“You and me, we’re like that movie. You know. That movie.”
“What movie?”
“Yeah. That movie.”
“What movie?”
“That movie – dammit – it’s totally about us.”
“What movie?”
“Stop saying that.”
[Suddenly, I knew what he was talking about. Even though we had never discussed it and it didn’t even seem like a movie he would have ever seen. Or referenced]
“Same Time Next Year?”
“With Alan Alda, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s us.”
“I’m ……. touched?”
“You should be.”
“You are a tiny elf creature.”
“No. I’m Sheila on a camping trip.”
Michael yawned in the middle of kissing me.
Me: “Holy shit, did you just yawn?”
He (yawning): “No.”
“We’re making out and YOU YAWN???”
Long pause.
“I’m tired.”
“Oh my God. This is the worst moment of my life.”
“Sometimes when we spend time together, do you ever feel like ……. Oh, never mind.”
“God, I hate it when you do that.”
“If I ever hear again that you were stranded on an L platform, scared you were going to be raped – and you didn’t call me to come get you? I’m serious, Sheila, I’ll never speak to you again. Don’t be fucking retarded like that again.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m fucking pissed.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I thought it was a funny story, now that it’s over.”
“It’s not funny.”
“Wow. Okay.”
“What are you doing here???”
“I’m … here to see you?”
“But … but … The Oscars!”
“I hate awards shows.”
[Long long long pause as he stared at me in wonder and dawning awe. Then:]
“I LOVE that I know this about you!!”
“What are you doing?”
“Memorizing your face. For later.”
“Memorizing your face for later.”
Good Christ.
Wow.
I know.
I knew I would need the memory for later. And I still do.
Oh, and I was using the Braille method on his face. Tracing the contours. Which is why he asked, “What are you doing?”
But I can still feel those contours now with my fingers.