Another Valentine’s Day peacefully done and gone with a ritualistic dinner and movie. It was easy going, but finely crafted, delicately reflecting the laid-back couple we have become after many years of hem and haw and harp and hark. I was spoiled in everyday ways, ways that are not easily recognizable in gifts of grandeur or a Valentine’s day date for a couple of newbies trying to impress one another. It was the date only two high school sweethearts reaching the stride of timelessness can go on, settling into what already feels like an ancient love in the backdrop of someone else’s supposed big budding romance.

I tried to notice the couples around me and pick up on what kind of ritual they were performing. While Keith jabbers on about how much he likes me or something, my ears are turning backwards. The couple behind us seemed new. They spoke in those high voices and seemed to explain so much in each sequence. He spoke more than her. It seemed full of anecdotes of a faraway time, brimming with people she did not know, and they required their own descriptions. Mostly it was the highness of their voices and formality of the dialogue that made me think they have been together for less than a year, perhaps six months. I stop listening to other people when Keith and I begin a conversation about how severely we seem to fart these days, stinking up entire rooms and sometimes the entire house with our effortless gasses. “This is romance,” says Keith, and I have no way of disagreeing.

There are girls dressed to the nine–nines, several noticeably in skintight black mini dresses and high heels, which seemed downright difficult in the harsh cold nipping at everyone. The restaurant seemed to fill after our seating, so much so they were desperate to get kitchen orders in. Our timing was quite good, for as our unnecessary entrees arrived, there were all manner of couples and take-out orders lined against the wall of the entrance. I watched one customer unintentionally dislodge a taped balloon from the wall, catch it as it nearly floated out of reach, and then return it to the wall with a timid smile that said, “Did anyone see me do that?” I did.

I order whatever I want and we enjoy ourselves, mostly fixated on the appetizers that stole our hearts this V-day. We run some errands, because even on this ever-romantic Valentine’s Day, we’re still just regular fucking people who need to grab some shit on a given day. The fanfair that once dictated such casual stops would interrupt the special day has passed. The night comfortably ends with me dozing off on the couch as the dramatic end of Kill Bill Vol. 1 plays in front of us. Keith assured me at the beginning of the film I would not make it to Vol. 2, and I did not intend to. I close my eyes sometimes, but I do not miss much. A few of the Crazy 88 deaths definitely passed me by, but I wouldn’t miss O-Ren fight the Bride and realize her opponent’s vengeance was equal to what her own once was before getting grievously cut down by the final Hattori Hanzo.

Keith said he hoped I would still be into that sort of story, and I go on to sleep almost soundly and dream of us making long fools of our adversaries.

I wake on the fifteenth, not wanting to get out of the warm bed or leave the comfort of Keith’s side for a day’s worth of choring and working, but I’m hopeful I can keep my momentum going long enough to make it most of the way through Kill Bill Vol. 2.

^{February 15, 2024}

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