Wednesday, November 6, 2013

Dear Asa (Part One)

Do you remember when we first started dating, October of 1996, back when we both worked at Locally Owned Large Book Store? We would pass each other letters and notes and poems throughout the day. More than once, even though we worked across the street from each other, you had flowers delivered to me at work. When we moved in together in February of 1997, we still wrote little notes now and then, but time passed and we fell out of the habit. Love notes became grocery lists, fix-it memos, appointment reminders.

I miss reading those hastily scribbled feelings and thoughts on whatever scraps of paper were to hand. I miss writing those awful poems. I miss the literary side of our relationship. Maybe when you read this, you might remember some of them and stop laughing long enough to write back to me.

Here.  In the blog.  It shouldn't be too weird. After all, we still have all those to-do lists, but now they're kept on phones and tablets.

I'll start. We'll do some "remember when" stuff.  I remember autumn down on the farm, our first place together. We went for walks down to the Rio Grande with the dogs. Sarah, being fat and lazy, would go to the edge of the alfalfa field and plop down to wait for us, it being too cold to go swimming. Wolfgang, being happy and brainless, couldn't wait and would bound out ahead of us. We'd slog through the dying tangled overgrowth of trees and fallen branches - I can close my eyes and smell it, can't you? One time we found a couch in the middle of a tiny clearing. A nasty, once-green couch with ruptured cushions. Wisely, we did not look too close. Wolfgang would charge into the water, realize it was cold, and bound right back out, muddy and shivering and joyous. I remember the light through the yellowed leaves being perfect. We were about as broke as broke gets and life to me, right then, was perfect.

And what should you write to me about? Nothing at all. Like I just did. Just like the old days.