Love and Cruelty

I was on the Upper West Side for an author event so I decided to stay up there for awhile and walk around and have dinner. I ended up at Niko's because the salads are so good, it's crazy.

I had a Big Salad and a glass of wine that was described on the menu as "savage and sexy." The wine came in a goblet rather than a glass. This is what you get when you order a savage and sexy wine made on Mount Olympus. Various breads arrived in a basket, tucked under a napkin with a small dish of olive tapenade hidden at the bottom. I savored a single bite from each piece of bread. A knotted whole wheat roll; a toasted baguette slice soaked in olive oil and herbs; a chewy sesame stick; a pumpernickel slice chock full of raisins. All laden with tapenade. Decadence.

I spent a long time thinking about Ben and how we had sat here together swapping real estate stories. I really enjoyed remembering him. It was like a nice visit with a friend from out of town, when you feel a surge of renewed warmth for someone you once knew well and don't see so often anymore.

After finishing the salad and wine, my bones felt warm and the light seemed to change to a deeper amber. The waiter brought complimentary dessert wine and a tiny square of almond cake. I alternated: bite of cake, bit of wine. Cake; wine. No more cake. Throw back wine.

Signing the Visa receipt I felt myself enveloped by God's love.

I left and walked to the corner and raised my arm to hail a cab. A speeding cab swerved across two lanes and came to a halt in front of me without fully pulling over. I slid in quickly and told him to take the West Side Highway, not the FDR. He cut west.

I snuggled in and texted my boyfriend hi and how much I love him, so much, so very much, and I cried a little as I typed it with my thumbs because I love him so much.

The cab slowed down because the access road was blocked. We had to do a loop and go back to Broadway. Looking up I saw we were in a slow caravan down lower Riverside Drive, with the pier where Ben died coming up on my right. It was quiet and the lights were stark white and crystalline across the river.

We cut over on 66th street and drove past Ben's apartment building. Good grief it hurt.

Back on Broadway, we went a few blocks further downtown and then cut over again. This time the street was clear. On the left I saw a sign for an emergency room. St. Luke's-Roosevelt . . .

ok Ben, I get it.

Happy birthday.

Happy. Fucking. Birthday.