“It’s like quantum physics,” he said. I turned from looking at the TV to look at him, skeptical. He picked up his drink and continued. “Everything we touch is forever changed because we’ve touched it.”
“I don’t know anything about quantum physics,” I said, to keep him talking and because I don’t know anything about quantum physics. “But it reminds me of ‘The Road Not Taken’.”
“Oh it does?” he teased and sat up in his chair. I sat back in my chair, surprised he didn’t continue about quantum physics and napkins and paths crossing.
“It does,” I answered, smiling, sitting forward again. “Everyone thinks it’s the road less traveled, but it’s not.” I flushed and paused to decide if I should continue, and reached out to grab my drink.
“Robert Frost,” he said as he set down his beer. I took a drink and held the glass in my hand.
“In the poem both roads are equal, and both that morning equally lay, or something like that,” I said. “And he can’t go back, I doubt if I should ever return, or something. It’s not because he isn’t going back to the same place in the woods. It’s because he is changed because of the road he took. The he who was when he took the first road isn’t the he he is now. As soon as he takes one step on a road he is changed for having taken that step,” I said. “Ohmygod stop me from talking. I’m making a fool of myself.”
“No, you’re not,” he said, shaking his head and reaching for his beer. “What do you do?” he asked, taking another drink.
“I’m a writer,” I answered, reaching out for my beer.
“I’m a drummer,” he said, setting his beer down.
“We’re both artists then,” I said, setting my beer down. “I’m going to turn you into a story, just so you know,” I said, brushing the hair from my face.
“Oh you are?” he answered, raising one eye brow.
“Don’t worry. It won’t be true,” I said, and smiled.
*featured image “Beer on a table” by Paul Henman (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)