Saturday, October 13, 2001


Drive into the city. Check into the familiar hotel, walk through the familiar lobby, fall onto the familiar bed, and wait.

I try to sleep, I know it will be a while but I’m too keyed up. I should get a drink but I don’t want to miss her if she arrives while I’m in the bar. Every ten minutes or so I look out the window at the street below, and then look out the key hole in the door. It’s not a particularly rational action, but I’m juggling patience and impatience and I have to move around.

I need her like an antidote and yearn for her like Christmas; I’m burning like an ember starved for oxygen. At 1:25 am she walks through the door, and time, which had been crawling, flashes forward.

The embrace by the door lasts only a minute, but on a timeline of the evening it is larger than life, a caricature magnifying glass calls it out to fill half the page. We melt together “I love you I love you I love you…”

By 3:30 she’s gone and I can’t sleep. I’m reliving every moment, every word, and every touch. In two hours we caught up, napped, caressed, made love and napped again; life comes in flashes to be savored and relived for days.

For the rest of my life I will remember these days. I will remember them for their beauty and love, the perpetual backdrop of yearning, for their surreal storyline, and because the intensity of falling in love imprints every memory more indelibly.

Sunday, October 07, 2001


I didn’t get to kiss her today, or more accurately, I couldn’t. I’m fevered, draining and feeling like shit and it wouldn’t do to pass it on, especially not to the boy.

She didn’t bring him out today. When time is short like it was today, it is less difficult if she leaves him home. I miss him though, despite not yet feeling the right to love him, I have begun to. He is an adorable baby with his mother’s lips.

Today we had an hour. An hour during which she was so ravishingly beautiful that my head and heart ache to think about it, but an hour during which we were never alone. That was hard.

No woman in her mid thirties (especially one who has so recently given birth to a child) has any right to look the way she does. She is tiny (I can lift her with ease), firm, and startlingly curvaceous. The only woman I know I’d just as soon see in pants as in a skirt, she is equally arousing in either case. If we were together every day for a year it wouldn’t begin to dampen the animal surge I feel every time I lay eyes on her.

One hour, to embrace, touch, caress, run my fingers through her shiny black hair, tell our stories, and plan our next meeting. One hour when a year wouldn’t begin to satiate my ardor. I will long for her this entire week, like I do every other.

Despite the briefness of our interlude, we parted happy today. As my cab pulled away she followed along the sidewalk. She is beautiful always, but today she was riveting; no one else in the city existed while she was in my view. She smiled at me until my cab turned the corner; and I smiled back. Determined not to be sad, we faked it. And at least for a little bit, it worked.