Now an adult, spending an hour with the man I love feels like a second. After two weeks away from the city together, frolicking on the west coast, I hollow out when he leaves. No one, me in particular, is allowed to be so happy. I am a collector of debt, guilt, lost memories... suddenly replete with joy. With all i am made of, thank you, someone, as surely I alone cannot be given credit for keeping this man in my life.
Back in NY, overwrought that we are now separated, he back to Boston and me skipping work, on an apartment chase. Head and heart in my throat after the day's efforts prove fruitless and... oh. Wait, is that my college roommate walking past my coffee guy? She, always so reckless and irresponsible while I tightly folded my toilet paper squares and double knotted my shoelaces in an attempt to capture a sense of purpose. She survived college with no knowledge of laundry nor driving, and never needed either. The eternal NYC native with devil red unkempt waves and smudgy black eyes vs. the suburban ballerina who could have been. No it's not her, just a mirror-image of her shadow from ten years ago. Remembering Sour gummy and PBR dinners chased down with stolen shopping cart races allows a flash of exhilaration, but this is quickly replaced by the weight of fixing EVERYTHING in her life and the word is out: I have quit babysitting-- no children, no naives. Our New York does not exist anymore. Momentarily I feel old and predictable... but the thought of nesting with my sweep makes me giddy and I walk on.