Something About Sundays

There is something about Sundays. Today I woke up early and found myself alone, a blessing! I made myself two pots of coffee and began reading Carver poems, but soon I was staring out the window between lines as my eyes fixed on an object through the glass, surrendering to the thoughts in my mind. Mostly memories. Its strange how the times in our life, when we remember them and think back to that time, we usually remember something that really didn’t have much to do with the actual event, some moment or brief tidbit that was not important. Several summers ago I spent five or six days a week in the gym. The thing I remember the most about being in the gym was this woman who worked out at the same time I did everyday. We would stare at each other and we clearly found it pleasing to look at each other. Between exercises I would look around and find her in the gym and make eye contact with her, she would stare back and smile at me, but I never talked to her. It was somehow perfect that way.