snow storm

Do you remember that storm in 2006?  The one where we decided it was a good idea to drive down to the casino in the middle of the night.  It was a Saturday and church had been called off for Sunday.  We laid in my Clinton Street bed tossing the idea around: I said I had never been, you said we should go.  I was nervous, you were eager.  These days, I've been reading stories by Wells Tower.  In Leopard he describes one woman as an "exciting girl" and in Door in Your Eye, "wild."  Those words – they belong to you as well.

We left the house past midnight and inched our way to Connecticut, your little black manual shifting this way and that, sliding on roads barely visible through frozen glass.  I clenched my fingers nervously and kept silent, worrying if we would make it and praying for safety.  At moments I thought it a stupid idea and wondered why I let you talk me into it.  But that's what I loved about you – you in your big down coat that crumpled comfortably in at the touch.  I squeezed you in that coat many times, reaching my arms around and nuzzling my face into your warm chest.  There was also the time you took that coat off so we could sled on it down the campus hills.  I didn't mind the cold then. 

The casino felt like an old dream I stepped into.  But as we walked those grand fabricated halls, flourescent and vacant, my imagination became stale.  What was there to do here?  Should we play games or gamble?  Did we play games or gamble?  I don't quite recall.  The restaurants and other attractions were closed (it was, after all, 2:00AM in the middle of a blizzard) and after some time we made the slippery journey home and crawled back into bed, happy and accomplished.