It’s late. About 1:30am. My tiny attic apartment is hot and getting hotter by the minute as the steam rises out of the stainless steel sink. A sink that for some reason seems too low to the ground tonight. My back is aching, my feet are swollen, and my body is shaking. But I have to finish these dishes. I need control.

“Breathe” I think to myself. You’re in control.

That’s when I hear my “lack of control” shuffle his feet behind me.

If you were to ask me today, what it is he was doing in my apartment that night, I couldn’t tell you.

He is standing behind me, perhaps leaning on my rectangular oak top kitchen table. I don’t turn around to check.

All the furniture in my apartment was second hand, it had been there when I moved in, the style slightly resonate of an old french cottage. Wrought iron curls on the legs of the tables, at the head and foot of the bed. I kept it because, well I was a poor college kid when I moved in, and ended up being a poor college drop out who spent all my money on rent and canned pasta from the bodega because that’s what I could afford. I also found something magical about it. Strong, stable, and beautiful. All the things I aspired to be. This furniture had stood the test of time and anyone who touched it, knew.

Come to think of it he must be leaning because it took me longer than expected to finish the dishes so standing upright for that long seems implausible. Apparently my furniture didn’t only stand the test of time, but also the test of a 6 foot man who was about as solid as the slab of oak used to build the tabletop itself.

I couldn’t turn around to talk to him, although I remember speaking a mile a minute. I remember because my heart was going the same rate.

He had that effect on me. His silence was so unnerving. So I stood there, all 5 foot 2 inches of me chattering my little heart out.

The apartment was still getting hotter, but the black and white tile floor was chilled. I walked barefoot across the floor in search of my uggs. I found and pulled them on then returned to continue scrubbing at my control.

What a sight I must have been. An over-sized night gown spattered with dancing polar bears hung loosely over my petite frame, my hair wet from a hot shower just half an hour early was thrown messily atop my head, curls drying in the humidity sticking up at different odd angles, completed with my old worn out uggs standing with one hip popped out to the right, scrubbing roughly at a dish that had been clean 5 minutes prior.

I could feel him staring at me as I talked, my back still to him because I wasn’t brave enough to meet his gaze.

In the background I could hear my cell phone playing music, but I couldn’t make out the words, just the beat, the melody of the song. I could vaguely make out the distinguishable tone of Nat King Cole’s voice over the running water. Finally he spoke:

“You have to see what I see right now.” He chuckled. “The hair, the outfit, it’s just… so… you. J, if this is what a man has to look forward to in 40 years…”

I finally turned around to look at him, now ready to argue. Our norm. I looked at him, or rather up at him. He was standing closer now, almost touchable. I stared up at him waiting for the rest of his sentence. My body tensed, ready for some dig I knew he was going to make. He wasn’t ever cruel, but this incessant need he had to point out my flaws always got under my skin. As if I didn’t know what I needed to work on.

He looked down at me with a look in his eyes I almost didn’t recognize. Once I had seen it daily. But that was a very long time ago.

Those eyes. They were soft and non-judgmental. Big and brown. No, not brown but a soft gold caramel color, satin with black pool in the center you could fall into and never want to come out.

“…. then he’s a lucky man.”

My breath hitched and I stared at him for a minute contemplating my next move. That is, if I could manage to send a message from my brain to any other limb in my body.

I smiled, barely, and turned back to my dishes. I couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone sentence. What was I supposed to say? We weren’t together. We hadn’t been for a while now. Didn’t he have a new girlfriend? Maybe? Why was he here anyway?

So instead, to avoid the awkward silence, I sang. And he whispered the lyrics back in sync with me.  

Always, in sync with me.

Shortly after here is where this memory fades to black.

In silence, except for the duet….

“…unforgettable….

…….(unforgettable)

in every way…..

…………(in every way)

and forever more……

……(and forever more)

thats how you’ll stay…….

…………..(thats how you’ll stay)

thats why darling its incredible

that someone so unforgettable

thinks that i am unforgettable too…..