Tuesday, August 14, 2007


We would get thrown out of diners because we would stay for hours just talking and getting free refills. I would try to make it seem like I happened to be in the area, but you knew, and you'd be looking out the window for me when I'd look up as I approached your building. You liked when I'd run my fingers through your hair, and you were nice to everyone, almost to a fault. We kept each other warm under a sleeping bag on that floor in that freezing apartment while Brazil ran on a rented video cassette and the sun came up while people slept around us. We talked on the rocks under the moon surrounded by ocean. You finally got up the nerve to give me a peck on the cheek as you got out of that cab at Grand Central and got on a train back up to Lake George. Was that the last time we saw each other? No, I went to that Quaker boarding house you ended up in. We watched Thirtysomething, even though I hated that show, and then went up to your room and talked and listened to the Violent Femmes. You became the last friendship casualty I let my girlfriend take. I tracked you down years later, but your jealous boyfriend didn't like it, and I suppose it was a well deserved dose of my own medicine. I still consider you the one that got away.


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