, nodding my head, making the occasional case for myself and my feeling(s) on the matter at hand, trying not to grin like an idiot, happy, feeling like the Good Time may be filtering down soon, yes.

    Then there were days in which I did not feel it, and do not still.  The days drag on like before, nothing much is different, there is some talk and it is removed of emotion like a death sentence spoken through the lips of a medical doctor, important decisions discussed briefly, the real time spent criticizing or poking holes in plans, being told what not to do, what is the wrong way, where not to step, what can go wrong.   My resolve shimmers like a light seen from a distance at night beyond a lake or sky, strong, weak, strong, weak, strong weak,  I can't decide if I am happy or not, is this real or not,  should I plan for this or not,  and if I should, when?   When does this become real?    I get little in the way of reassurances, and I can not ask for them, I can not expect them, I must be satisfied with what I get when I get it,  and consider that they are thus more real.   I can do that, I can do this, but I lack patience though I felt for the longest time I could weather all sort of time and discomfort.  I consider a new scar.  Where would it go? What would it be?    I do not want another one, I am through with all of that, or so it seems now.    I do not want to feel pain anymore.  I am ready to be happy and feel good.   I can not wait.     I am tensing up, I am not hanging loose.     I can go back.   I am used to that.   I do it.