you won't remember, i probably will

saturday afternoon in december. my mind is a mess from the drinking the night before. after two hours wandering around the apartment in a daze i say 'fuck this' and catch the fast train into the city. the snow is swirling down from a concrete sky. it doesn't feel as cold as it should.

on the train i fold over my fleece coat and wedge it between my head and the window. i fall asleep right before reaching the station and when i am forced to exit the train i am even more disoriented than i had been back home.

i walk the empty blocks to my office. passing sixth i see crowds of holiday shoppers up the avenue but on these side streets there is no one. i walk into the building and nod at the security guard but he's asleep. it's one of those days, i tell myself. the world wants to just curl up and be asleep.

somewhere else, far from here, i think, it is sunny and warm. the opposite.

i get to my desk and turn on the monitor, graze over the news and sports listlessly. the quiet is unsettling but at the same time comforting; i know i'm alone here and it puts me at ease. outside the large picture windows the empire state building is barely visible. the roofs are all coated in white like powdered sugar liberally sifted over the entire city. in the distance yellow cabs with their lamp-like headlights on coast slowly in long strings northward. i am alone but it is peaceful.

at 4:30 i find an email from beth. this one isn't like the old ones, when she had a boyfriend and i worried he'd find out about that day we took a drive out to stone mountain, when she--these aren't like the old days. in it she talks about how her day went: pier one, buying candles, lunch at ruby tuesday with her sister, cleaning the apartment.

i suddenly feel a weight in my heart and i call her up. voicemail. i hang up.

i sit and watch the snow swirling around. summer is a distant memory. as i'm turning the computer off and getting ready to leave, the phone rings.

she apologizes for not picking up earlier. she's getting ready to leave for a wedding in alpharetta. it's ok, i tell her, nothing special, just wanted to say hello. she says we'll talk later and i tell her to drive safe. she sounds happy and excited and i imagine the 30 minute drive through a warm, sunny afternoon.

i hang up and sit staring out the window some more. it was just a car ride.

it's history.