anne and i sat across from each other at a small table, one of many tables, outside a very loud bar on greenwich avenue. it had taken us a while to find it because she was certain it was greenwich street, not greenwich avenue and so we went very far west, near houston and walked, smoking cigarettes, feeling stupid for not being able to find a bar that i thought i’d been to before. somehow, we ended up finding it and i had been before, but it had been years and i had been there for lunch, not drinks. we sat across from each other and talked about our plans, our extended plans, even though we don’t really have any. she wants to go to california and i want to go to scotland, but somehow we’re talking about moving to arizona where her sister lives and invests in real-estate.
earlier, when we were walking and feeling stupid for not being able to find the bar, we came across the entrance to a courtyard on a very quiet street. we held hands and barely walked around, since it was so quiet. we were in awe. as we turned to make a quiet exit anne said “look, this is me leaving for work in the morning.” she took two steps and looked up at the rod iron archway above her, her hands slightly out to the side. it’s always been this way, even before we met. we were always planning, with no real plans. thinking, plotting the little things. we’d stumble upon moments, places. things that seemed exactly the way we’d have written about them if we had written more often.
later, on bank street, after we had left the too loud bar, it happened again. this time it was a brownstone. “imagine,” she said softly yet earnestly, “we’ll walk down the steps, ‘oh, I’m just going to run and get a cup of coffee,’ because there’s an amazing coffee shop right outside our fucking brownstone.” this time we’re planning even further ahead. we decided that we’d have kids, since we’d actually be married if sexual discrepancies had not obstructed the possibility of straight-life. she’d have an amazing someone of the female sort, possibly. and I’ve have someone of the male sort, possibly. and the four of us would have a brownstone right on bank street, which is really just an excuse for anne and i to be together, and still be free. “but what if you broke up with your someone,” she said in concern. “wouldn’t happen,” i said, taking a pull from my cigarette, “we’d love each other too much to break up.” “hmm,” she thought. because if we’re planning the future, we might as well make plans for it to be perfect. and so the night went on, and we found ourselves at different bars, with different people we had meant to meet up with, but didn’t right away on account of our stumbling upon our hypothetical lives. somehow though, these stumbling always bring us together, both past and present, hypothetical and actual. she is, somehow, the only plans that i ever keep.
