Giraffes

Sitting adjacent to the moon view of the park; the trees cast down shadows that split between them as a barrier.  The heat of the night draws beads of sweat from their foreheads to be cooled back within by the small tin flask he carried in a pocket.  He tells her that what little time they had left has all but been sucked away through the falling sands beneath their feet.

“Take another drink,” he says to her earnestly.

“Don’t you think the moon is appallingly blinding this evening?” She answers back without the faintest hint of jest.

“I think the moon tells us a story.  A story about our lives, about how we are, about whom we were meant to be,” he states as he slips the flask back into his morose pocket.

“Well isn’t that droll.”

“Droll, you say?  I find it to be inspiring, invigorating, and envious.”

“Exactly!” She says,” But mostly just that tedious part.”

“I said envious, not tedious.”

“Exactly; tedious.  The rest is but pointless dribble.”

“I see.”

“I certainly don’t believe that you do.  If you did you’d see that the moon only spoke of our end.  It screams at; can I have another drink?”

He hands the flask to her and she takes a large sip and gargles it at the back of her throat.  Begrudgingly she hands it back.

“What was I saying?  Oh, yes; the two of us.  We cannot see each other any longer.”

He chokes slightly on a small bit of the flasks contents, “You truly believe that’s what the moon is trying to say to us.”

“The moon? Of course not, the moon is but a stone floating in the heavens.  I am saying that we cannot see each other any longer.”

She turns from him to face the fleeting forest as though to make her escape all the while eyeing the container she so desired.

“This is all because of that?!” he exclaims,” How can this be.  All that was, was but a small road bump on the landscape of our relationship.  I can forgive you.  In fact, it has already been forgiven; and forgotten… wait,” he pauses,” what exactly are we talking about?”

He peers down to see her hands curl upwards as though they were taking the fetal position and slowly bore themselves into angry, spiteful fists.

“I believe it was you who said that we have but little time left,” she grabs the flask away from him,” I cannot believe that you had already forgotten.”

“Oh, that!” He says relived,” That’s not what I meant at all.  I was merely saying that the time has almost drawn to the point where the sun will begin to rise and will give shape to the lifeless shadows cast before us.”

She takes another sip from his tin drinking vessel.

“I believe that at dawn, the sun coerces the shadows of the trees out into a dance of celebration and rebirth.  They appear almost as giraffes do gallivanting across the open Serengeti,” he says to her in an adoring fashion.

“Whatever,” she says, “can we get out of here?  I feel as though I am starting to catch a bit of a chill.”

He reaches across through the dark divide cast down between them to wipe the small droplets of perspiration off of her brow.  She cleverly commandeers the flask.

“You don’t want to stay?” He asks as she unwillingly hands the container of booze back to him.

“Sorry,” she says,” but I will almost certainly not see what it is you see because you see, I am not like you;  I will never be like you, but for some reason, I do seem to like you. Now all I ask is that you take me home so that we might get on with a more productive portion of our day.”

He takes another large pull from his flask.

”As you wish my dear,” he sighs,” as you wish.”