Waving

 

She drove off down the street like she was going to the grocery store.  Her list said she’d packed everything in the suitcases, had her bag of shoes, her computer was in the back seat with her pillow, the small cooler was on the passenger seat floor, and her snacks were above it in easy reach.  She even remembered her phone charger.  That one would have gotten by me.  When I kissed her I told her to come back.  She said I could count on it, so I started, “One, two …”  The first thing I’ll tell her when she returns will be, “…five million, eight hundred thirty-two thousand, seven hundred forty-five.”  That’s before I give her the rose.  Hey, we have our traditions. 

I know, it’s only seventeen days.  The important word in that sentence is ‘only.’  It’s a word that is marinated in relativity.  It’s been a long time since we weren’t together most of the time.  And this business of absence makes the heart grow fonder is a bunch of hooey.  It’s strange.  It’s a little scary.  It’s painful. 

So I stood there and waved.