August

The day that he left NYC I walked home slowly in the late afternoon sun and was hit with a strong feeling that the neighborhood wasn't the same one I had left behind on my way to work. In fact, morning seemed a lifetime ago and my neighborhood, our neighborhood, seemed to have lost something. Just as I had lost the rosy, romantic daydreams I once enjoyed strolling it's streets.

I spent a few weeks in this haze and then suddenly I no longer walked up the subway stairs and imagined him waiting for me on the stoop. I no longer looked out my bedroom window expecting to see him crossing the street. No longer did I anticipate his arrival and the door buzzer that would send a thrill through my body. He was gone, and the summer stretched before me.

About a month after he left there was a rather dramatic sign of the distance that was growing between us. The never ending rain in June caused the dramatic collapse of the building that housed Vespers, our favorite local bar. The bar where I realized late one night that I had forgotten my keys and would have to sleep over at his apartment. One of the oldest tricks in the book. We spent the next 12 hours in his one room, almost windowless flat. Time stood still. 12 hours of conversation, the two of us fully clothed and wrapped tightly around each other in his single bed. 12 hours that seemed to seal our friendship and determine the path we found ourselves traveling on.

But can one night really determine the course of a relationship? Can one personal really change the landscape of a neighborhood? Can one building really hold so much weight? The answer is yes (and no, in the case of the building). He was really gone, and like the building, he left nothing but debris and a fine dusting floating down from the sky. And the opportunity to rebuild.

I have found my way through this strange, rainy summer and while I have looked forward to August-and his return-it is suddenly here and I don't feel ready. As much as I have tried to push the thoughts of him away, he has remained at the back of my mind. His voice, with its funny pacific northwest inflections, his quirky way of looking at his world, his sweet chuckle. He has been back for a day now and, while I haven't seen him, I like knowing that we are once again sharing the same city. Tomorrow I will welcome him back to my neighborhood. Our first stop, checking out what remains of Vespers.