Remembering Forever

I stand in front of the bookstore where the café inside begs my entrance.  I take a moment and gaze up at the life-sized, green, neon letters that gleam in the sunlight.  A sweet mixture of cinnamon mocha and chocolate chip cookie tickles my nose when I open the door.  I sweep the crumbs off of an empty chair with my hand and settle into it.  My mind fogs and I forget where I am or what I am doing. 

A piece of paper and a pen make their way out of my purse and onto the table in front of me.  The blue lines dance with their pink partner and I watch in confusion.  I pick my head up, narrow my eyes, and concentrate on the large chalkboard that hangs on the wall behind the cash register.  The white words on the drink and pastry menu become foreign and escape my comprehension.  

I look around the café.  It is then that I see you.  I stare.  Even though it’s impolite, I stare long and hard before I dart my eyes.  It seems like forever since I last saw those eyes.  Yet, it hasn’t been long enough to forget.  I could never forget.  Those eyes, those vast aquatics of seaweed green, drown me.  They bring me back.  Thoughts of the two of you linger long after the tire tracks fade from our driveway…

The first time we saw her hands we thought her fingers

looked like five miniature diamonds on the end of a strand

of pearls. “I spy” games every Sunday at Barnes and Noble

since the day she learned to walk.  The night you serenaded

me with “Kumbaya,” off key, after an argument.  The first

time she laughed. The time the Denny’s manager asked us

to take our game of “tickle monster” outside.  Loud,

resonating laughter from deep inside you every time I made

that face.   

There you are, right there, in front of me.  But, how can that be and where is she?  Nothing makes sense.  Yesterday a memory, a dream, and today you exist.  But, it can’t be, you are not real anymore.  Were you ever?  Was she?  It feels like I spoke to you just the other day.  It feels like yesterday when last I heard her laughter.  But, that’s impossible.  I wonder what I am doing in the bookstore.  I shouldn’t be here despite the doctor’s insistence that I get out of the house.  I look around the café and then at all the books out in the store.  Books, chairs, people, and tables blur together…