It’s not a contest, he thought. He’d stopped saying it. She continued to race, count, tally, and declare she was the winner. When they split the shopping list, for her it was a race to checkout, for him, a chance to meander a little in the spice aisle, or contemplating future meals amongst the vegetables. When they worked out, she on the stationary bike, him on the elliptical, she had to go that few minute more, pushing herself. Sometimes he just stopped so she could again, declare herself the winner. She was the first to shower and to finish showering and the first ready to go. It wasn’t a contest. He didn’t want to compete with her.
She pushed herself, always since from when she was little. She wanted to be the best, the first, the fastest, the only. Valedictorian, Summa Cum Laude, Honors through school, college, law school. She chose litigation because one side won. She would be that side. She understood the contentious nature of litigation. She didn’t recognize that she often spoke to colleagues and friends as opposing counsel would question a deponent. She made casual bets with friends. She had to throw the best parties. It wasn’t a contest, but she didn’t seem to know that.
They met on opposing sides of a debate in college. They dated over chess games in the park. He loved her mind: always thinking three moves ahead, figuring out the best route. Mental parkour. He’d loved her from the third minute of her rebuttal in the initial debate. She challenged him to think, to reach, to push boundaries and limits. She loved his mind. She loved that he was as smart as she was, and could challenge her to think, to reach, to push boundaries and limits. She loved him, no contest, she could be herself with him, just herself. She wanted an equal, a sparring partner, someone to challenge her.
He found the ring in a little antique shop off an alley in the jewelry district. The center stone was Alexandrite surrounded by smaller diamonds. It was a rare stone, surrounded by the strongest stone, like her. It reminded him of her. He wanted a partner, an equal. He’d never met a woman like her before. He put the ring box in his pocket before picking her up for dinner.
She was giddy excited as she waited for him. Earlier she’d won a 6.5-million-dollar verdict. She’d won. Over dinner she regaled him with trial details. The win was her important take away. Her win. She wanted her victories. He fingered the box in his pocket. He couldn’t propose. It wasn’t a contest. They’d both just lost.
— Lkai
She pushed herself, always since from when she was little. She wanted to be the best, the first, the fastest, the only. Valedictorian, Summa Cum Laude, Honors through school, college, law school. She chose litigation because one side won. She would be that side. She understood the contentious nature of litigation. She didn’t recognize that she often spoke to colleagues and friends as opposing counsel would question a deponent. She made casual bets with friends. She had to throw the best parties. It wasn’t a contest, but she didn’t seem to know that.
They met on opposing sides of a debate in college. They dated over chess games in the park. He loved her mind: always thinking three moves ahead, figuring out the best route. Mental parkour. He’d loved her from the third minute of her rebuttal in the initial debate. She challenged him to think, to reach, to push boundaries and limits. She loved his mind. She loved that he was as smart as she was, and could challenge her to think, to reach, to push boundaries and limits. She loved him, no contest, she could be herself with him, just herself. She wanted an equal, a sparring partner, someone to challenge her.
He found the ring in a little antique shop off an alley in the jewelry district. The center stone was Alexandrite surrounded by smaller diamonds. It was a rare stone, surrounded by the strongest stone, like her. It reminded him of her. He wanted a partner, an equal. He’d never met a woman like her before. He put the ring box in his pocket before picking her up for dinner.
She was giddy excited as she waited for him. Earlier she’d won a 6.5-million-dollar verdict. She’d won. Over dinner she regaled him with trial details. The win was her important take away. Her win. She wanted her victories. He fingered the box in his pocket. He couldn’t propose. It wasn’t a contest. They’d both just lost.
— Lkai
Oh, that is so sad, but probably best in the long run. - opelikakat
ReplyDeleteOh no! I thought this was going to end happily! HAHA. Very interesting and unusual story! Love it! ---Macoff
ReplyDeleteOh, Gosh. I didn't want them to lose, but there wasn't any other realistic end. I relate to the meanderer. Love the people and the story!
ReplyDelete