The Love of My Youth
“she says.“And you want to see it as a sign of something.”“No, a sign of nothing. A piece of luck.”“What would a piece of luck look like? A coin? A shell? A hunk of bread and cheese?”She enjoys this kind of play with him. It was who they were, people who played in this way. She doesn’t have people now who play in this way with her.He angles his chin toward a boy and girl in identical black pants and boots, embracing on a bench. At their feet: two helmets, one garnet colored, one emerald.“And the...se two, are they lucky? Lucky in their heedlessness?”“What do you want me to say, Adam? You want to know what I think of them? What they’re doing?”“Is this the lack of self-consciousness we were saying the other day was so wonderful in the young? I must say I don’t find this wonderful. I don’t understand it. How can she feel so comfortable, her legs wrapped around him, kissing him, then taking a bite of her sandwich, then looking at the trees, then going back to kissing him, all the time squeezing her legs around his waist?MoreLess
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