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I Just Want To Remember This

March 3, 2014

I got home today from visiting my Dad’s and made it to the park in time for a walk before the sun set.

I was texting Z as I walked. He was telling me about Saturday night on Bourbon Street. Apparently it’s the thing to do if you’re an Indian student. Go to Bourbon Street around Mardi Gras and observe the debauchery. Last year Z had his one and only experience with drinking. Z doesn’t drink. This year, he took some younger guys with him and decided against drinking after a couple of sips from someone else’s concoctions. The Pavlovian connection between the taste of alcohol and the massive hangover he had experienced last year overpowered any urge to get drunk with the guys. He said Bourbon Street was full of Indian guys. I’ve never seen the French Quarter full of Indians. Now, I know where to go.

We hadn’t seen each other in a while and I missed the sound of his voice. I asked him if he was home and if I could come by for just 5 minutes to say hello. “No funny stuff,” I promised. He lives a block from the park. He said he was about to leave to go see a movie.

I got that weird feeling in my stomach again. That…..you know better….feeling. It would never occur to him to ask me to go see a movie with him. He’s probably going with the guys. Why do Indians segregate themselves so much? He might even be lying. He might not want me to come over. “What am I doing?” I asked myself for the hundredth time. I keep using the excuse that’s he’s probably leaving soon. Why break up with him if he’s just going to move in a few weeks? I’ve been coming up with excuses like that for over six months.

“Are you at the park,” he texted.

“Yeah, I’m about to bike home,” I replied.

“I’m driving that way.”

He pulled onto the one-way street where I park my bike just as I was unlocking it. The same spot he had shown up that day when we were supposed to be broken up. He rolled down his window and I leaned in to see him. “Hi,” I said.

“What’s up?” he asked. I looked in his eyes and for the hundredth time, I melted. He puts me under a spell with those eyes. He looks at me and it’s like he reaches into my mind, my heart, my soul and I’m helpless. His hair was freshly cut and neat. He had a sore throat and his voice was lower. His beard was trimmed and he was wearing an orange-checked button down shirt. I wanted to open the door and sit on his lap and kiss him forever. He told me more about his weekend. I told him about mine. He asked about friends. I asked about his.

“Kiss me goodbye,” I said after a few minutes of conversation.

He kissed me tenderly. I looked into his eyes. I kissed him again. “Mmmm,” I said, “I miss you.”

“I’ll see you soon,” he said.

I might forget that that moment happened. I’ll be heartbroken by him one day. I’ll be disillusioned or disappointed or it will simply play out the way it needs to. We will stop this one day. I’ll move on and grow and think back to my dalliance with Z as a silly, foolish thing. I’ll regret it, maybe.

I just want to remember the way he looked at me. I want to remember the feeling I had when his deep, dark, big eyes met mine. I want to remember how I melted in his presence before time and fate take that feeling away.

I want to record it so future me remembers what it was like when I was in love with Z.

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