one morning in September, i walked from my brick shotgun 1 bedroom apartment (with the old school black and white tiled bathroom hung with blue lights), to the Straw Ibis coffeehouse, at that time the only independent coffeehouse in Logan, Utah.
When I walked up to the counter to order, the barista handed me a cappuccino and said someone had already paid. I insisted they had mistaken me for someone else, but she maintained someone was expecting me.
I found him in the back room, smiling at me over his cup
having driven through the night to surprise me in the morning.
(without warning, mind you.)
: the sort of surprise that lets you feel the open space
around your throbbing heart
(exhilarating, terrifying gravity).
We walked to the farmers market, where we bought a loaf of bread
dizzy and drunk on each other, with the Wasatch Mountains leaning into the autumn sky overhead. I dared to think i might live this way;
loved by someone who would drive 890 miles through the night
to surprise me for coffee
and who promised he would never
let me hide from myself.
It is seven years on now, and just now he surprised me again
We don’t touch this gravity quite so often anymore.
I head to work as he comes home, most days. We are bleary eyed after my late nights waitressing, and 3 am wakeups with the babe, and his early mornings headed to work. We are worried about money, and the car, and our old house. We are behind on dishes, laundry, and yardwork. There are days when we’re not sure how we’ll pull it all off,
except for that we take turns being confident there’s a way
and every now and then
one of us remembers to take it back to 2005
and we are Right Here again,
and grateful enough
to go on for years.