Summer in the City

"I'm savoring all my nickels

and half of every dime

I'm washing all the blankets

God knows that I'm trying

I fixed the gate

We will find each other so they say

In the meantime, I'm lonesome while i wait"

-'In the Meantime' by Joe Pug

It's the places he's absent from that I notice the most. There is a whole life here for him, sitting on pause. He hasn't seen his apartment or looked out his windows. He hasn't poured a drink in his kitchen or slept in his bed. He hasn't been to the farmer's market he lives next to, or wandered the brick streets in the neighborhood with me at dusk. All of these things lie dormant, still, waiting. But the wait is getting shorter and shorter.

I feel like I'm wrapping up bits of life in ribbon and putting them away- my summer classes are past the dreaded midterms, the doctors at work are finishing up their summer vacations to Europe or some exquisite island, and it's the time of year that Illini Supersweet sweetcorn finally appears. Stores are moving bikinis and bright colors into small, crowded racks to make room for navy blue plaids and the newest cut of jeans. It's the 197th day of the year-2009 is winding down already.

Here in my apartment, the night has dwindled down in my pitiful laziness. I've browsed every online store that I could think of, looking for a shirt or outfit to wear to Salem-as if he'll notice, as if I'll care. And I've spent a lot of time trying in vain to picture life-not a hazy, unpinned way, but as it will really happen- where we'll put the other car, what time the kids would wake up, what music he won't mind me turning up on a Saturday morning. I resolve to change certain habits before he walks through this door- like eating 4 or 5 popsicles in a row, staying up 'til 1am browsing The Huffington Post, walking around indecently, playing the same handful of Jay-Z songs again and again (99 Problems, anyone?) when I'm in the mood to sing the few lines I know, or leaving work clothes lying on my bed until I feel like hanging them in the closet. I didn't realize how much of a bachelor pad I have until I started thinking about the things I should probably do differently.

He's been many things to many people- the last few days, a nurse practitioner has grilled me, doing everything she can to make me blush (and succeeding). Some people at work think I'm single, some know about him, and one asked me about my fiance. They see his picture on my computer and ask if that's my boyfriend. I point to him and say, "He is, and that one on the end is my brother." The conversation is always the same after this: "Oh, he and your brother are there together?" If I'm in the mood for talking, I tell them that Andy is the reason we met. If I don't, I just say yes, and they will say something like, "Well, that's good they have someone there," or, "Wow, that must be really hard to have both of them gone."

I'm ready to have all of this in the past. I want my final grades in class. I want to put away my sandals and tank tops and pull out my long sleeves. I want to leave my cell phone and my laptop for hours, because we won't have to use those to talk. I want woken up by one or more of three people.

And I want to wake up and see Sky.