Explode a moment

Laurie
Explode a moment
Lake Forest Starbucks, July 21, 2007

By the time I board the plane, I can’t remember what Richard looks like. There is a picture of him on my computer, but I don’t know his size or how his body fits with mine. I don’t know who we are together because we aren’t yet something. I wear a black dress with straps in the back, so he will see a bird flying. It’s an early plane, and I don’t sleep. I look at the plane’s wing slicing clouds and try to picture Richard’s shoulder. The dress is uncomfortable and I look tired.

He is waiting at the end of the walkway. We are on cell phones, and I’m pulling my little trolley, clip clopping on high heels. A shop on one side sells tiny cactus plants. There is a newspaper stand, a Starbucks, and then the security tables and conveyor belts. Beyond that is a slender arrow in black with a cap of silver hair. He has his weight on one leg. I am beside his smile, and he circles me, but before that I feel something leave my body. A ghost of fear moves out. His eyes scrunch up like little fists, and we touch.