Elle est de taille moyenne.

I broke down before you showed up. Crying shaking. You knew as soon as you saw me. I couldn’t even look at you because the comfort you posses would have made me breakdown again. You followed me asking what was wrong as I floured zucchini. I kept my head down so far I felt like nothing existed other than the pan of flour and your voice. That night you were doubled over on the box freezer holding in your organs in. I told you to go home & that I would stay the extra hour for you. You said “no. You had a bad day too.” I smile and say “not as bad as whatever this is. You look pathetic.” I walked back inside. You hobble in a couple minutes later to gather your things. “I’m air hugging you because you don’t like to be touched”. I wrapped my arms around you and told you good luck getting home.

We’re talking about how politicians are ruining the country, how college credits don’t make sense, & other ramblings. You laugh nervously at one point and crouch down. “I was going to wait to tell you this right before you left, & I don’t mean it the way a lot of people say it, but you need to have kids. Or be around kids as they grow. Because this world needs more people like you.”

Dozens of hamburgers buns over one shoulder. Packs of 8 inch rolls clawed between sides of fingers left. All to take inside. Cigarette in mouth… with a fully seated patio of guests to walk through. Looking for a place to drop it. I’ve seen you spit cigs out of your mouth for less. You lean towards me & I know what you’re asking, so I grab it from your mouth. You thank me with my name in a different tone. It’s burnt out by the time you come back outside. But we smoke a bowl & talk.

“I figured out how I’ll remember you. I saw pepper spray today walking through a store and thought, ‘they need that’ but then immediately thought, ‘No. they have the taser’. So crazy how my mind makes these connections to you now. And Levi will always be boiled peanuts.”

“Everything I need is where you are”

We’re talking politics when we’re about to part ways & you stumble as you say, just slightly out of context— “they’re going to forget, you know that, right?” Initially, I’m shocked. But as your voice, with your words, reverb through my brain, I understand. “I know, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

November didn’t even exist before I met you.