It’s Funny How Time and Love (Don’t) Work

Neither makes sense. Which makes perfect sense.

Photo by on

Funny how time works when you’re in love.

The way it slows, the way it speeds up. The way it plays you. The way you’re okay with being played.

I saw her, standing near the window of the small pita shop where I worked early in college. She’d walk past, and everything would slow. It let me take in the flow of her pleated skirt, the emaculant silky sheen of her hair. A smile that could cause car accidents yet bring about world peace.

For the two seconds she walked past, I’d forget about the pita sandwich I was wrapping, or the roast beef hissing on the grill. Had anyone asked, I would have forgotten my name and birthday and underwear size.

Some days, she’d continue on past the window. Other days, she’d open the front door of the restaurant, and my heart would leap, kickstarting time. I’d hastily finish with whatever pita or customer I had and take her order, everything moving at five times the speed. Chicken Caesar with extra dressing, banana peppers on the side.

We’d talk for however long it took to walk to the griddle, cook the pre-cooked chicken, and roll up her pita. I tried to work slowly. I tried praying for a griddle malfunction or a giant boulder to drop from the…