Someone, somewhere…

“..Any kind of fool could see: I was wrong, and I just can’t live…” -Player, “Baby, Come Back”

So tell me…Do you think there is just one “right” person for each of us, or do you believe there are many? Will you know for sure when you meet that/those person(s), or will you just be given the opportunity with no guarantee of a successful outcome? Is there someone for everyone? I have to believe there is. Please let the answer be yes.

Sitting in a bar, smoking a cigarette (which he never used to do), looking at the people, and recognizing no one. He looks down awhile, at the smoke of the cigarette; while the present melts away once again to could have been, with all its crossroads and turning points in their relationship. The times he should have said yes. The times he should have said no. Had they just behaved differently..

Maybe it’s Oklahoma, or Texas, or Arkansas, driving through, towards an unknown point over the horizon, they stop for gas. His favorite songs always occupy the background while he stares and nods and looks at his love, smiling while pumping gas, mouth moving slow, comforting timbre, sparkling eyes… They will find a hotel soon. It has been a good day of driving. They are nowhere together, headed wherever, in love.

Now they are hundreds or thousands of miles from the other, no physical disruption between them. His love moved on years ago, attaching little significance to the experience anymore, and would actually feel an unexpected amount of pleasure from a chance encounter with him. Of course with the distance between them, this is impossibility. And besides, the past is the past, right?

They look at each other and smile as a noise or distraction snaps him back. He looks around to see if anyone else saw his tangent, and for the familiar face he longs to see. No one did, and he sees no one known. So he leaves, like he always does, no contact, unfulfilled, alone and invisible, as no one acknowledges his departure. It’s as if they know.

He drives the city streets towards home with the interior lights dimmed and radio off. He needs to concentrate, as he drank just a little too much again tonight. He looks at all the people he can, while he drives, just in case. He doesn’t fully give up on the night until his front door is re-locked and his coat is hung.

He goes to the kitchen and turns on the light. The fluorescent bulbs spark to life, accompanied by a comfortable hum. He fills a glass with tap water, shuts off the faucet, and sits at the table. He looks at the bottle of pills for a moment, the opens it, taking only one. “That should do it,” he thinks, washing the pill down, gulping twice, waiting, listening to the humming of the light.

They go into the restaurant and sit in a booth by the window. They are continuing a conversation started miles ago, two states away. Not straight through, but then they could pick up discussions whenever they wanted, developing their thoughts, their bond, across the vast expanse, while they drove. The waitress was friendly and polite taking their order, and then they had drinks, and he was looking around at all the other faces, confident and assured, as he was with his love. People walking outside in the parking lot could see them laughing and smiling, looking at each other when and while they talked.

Anyone could see they were happy.