Summer Diaries

From the Journal of Scott Levy,
July 2000
Provincetown MA.

Provincetown, MA is the sort of town into which you can just disappear, or you can party all night. I wanted to do both, but first I wanted a cone of ice cream.

Not just any Ice Cream. Sweeny Harbor ice cream.

My mouth watered as I stepped up to the counter, my eyes glazed as they were absorbed into the hundreds of flavors that stretched out before me.

"One double- a scoop of espresso, with an extra scoop of mint chocolate."

The teenager girl behind the counter tittered to herself, apparently recognizing her customer. I waited to be asked for an autograph, but she resisted, too shy.

I took my cone and sat by the window.

Sunlight set of the false blonde streaks in my wild hair; I brushed one lock back as the tide rushed in over the rocks below, dragging the grey shale stones out to sea.

I wasn't there; my mind was in the past, with the lover I had left behind the only one in the scores of meaningless affairs that meant not a thing to me. But my callousness had turned this man away, spurned him.

I could see that face before me now; sunlit, glorious, forgiving, lovely.

When it materialized with the jingle of a bell, I gasped.

Was it still him? His hair was short now, and there were children in his arms....Did I turn him off of men entirely?

Our eyes lock from across the room; he turns away.

I stand up, I approach, the children look at me as if I'm some sort of monster, and maybe I am.

His eyes were still forgiving, but their was a pity there, a forgiveness.

I extended my hand, and I said "Hey Stevie."



Go On