by Cynthia Wold
Ahh Ah-Ah Ahhh Ah
As soon as I heard it, my insides rollered like a coaster, and despite the song associated with nothing in particular, I swam deep into the truth of that feeling.
The 80’s. You were so stoic, more than a decade older, a veteran, weathered but elegant. Never a hint of sexual interest in me, or anyone. We worked together, sometimes partners. We had each other’s back when we were in the weeds behind the bar at the Radisson.
Everyone else was afraid of you, your gruff exterior and critical eye. Always, you singled me out for conversation whenever there was an opportunity. You had stories that mesmerized. Some true. You were eager to tell me about your latest theories, to tell jokes, to drink until your glassy eyes said “no more,” and the old memories sent you scooting home. Driving a car when you shouldn’t have, but we all did it then. Not a DWI or injury among us. Even the off-duty cops drinking along-side after-hours, we all got a pass back then. Or maybe it was high tolerance, or luck.
But that’s not what this is about.
This is about the song, the roller coaster belly, the truth.
Marriage over, I went alone to the New Years After-Party for bar workers who spent New Years Eve serving the drinks and sending the partiers home. After was our time to celebrate.
In Billy’s saloon amidst revelers recreating the midnight ritual, I thought it would be funny. As you sat at a table, coiled and unsmiling, with the Dewars and water in your hand, not champagne like everyone else.
I thought it would be funny if I walked over and sat on your lap and gave you a New Year’s kiss. That’s what you do on New Years, right? And I knew no one else would kiss you. They were wary of you, and you looked bored.
When I said “may I?” and nodded to your knee, you nodded back, and when I put my arm around you, you said “you don’t know what you’re doing.”
I thought it would be funny, but when I kissed you on the mouth, you melted like warm pudding, became the prince, didn’t know what to do next, and you were right. I didn’t know what I was doing. And everything changed. We found a thing we thought was love, and for a year it out-paced the PTSD.
Afterward, I relegated that time to a pile of regrets and mistakes, like a first draft that never made it to a second.
The song, though. I don’t remember ever hearing it when I was with you, or any other time.
I sat in my living room that evening, in my aging body, in my retiring life, with my husband of 23 years. When I heard the refrain, ah ah-ah ahh ah, I know this/ much is/ truuue, the warm pudding, the roller coaster prince, the moment… came back. And I don’t know why it was there. I don’t know whether it was love, loneliness, or anything I would want to repeat, but I know the feeling, that surprising sticky ache.
I know this much is true.
Cynthia Wold earned her BA in Psychology at the University of Minnesota, and an MLS in the study of Love at Metropolitan State University. In 2018, Cynthia formed “Scribble River,” a regular open forum for writing in community for the purpose of self-discovery. She is co-author of “The Art of Convening,” and other pieces have been published in Emerge Literary Journal and Haute Dish. She is a poet and writer who wears comfortable shoes and lives with her husband in Minneapolis, MN.
Emerge Literary Journal 