Thursday, Jan. 23, 2003
against the skin.
Christopher makes Dee and I tea, as we stand on the other side of the marble counter. I tell him, that tonight I am going to shave the beard off. He stands behind the counter measuring out the tiny leaves and tells me I should keep it.
Christopher suggested that I grow the beard out in the first place.
I didn't like it.
I didn't like the way it felt against the skin.
He says: Keep the soul patch.
Me: I like the soul patch. The soul patch stays.
He says: Yeah!
Dee says: Those are my brother's names. Nick and Chris.
He says: That us: gifts and travel.
I say: Children and travel. He is the Patron Saint of children. Though I like giving gifts.
Dee says: Didn't try to give me your St. Christopher medallion before I flew to SF.
Me: yes.
We stand on the street, smoke and talk. The air is too cold for the conversation to be entirely enjoyable, and I walk you halfway home.
I say: I can't stand it. I take steps. I take sure steps away, and I end up in the same place.
Dee reminds me why.
Dee reminds me of what I am missing, and some part of me wants to kick her.
She always thought the world of you.
She talks about Christine and stops, and is quiet for a while at the corner.
Dee holds out her mittened hand.
Dee says: Let's make a pack not to speak of the exes again.
I shake her hand, under the street light, in the blue lady gloves she gave me for Christmas. I pull her close and say good night.
Dee says it softly into my left ear.
Dee whispers: I'm a little worried about you.
I cross the street and wave back her. Wave and wave and wave.
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