As I sit here, I remember the first Panera I ever went to.
It was in a strip mall close to my father's job.
The memories rush back. One after the next. Fluidly. They move. They dance.
The Old Country Buffet, where I was "8 years old" for about 3 years. The Borders, where my father and I listened to CDs in the 'Latin' music section. The movie theater, where I once lost my purse.
A Pause.
Moving faster, an ice cream place. Dairy Star. "Cherry-dipped vanilla ice cream, please." Every time.
A Twirl.
It moves west. It remembers the mini-golf course, where I first learned how to 'putt.'
A Jump.
Still, it moves. It remembers the Backyard Grill across the street from my father's shop, where we would get burgers for lunch. That white paper bag that I just couldn't wait to open.
A Slow Fall.
His shop. The smell of wood. The sight of so many colors of fabric. The sound of the upholstery stapler.
A Tempo Change.
Faster.
The year I lived with him. My bed made of two couches put together. My fish alarm. Our dog, Maggie. The ferret. The two-minute walk to the shop. Dial-up internet. Learning to sow. Learning to bike. Dancing to Christina Aguilera. His Harley Davidson. Singing to Selena. Birthdays. Recording music. Me on piano, him on guitar.
A Tear.
Silence.
Life is beautiful.
Ups and Downs.
Memories come and go.
A Slow Breath. Inhale. Exhale.
Gone.
The present. Three days until he is out.
A Small Step Forward.
The future. We will see each other again. Hope.
The dance ends.
A Bow.
It was in a strip mall close to my father's job.
The memories rush back. One after the next. Fluidly. They move. They dance.
The Old Country Buffet, where I was "8 years old" for about 3 years. The Borders, where my father and I listened to CDs in the 'Latin' music section. The movie theater, where I once lost my purse.
A Pause.
Moving faster, an ice cream place. Dairy Star. "Cherry-dipped vanilla ice cream, please." Every time.
A Twirl.
It moves west. It remembers the mini-golf course, where I first learned how to 'putt.'
A Jump.
Still, it moves. It remembers the Backyard Grill across the street from my father's shop, where we would get burgers for lunch. That white paper bag that I just couldn't wait to open.
A Slow Fall.
His shop. The smell of wood. The sight of so many colors of fabric. The sound of the upholstery stapler.
A Tempo Change.
Faster.
The year I lived with him. My bed made of two couches put together. My fish alarm. Our dog, Maggie. The ferret. The two-minute walk to the shop. Dial-up internet. Learning to sow. Learning to bike. Dancing to Christina Aguilera. His Harley Davidson. Singing to Selena. Birthdays. Recording music. Me on piano, him on guitar.
A Tear.
Silence.
Life is beautiful.
Ups and Downs.
Memories come and go.
A Slow Breath. Inhale. Exhale.
Gone.
The present. Three days until he is out.
A Small Step Forward.
The future. We will see each other again. Hope.
The dance ends.
A Bow.
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