Empire State of Ira Lightman

Jack says, “I’ll meet you on the Empire State,” meaning the top, at a prescribed time, carrying flowers.

“What for?” I ask him, sure we’re past grand gestures which are essentially superficial moves with ulterior motives. We’ve had sex, what more could he want?

“There can be romance in anniversary, in marking pasts, futures, constructing events that mean nothing to people who aren’t us, enacting movies we’ve not seen and ones that we have, sure that our lives are more Tom Hanks Castaway, than Meg Ryan New York. But we’ll try, suggest places in cities spread out on classroom maps, flat, inaccurate. And we won’t make most of them, don’t have the cash or stamina to see the settings of movies, aren’t actors with wages enough to get flowers each time we fuck up. But this, the first, give me it. Meet me. Pretend we think this will last.”

“Okay,” I say but I’m minutes late and he leaves and I list what I’ve stolen in life, from whom, and I figure how to give it back. Starting with Ira.

20120318-182923.jpg

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s