I am slightly drunk and highly caffeinated. The process of getting this way was really fun, but now I feel kind of like shit. I am slurry and hyper, and my stomach hurts. The sun is high in the sky, yet it still finds its way to your face causing your left eye to squint, but even asymmetrical, your face is so beautiful.
“How about an ‘L’?” you ask.
“I have to pee,” I say, getting up in search of the restroom.
“Just tell me if there’s an ‘L’ first so I can think about the word while you’re gone.”
“There’s no ‘L’.” I draw a stick leg off the hanging torso and make my way inside the building only to find a line snaking around the corner, at least seven female bathroom-goers long. The problem with passing tipsy is that you forget to leave room for the possibility of waiting in line, and when you stand up all the Pinot and espressos do too, and you feel like a weeble wobble bloated from liquid and lacking balance.
When I return to the bench we have been occupying for the past three hours, my body is feeling much relieved, and the sun has worked its way to a different corner of the sky.
“It got a little chilly out here,” I say.
You smile. “Is there an ‘R’?”
I fill in one of the blanks. I notice that you’ve draped your gray scarf around you, and your yellow neck looks even longer wrapped in the thick dark yarn. It’s funny how silly I feel all of a sudden after spending the whole day with you. I mean, I’m glad things aren’t awkward. God, am I glad! It’s just funny how sober everything is fine, but now I feel paranoid.
“I know the word,” you say, putting your jacket around your shoulders. “Country.”
I nod, close the journal, and slip it into the Trader Joe’s tote I am using as a purse today. “Let’s get out of here,” I say.
You take my arm in yours, the way we used to but not the way we do now. I am excited and confused and furious. How is it any different now if we’re still doing the same things we’ve always done? I hold up the front as best as I can and yell at the pigeons ahead of us on the path.