Read Online Finding Parker by Scott Hildreth, SD Hildreth - Free Book Online
Authors: Scott Hildreth, SD Hildreth
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although he may look at this as an employer employee relationship, I – in many respects – was beginning to view it as somewhat of a father son relationship.
The thought of which provided me with comfort.
And pain.
PARKER. Life is far more abrasive in experiencing its individual components than the sum itself. I liken it to the ingredients that make up a recipe. For instance, grilled beef tenderloin in Cabernet sauce first requires balsamic vinegar, garlic, rosemary, peppercorns, olive oil, and salt for the steak marinade. Individually, or standing alone, none of these ingredients are very palatable.
The steaks, once soaked overnight in this marinade and grilled, clearly define how an herbed, spiced filet mignon should taste. Regardless of the quality of the latter prepared Cabernet sauce, the steaks are merely chunks of grilled meat without the initial marinade. The sum of ingredients will develop something to be enjoyed by all who partake in the meal. Individually, the ingredients are repulsive at best.
I believe life can be compared to cooking in many respects. We know not to add vanilla to spaghetti sauce. In a batch of our favorite cookies, however, it may be quite tasty. Additionally, a slice of bell pepper which may work well in a salad would be out of place in a German chocolate cake. I feel I need to be cautious of the people I permit into my life no differently than I would be careful of the ingredients I would include in a recipe. I suppose a good recipe for life would be to allow nothing into it, knowingly at least, which is bitter.
It’s disappointing we aren’t able to simply spit people out that don’t taste well.
“Maybe I had one too many glasses of wine. I’ll do better next time. I really enjoyed myself,” she said sheepishly.
“It’s not any of those things. You didn’t do anything wrong . It’s just that,” I paused and tried to think of something to say that would satisfy us both.
“It’s just that I, well, I’m different . I desire certain things in a woman, and you don’t possess the qualities I require. To continue wouldn’t be fair to you or to me either one,” as I finished speaking, I realized I hadn’t really offered much explanation.
“How would you know I don’t have what you want? We spent one night together. One. Give me some time,” she pleaded, her eyes glistening from the tears that began to well.
“Time won’t change anything. I like you Katelyn. It’s simply that, well…” I hesitated, realizing this wasn’t going as easily as I expected it to.
“There’s not a future in us continuing to see each other on a romantic level.” I said, my voice trailing to an almost whisper.
Satisfied, I exhaled and picked my cup of coffee up from the table.
It was immediately apparent Katelyn had no intent on continuing to attempt anything with me, romantic or otherwise. I had, for whatever reason, become something she found tasteless; and she began to spit me out.
“No future on a romantic level? Romantic? Fucking fine. Just fine,” she barked as she stood from her chair.
“I bet if you fucked me you’d be singing a different song, you rich little prick. You’d be begging me to stay. You don’t know what you’re missing you fucking douche,” she snapped.
Immediately Katelyn turned, walked toward the stairs, and stopped as she gripped the handrail. Standing there, the handrail in one hand and her purse in the other, she turned to face me. Over her left shoulder she stared my direction, as if there was something else she wished to say, but was incapable. Her lip quivered.
And she began to softly cry.
The part of me that felt at least a portion of what she was feeling wanted to stand and comfort her. The sensible part of me told me to remain seated and look through her and not directly at her. As I peered over her shoulder at the light fixtures suspended from the ceiling, I watched her blurry silhouette slowly turn and walk down the stairs.
As I
The thought of which provided me with comfort.
And pain.
PARKER. Life is far more abrasive in experiencing its individual components than the sum itself. I liken it to the ingredients that make up a recipe. For instance, grilled beef tenderloin in Cabernet sauce first requires balsamic vinegar, garlic, rosemary, peppercorns, olive oil, and salt for the steak marinade. Individually, or standing alone, none of these ingredients are very palatable.
The steaks, once soaked overnight in this marinade and grilled, clearly define how an herbed, spiced filet mignon should taste. Regardless of the quality of the latter prepared Cabernet sauce, the steaks are merely chunks of grilled meat without the initial marinade. The sum of ingredients will develop something to be enjoyed by all who partake in the meal. Individually, the ingredients are repulsive at best.
I believe life can be compared to cooking in many respects. We know not to add vanilla to spaghetti sauce. In a batch of our favorite cookies, however, it may be quite tasty. Additionally, a slice of bell pepper which may work well in a salad would be out of place in a German chocolate cake. I feel I need to be cautious of the people I permit into my life no differently than I would be careful of the ingredients I would include in a recipe. I suppose a good recipe for life would be to allow nothing into it, knowingly at least, which is bitter.
It’s disappointing we aren’t able to simply spit people out that don’t taste well.
“Maybe I had one too many glasses of wine. I’ll do better next time. I really enjoyed myself,” she said sheepishly.
“It’s not any of those things. You didn’t do anything wrong . It’s just that,” I paused and tried to think of something to say that would satisfy us both.
“It’s just that I, well, I’m different . I desire certain things in a woman, and you don’t possess the qualities I require. To continue wouldn’t be fair to you or to me either one,” as I finished speaking, I realized I hadn’t really offered much explanation.
“How would you know I don’t have what you want? We spent one night together. One. Give me some time,” she pleaded, her eyes glistening from the tears that began to well.
“Time won’t change anything. I like you Katelyn. It’s simply that, well…” I hesitated, realizing this wasn’t going as easily as I expected it to.
“There’s not a future in us continuing to see each other on a romantic level.” I said, my voice trailing to an almost whisper.
Satisfied, I exhaled and picked my cup of coffee up from the table.
It was immediately apparent Katelyn had no intent on continuing to attempt anything with me, romantic or otherwise. I had, for whatever reason, become something she found tasteless; and she began to spit me out.
“No future on a romantic level? Romantic? Fucking fine. Just fine,” she barked as she stood from her chair.
“I bet if you fucked me you’d be singing a different song, you rich little prick. You’d be begging me to stay. You don’t know what you’re missing you fucking douche,” she snapped.
Immediately Katelyn turned, walked toward the stairs, and stopped as she gripped the handrail. Standing there, the handrail in one hand and her purse in the other, she turned to face me. Over her left shoulder she stared my direction, as if there was something else she wished to say, but was incapable. Her lip quivered.
And she began to softly cry.
The part of me that felt at least a portion of what she was feeling wanted to stand and comfort her. The sensible part of me told me to remain seated and look through her and not directly at her. As I peered over her shoulder at the light fixtures suspended from the ceiling, I watched her blurry silhouette slowly turn and walk down the stairs.
As I
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