Recent moments:
We sat at the bar and they were sitting next to us. He was a cowboy, a musician, a storyteller. His mustache curled up at the edges, and his t-shirt said, “Old people rule.” She had big eyes and kept her hand on his leg and interrupted his stories to make sure we knew just how talented and wonderful he was. He gave us his music. We bought them a beer.
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They sat on the porch steps and we sat on the grass as the moon came up. The cat drifted between us, rubbing against our legs and stalking insects.
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There was that one second when I realized I was looking into a video camera, and I thought, “which side is my good side?”
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He asked (in Spanish), “what is chicken-fried steak?” The other man tried to explain it to him. I loved that everything was in Spanish except the word “gravy.”
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There was an empty two-top next to the window, so I sat there and sipped my coffee and thought about MFK Fisher.
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When he kissed me on the forehead and said, “I’m so happy,” I knew it was because I was happy. And it made me happier.
