from afar

We came out of the building onto the sidewalk on Fifth Avenue, into the molten, humid air, laughing about some guy with a bad hairpiece in the lobby. I made the mistake of glancing down the street, towards the Plaza Hotel, and saw a crowd in the entrance, which was typical. But in the midst, among the beautifully-styled heads and the bare shoulders, and the silks and the jewelry, probably rented, was Mia.

I froze in place, Ruth at my elbow. She saw her too, and we stood in silence. I felt her eyes and the heat of the sun and the maniacal gnawing in my belly somewhere, and the longing was tangible. She looked amazing, wearing a sky blue, knee-length, fitted something...I wondered what the occasion was. I don’t know how many minutes went by as I stood there, fighting the rise of the contents of my stomach. All I could think was that she was no longer mine. I might have been there with her. I might have been at her side, holding her hand as she greeted and kissed and smiled, as the cameras flashed and as she was ushered into a waiting car. She had once been mine—that divine and incredible-looking creature...and then I felt Ruth’s hand on my arm, pulling at me, and I realized I couldn’t see her anymore. She must have glided into the car as I was imagining it. And my eyes were wet and I couldn’t see clearly anyway. So I let her pull me away, down the street, down to a taxi that would take us back to the office, back to my life, back to my work. Without her.