100 Proof

At the horizon, sailboats circled each other like dancing girls, leaning into wind that billowed their skirt-like sails. They had found the one place where the sun punched through the fog, and from the bridge, it appeared as if their patch of ocean was another country, one where life is a little brighter, a little slower.

Ahead, the city lay shrouded from summer by a layer of clouds, and cars moved faster than boats. Drivers furrowed their foreheads as the wind buffeted their vehicles. They had their chosen roads. They did not wish to be wind-driven.

“I had a drink that I liked,” he said. “I think it was called the Earth and Sand.”

“Blood and Sand?” I asked.

“Maybe that’s it,” he said. “I guess earth and sand are the same.”

“Not exactly,” I said. “It’s all a matter of particulate and size.”

“I hope I don’t run into him,” I said. “I really don’t want to see him again.”

“You won’t,” she said. “But if you keep thinking you will, you know what will happen.”

“I don’t think I will,” I said.

“You need to believe it, though,” she said. “The universe knows when you’re lying to it.”

“I didn’t move to Laurel Heights because I couldn’t bear to live under the watch of the Angel Moroni,” she said.

I stared up the hill at the white temple, then at the houses that surround it. I live under my own watch, but also could not bear to live there, where I drove only once, but where I still, if I look closely through the fog, see a sliver of my heart beating.

“I don’t even know how to use this,” he said, taking the glowstick from my hand.

“You don’t have to know,” I said. “You just have to dance.”

He nodded and took the lit plastic, wielding it like a robot until he passed it back.

“Thank you,” he said. And then he disappeared into the jostling crowd. For a moment, I was sorry to see him go.

Here is what I remember: I asked the flight attendant for another bourbon and ginger every time I finished the previous one, I played the same song on my CD player until it embedded itself in my brain, and before we landed, Air Canada played the first 2/3 of Some Like It Hot, which isn’t nearly enough for satisfaction.

My carefully constructed life had already crumbled well before boarding. But 10 years later, I want to hold that girl’s hand and tell her: You are not flying into the end of your life. You are flying into the beginning.

“This is so very interesting,” I said.

“How does it feel?” he asked. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I can’t tell you right now,” I said.

I’ll be able to tell you later, I thought, after it has all filtered through the layers of charcoal and earth that make up my heart.

I’ll be able to tell you later, I thought, after I’m not looking directly into your eyes.