In the Arms of Your Significant Being: Evenings on First Avenue

Back in Manhattan I had this ritual. On evenings, especially Saturday evenings when I found myself alone, I would hand out at this coffee shop on First Avenue. Now, it wasn’t about drinking coffee. I would usually pour a bottle of wine into a Tupperware container, pack the CD player, headphones and a cigar. And should I not have a cigar, next to the coffee shop was a cigar shop.

I would then buy a large coffee and ask for a double cup. I didn’t care about the coffee as you can guess; it was the extra cup that I was after. I’d empty the wine into the cup and sip away, CD a blast, cigar in hand, people watching.

On particular Saturday was especially memorable. It was a balmy May night. Slight breezy but perfect. The tall trees were lit up and moving gaily with the breeze. It was about 10 o’clock at night, and people were still milling about. That’s what I love best about Manhattan. I’ve finished three-quarters of the wine and feeling no pain. Great cigar and something decent on the CD. Out of nowhere appears this young woman, maybe late 30’s. She sits across from me and with her a large white dog. She’s quite attractive and I wonder, why such an attractive women is alone on a Saturday night. We’re essentially doing the same thing, her and I. Alone, out for a walk, as we’d rather not be inside the house alone. Could she want to share this moment alone or with perhaps someone? As much as I’m enjoying this moment, would it be the same with another person? Would it be possible to open the door and extend an invitation? Would they feel the same joy? And just what are the odds of meeting someone who would look upon this moment and feel the same exuberance? Of course it’s an answer I’ll never find out. As I come out of that reflective moment, I notice that her chair is empty and all I have of her memory is that faint sweet smell of spring. And the gentle breeze