Wish You Were Here
(Excerpt from the Winter on Cape Ann and Other Stories / Go West.)
Hello my dear. I’m not certain what I even have to say, other than I wish you were sitting here, across from me at The Lone Gull Coffeehouse, my local caffeinating hole. We’d talk about things, some unimportant and some important, and both would be important, and we’d be impressed by each other, and smile often, even when we were sad together. I’d see your smile and think you beautiful for your countenance and the words from your lips, and I’d remember the times we spent together in Rome, and I’d think of the food we shared as we shared each other, remembering you specifically, speaking lovingly of your father at the restaurant west of Piazza Navona where we ate and drank and wondered about each other and the naked men making fun above us. And here, in Gloucester proper, we’d share espresso and pizza and I’d take you to Scalfani’s and try to show you the beauty I found here, and you’d see it in the way you do, and it would be similar to the way I do, and we’d drink beers tonight at Latitude 43, the new 100 barrel series black IPA on tap, and we’d have some moscato from California at Giuseppe’s piano bar beforehand, and I’d sing a few songs for you and others, and I’d end my set with a slow sexy version of “Hey Ya,” and everyone would clap and you would too for other reasons, and I’d say bashfully thank you, and I’d smile, and for a little while just now, that was our day, you were here and we shared each other again, and it was enough for now, it was all there ever was, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop, because the chair across from me now looked empty without you there and my espresso was long finished and it was only two in the afternoon and it would be so long before I could reach out and touch you, and I hoped I already did.