On Fridays, I pick up Oliver after work, just around the early end of suppertime.
We get into the car and begin our 5-minute journey home. We take a route teeming with little houses, lined up on both sides of the street. I let my eyes go blurry for just a second, so that the lights look hazy, and dance. The lights that come from the inside of the houses. Then I return my focus, to see if I can catch a glimpse of life being lived by the glow of them. One evening, I looked to the left as I turned in the same direction, and my eyes fell upon an enclosed back porch, where an older couple was having supper. There was no time to tell if they were talking, or just sitting in silence, but there was a meal laid out on the table and they were suppering. In their summer porch. In the middle of winter. They were practicing companionship.
I struggle here, sometimes. There’s not a lot of ethnic diversity, which means there’s not a lot of ethnically diverse food, and there’s not a lot of community activities, and there’s not a lot of cute shops, or cute neighborhoods, or cute bakeries. I daydream about places I’ve lived that had such sweet things. Nic and I talk about other cities that intrigue us. We think about going to them. We consider and reconsider around the clock. I keep saying my dreams are elsewhere, my dreams are elsewhere. They involve walking neighborhoods and cafes aplenty, and multitudes of restaurants, and my dreams involve – if not living in these places full-time, at the very least, traveling FAR AND WIDE AND OFTEN.
I jot down notes. My notebooks are full. Things I’ve thought, or things I’ve said, or things I’ve heard, that he or she said. Things I want to do, places I want to go, books I need to read.
Recently I found one. It was written at the beginning of Nic and me, but even in the beginning, there was this unbelievable clarity. I knew what I’d found the second I met him. I knew who he was before I knew all his quirks. I knew that sitting next to him for a meal, night after night, would come to be the biggest privilege of my life.
And now I realize why, when Friday comes, and my heart speeds up as I approach the corner where I turn left, that my heart speeds up because I am witnessing the sweetest kind of life. The one that most accurately represents my dreams.