Archive for coffee

The Road to Monterey

Posted in Prose with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 3, 2009 by 1writegirl

I was nervous about our reunion, afraid his feelings might have changed. Yet he held me tight when he saw me, and we talked for hours over late night breakfast at Denny’s, where the coffee is always hot. When we fell into bed, it felt to me like coming home after an exhaustive journey to a faraway place. Fever held within gradually released, hungry hands and mouths seeking and finding, replaced by trust passing through layers of body and soul all mixed up together. The following night I asked for the words. Do you love me? Absolutely. And I sighed with relief, all was right with the world.

The next day we grabbed a coffee, headed north out of San Luis Obispo. We thought about taking 101 all the way to Monterey, and my mind flitted briefly to Steinbeck and Cannery Row, and flop houses where hookers were groomed to be wives. But I got the stupid idea to go look at studios instead; I thought it was what we both wanted. But that night he told me, I don’t want to make plans of any kind right now. I just want to work and take each day one step at a time, Ok? I agreed, and drove back to Oregon, where the days pass much like they did before, except now when he writes to say, Nothing’s changed, he’s careful to never say I love you or even to say I miss you; too afraid, I suppose, that doing so might give me the wrong idea. It feels sometimes like we’re going backwards, until I remember that we have never been here before.

So I follow his lead, putting my right foot forward as his left goes back, wishing for Audrey Hepburn’s grace, my form shadowing his. Letting him set the pace and holding on ever so loosely, just enough to keep the connection. He makes occasional reference to us in the unveiling of his soul, as only a true poet can do, letting the frayed edges of his hope slide across the face of my beating heart. Reminders that there are no formulas, or calendars in love, only roads that sometimes take unexpected turns, with yield signs, or miles of traffic that hamper your yearning for speed; sometimes closed for construction, sometimes newly paved. Reminders that it might take more than one cup of coffee on the road to Monterey.

Unexpected Bonuses of Being Apart from the One You Love, And, What I Miss Most

Posted in Prose with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 29, 2009 by 1writegirl

On the Plus Side: Beneficial Byproducts of Separation

You get to lose weight, without even trying.

You have sudden bursts of energy, especially after you’ve just heard from him, which make you very productive indeed.

You now have time to do all those little mundane chores you put off doing while he was here, like defrosting the freezer, clipping your toenails, and organizing your car’s maintenance and repair records.

You remember that you had a life of your own before he came along, and you’ve got one still. I’ve always, without exception, taken care of myself, and I am not dependent on someone else for my happiness (this kind of self-talk, which I picked up through many fruitful visits to therapists over the years, can be very useful.)

You are forced to make a choice between falling victim to your insecurities, or trusting that voice inside of you which tells you that sometimes you have to let go of that which means the most to you. That doesn’t mean pretending your feelings don’t exist, it means not allowing them to be demanding. This is the same voice that popped up out of nowhere the first day we met, took one look at him and in bewildered awe, said, It’s Him. Yass, I do believe it’s really Him. You remind yourself he’s got a voice too, and from time to time it inspires him to write poems about you, poems that speak of hope. You trust yourself because you have to. You trust him, because your love isn’t worth much if you don’t.

On the Down Side: What I Miss Most

Cooking, shopping, and writing together.

Going for a walk, particularly after dark.

Going and getting lattés and cappuccinos in the morning, afternoon, whenever, just because it feels like a good time for coffee.


Hearing him say, “How come you’re so hot?”, “What do you see in me?” and “God, I love you.”

Just hanging out together.

Touching him.

His fingers in my hair.

Conversations with your best friend. About anything & everything. While eating breakfast or at two in the morning, with no barriers, walls, or secrets.

His kisses. Like manna from heaven, life-affirming. They are a language unto themselves.

I miss these two things from the deepest places within me.