She came up for the weekend for a conference and asked to stay with me downtown. I hadn’t seen her since college, when she had been a junior and I was graduating. Now, 2 years later I met her at the door to my building to carry her bags up to the apartment. I asked about her trip and she commented on the decorations in the lobby. We got her things up where she immediately changed for the opening dinner of the conference and left.
I had given her a key to the building and said I’d leave the apartment door unlocked for her. Still I was startled when the door opened and she strode in about 10 o’clock. I had been relaxing in my red chair, reading with a record on and the game on tv muted, sipping a scotch. I asked if she’d like anything as she lay her purse on the counter. She asked what I had and I turned toward my glass on the end table, said whiskey, and began the other offerings but she cut me off asking what kind. I replied scotch and she said, “that on ice then.” As I turned to the drinks. She examined my HiFi setup for the first time since college, then perused the record collection, pulled one from its sleeve and changed it with the one on currently. It was Billy Joel’s Songs in the Attic. As I turned with the drinks I saw her gently replace a picture of me taken as a boy with my grandparents. I handed hers over and said, “please, sit where you like.” She opted for a barstool at the counter as I resumed my place in the red chair.
As Billy began the first verse - “I’ve seen the lights go out on Broadway...” - she said how this song reminded her of that time singing along on a night the spring I graduated. I remarked on the good ole days but she had gotten up, was lost in the music and mesmerized by the swirling snow. At the interval between songs I asked how her evening had been and she said dry. As side one wound down I rose and started for her glass asking if she’d like another. She turned and said “you know, I haven’t had too much” as I moved towards the counter and the bottle. “And the conference paid for a hotel for the weekend,” I uncapped the bottle then replied, “Oh...?” I was raising it to pour my glass when she said, “And we don’t work together anymore,” I stopped, put the bottle down next to my still empty glass, “Oh,” this time. I was trying to pour again but she had already closed the distance between us and her hand had brushed mine as she took my glass. Setting it on the counter, “But this is where I belong,” she said leaning into a kiss.
I had given her a key to the building and said I’d leave the apartment door unlocked for her. Still I was startled when the door opened and she strode in about 10 o’clock. I had been relaxing in my red chair, reading with a record on and the game on tv muted, sipping a scotch. I asked if she’d like anything as she lay her purse on the counter. She asked what I had and I turned toward my glass on the end table, said whiskey, and began the other offerings but she cut me off asking what kind. I replied scotch and she said, “that on ice then.” As I turned to the drinks. She examined my HiFi setup for the first time since college, then perused the record collection, pulled one from its sleeve and changed it with the one on currently. It was Billy Joel’s Songs in the Attic. As I turned with the drinks I saw her gently replace a picture of me taken as a boy with my grandparents. I handed hers over and said, “please, sit where you like.” She opted for a barstool at the counter as I resumed my place in the red chair.
As Billy began the first verse - “I’ve seen the lights go out on Broadway...” - she said how this song reminded her of that time singing along on a night the spring I graduated. I remarked on the good ole days but she had gotten up, was lost in the music and mesmerized by the swirling snow. At the interval between songs I asked how her evening had been and she said dry. As side one wound down I rose and started for her glass asking if she’d like another. She turned and said “you know, I haven’t had too much” as I moved towards the counter and the bottle. “And the conference paid for a hotel for the weekend,” I uncapped the bottle then replied, “Oh...?” I was raising it to pour my glass when she said, “And we don’t work together anymore,” I stopped, put the bottle down next to my still empty glass, “Oh,” this time. I was trying to pour again but she had already closed the distance between us and her hand had brushed mine as she took my glass. Setting it on the counter, “But this is where I belong,” she said leaning into a kiss.
