I will Wait in this Moment, Until I Grow Wings
I remember the sheets most of all. They were so cold with their unforgiving stiffness. We were watching Becoming Jane, and you kept asking me to explain each important scene. I loved that about you — never, ever afraid to admit ignorance. I wish I was the same.
I remember a blissful heaviness, the kind you push back against but secretly want to pull you away into a nonnegotiable sleep. I was happy. I surely shouldn’t forget to mention that.
We were laying there together, side by side, in a room I doubt I’ll ever see again. Its features are fading fast from my memory, but that pale TV light has imprinted its supernatural spirit firmly.
This was the precious moment… and though I know not how many minutes were stolen to stretch our spand in time, I do know that I miss you.
I miss you enough to go back to that deserted place just to feel the remains of your warmth again. I could pretend that it is real, real enough to fill the void, even if with some artificial glimpse at my own past. You could be whole again, if I only found that place again.
I don’t remember giving in to that faithful call provoked by tiredness, but it must have been quite easy to give in and let go. I cannot think of a soul and body that made me feel more safe.
But at some point in our rest you must have needed reassurance that I had not gone and left our moment for some more persuasive dream. I was startled by your suddent and unapologetic attempt to find me through the foggy haze of slumber.
I was there.
I was not going anywhere.
Maybe it should have been me reaching out for you.
You curled, like a cloud of smoke, becoming crescentic beside me. Grabbing my hand, you whispered “I love you,” like an angel calling me home to my seemingly absent creator.
I was asleep, but found myself saying those tear-filled words back to you. It must have been my hearts first utterance — it must have been the truth.
Above all else, far, far above the sheets and TV light, I remember your hold on my rougher hand and the sureness in your grip. Looking back at it now it was not unlike when I held your hand in that Italian tattoo parlor far too long ago — only this time my palm hadn’t gone purple and pins and needles never came. I could feel your eternal summer warmth and smell you faint laundry soap.
I was happy.
I hadn’t realized I could have such honest moments with you, but time proves I’m the fool. You were never a lost love or momentary romantic loss, you were my best friend and you flew away.
You are still my best friend and this was our moment. I will live in this precious intangible space… I will wait here until I can grow my own wings and fly away too.
