I just hung up the phone. The window above the couch is open a tiny crack, enough to let in a wisp of cool air, but not much noise. If I concentrate, I can make the consistent distant sounds of the city sound nearly like the ocean. For just a moment, the steady beat of Market Street was punctuated by the urgency of a police siren, but it has faded and the waves of traffic, trains, electricity and life thrum on.
Today I met a friend for coffee at 11 am, which stretched into lunch in the square. Walking home, I stopped to chat with two women from church and then wound up leaning again a fire hydrant at 19th and Spruce for 10 minutes, talking to my mom about what that particular corner had been like 35 years ago. Later I roasted a chicken and a medley of mushrooms, brussel sprouts, carrots and onions, filling my apartment with the smells of rosemary, lemon and garlic. Seth and Nikyia came over for dinner, we held hands and got quiet before eating.
Later still, I reminded my closest friend from college that she is deeply lovable, a fact that her still-fresh breakup makes it hard to remember. When we hung up the phone two hours later, the tears were gone from her voice and she sounded more like the woman who used to wake me up with a gentle, “Ma-ree-sa, it’s time to get uuu-up.” I capped the evening with a little chat with my mom once more.
In the words of my friend Jamie, it was simply the best day ever.