She had never been in a bar so empty, so silent.
Are you open yet? she asked, and the bartender nodded. He poured her beer, and she carried it to a table a few feet away, wanting to stay close to another human being, but too self-conscious to sit facing him.
She considered making a song request. It’s so strange not to hear music, she said.
Sometimes, when I do this, people get bothered, he replied. They can’t handle their own thoughts. They ask me to turn something—anything—on.
No one told her they planned to wrap the bridge in stars.
It rained the night they did it, but starlight made slick just sparkles more beautifully, and all the people could wear their most colorful galoshes out into the dark to see it for themselves. She ordinarily disliked surprises, but on this day, clustered there with the others, she, too, let loose a soft gasp of pleasure.
She realized how different they were when he began talking about how much he feared bridges, that he thought driving over them was like traversing a steel and concrete tightrope.
She had always loved the way they arced through the sky, carrying all those who crossed toward possibility. They made her feel as if she were flying across the water.
I had no idea, she said, already seeing a new span open out to whatever would follow.
I feel for the poor guy, said the man next to me at the crepe stand. My wife was here telling him, no dairy, no butter, no this, no that. I’m just here to make sure he follows through.
He watched the crepe-maker fold the buckwheat shell over Nutella and strawberries. Please leave it on there extra time, he said to the chef. She likes it crispy.
I know exactly what she likes, he said to me with a conspiratorial tilt of his head. After 52 years, I know all the secrets.
There is ritual to the boxing of a life, to wrapping all the fragile things in paper, to deciding what to cast off and what to keep. Things fall away, like the cards from a lifetime ago that tumbled from a stack moved four times too many. Other things are made more precious by history and time.
Seal one box, then another. Bid farewell to the before, then uncrate the future. Let the packing paper fall around your feet, then discard it like letters from a long-forgotten past.
The man and I stared at the puddle on the floor as the elevator descended toward the lobby.
“I’m not really sure what that’s from,” I said. “I hope it’s from someone who just went to the pool. Or maybe from a dripping umbrella.”
“I try not to think about it,” he replied. “Always wear close-toed shoes.”
Are you cooking this year? asked the woman from the egg farm.
I am, I replied, and I’ll admit I growled a little—my arms ached from carrying overloaded bags through the crowded market.
She smiled as her son inspected each egg for cracks, turning them all over to check one side, then the other. It will bring you good fortune, she said. It is a lot of work, but when it’s over, good things come in.
I dreamt of everything ahead as I carried the eggs home in a bag over my shoulder, keeping them safe under my arm.
100 Proof 