It’s Cold
I grew so impatient and lonely I started haunting the
streets looking for you. I spent hours
in the bookstore drinking lattes, pretending to read the heavy tomes of
philosophy I lugged [around] everywhere in an attempt to distract myself. I always arrived so sure you were
coming. So sure I had the right date and
time, though we’d never spoken of it.
Then it would grow later, my latte colder, and I would wonder what was
keeping you. Was the dog sick? Car trouble?
Made a left instead of a right at some important crossroads, and were
now frantically trying to find your way back to me. Then when it was obvious you weren’t coming
I’d tuck my broken heart back into my chest, reminding myself you never promised
you’d be there, you only promised to try.
Had you forgotten, fallen asleep, got stranded on a farm in
And so [off] I’d go, off to distract myself with a movie, wondering if you had just come in late and couldn’t find me in the darkened theater; would you be cruel enough to not search the darkness for me? To sit there quietly breathing the same air, but denying me the comfort of knowing you’d finally shown up.
A few days would pass and I would go to meet you at the café. I brought Atlas so I wouldn’t look so foolish waiting for you alone. And still I waited in vain.
I meandered through the Greek Festival like a wraith, unsettling the natives with my keening cry. I tried to keep quiet. How was I to know I was an entire year too early? How was I to know the vendor’s were answering honestly when they told me no one fitting your description had been around? Not that my description was much help: a man, twenty five to forty five years of age, one hundred and fifty to two hundred and fifty pounds, between five foot nine and six foot nine, not likely to be Irish or Asian (though I wasn’t positive about that.)
“Any distinguishing characteristics?”
“Of course, Oh Yes! Definitely. He loves me.”
Looking into the clerk, cashier, or vendor’s eyes I’d see compassion as they’d gently say, “but Miss, that could be anyone.” Though they were nice enough to leave the “or no one” unsaid. But they didn’t understand, not really.
I thought I caught sight of you at the Mediterranean place. I was sure I spotted you amidst the crowd at the cigar boat races. But when I got closer I realized it was only a passing resemblance.
And now today I search my memory frantically trying to recall where we said we’d meet. I can’t quite pin down exactly what we agreed on. Or when. Only that we would.
I hope I wasn’t supposed to wait for you on the bridge on
the
I’ve turned the ringers off on all the phones. It was becoming too comical, or sad. I would race to answer it when it rang, praying it was you. Fully aware of how foolish I was being. It couldn’t be you. I’d carelessly forgotten to give you my number or get yours, so sure we’d be seeing one another again shortly. And well, it’s not as if you can call information and ask.
“Information, your listing please?”
“I’m not sure what her name is, she didn’t have one when I knew her. I don’t know what city she lives in. But, please, won’t you give me her number. It’s important. She’s waiting for me to call.”
My friends have been very patient with me. Patronizing, but patient. Remember the Halloween party? They kept telling me come on, he’s not coming, and it’s time to go. But I begged. Please, just a little longer. I was drunk, and sick inside.
“Perhaps he’s having trouble with his fake beard, or his eye patch. Or wait, maybe he’s on the patio, or in the rest room, or parking the car.”
One of them would pull me aside, gently reminding me I’d checked the patio, and the restroom. Ten times. And the bar was closing soon. For a moment I almost buckled under my disappointment. Then I reminded myself you hadn’t forgotten, you couldn’t be intentionally not showing up just to hurt me. You’d just lost track of time, and would catch up with us over coffee.
Sometimes I wonder if the best place to look for you isn’t the last place I saw you. Unfortunately I can’t seem to find my way back there, or quite recall where that was.
Some mornings, as I walk along the river with Atlas, I wonder- is this where I last saw you? Is this where we agreed to meet? Am I early? Have I gotten the day wrong? Have you forgotten?
Please hurry, it’s cold here without you.
TS