That Day in September

Do you remember? That day, that crisp, bright day last September? You were wearing that Carolina blue sweatshirt as if you were daring the sky to out blue that shirt. I recall asking why you were wearing such a heavy shirt, it wasn't that cold. Your reply was something like, loving it so and feeling so grand in it. 

Do you remember that crisp, bright day last September? You were in the park feeding the ducks, or geese, or whatever the hell those birds were. As you are now aware, I am no fan of birds, but on that day, I faced my fear to be closer to you for you were intent on feeding those birds. Enticed by the pellets in your hand, entranced by the swell of your heart; we laugh about it now, my desire to be one of those birds that day. 

Do you remember what we talked about that crisp, bright day last September while you were enticing birds to eat pellets from your hand? Do you remember the ease of the conversational flow? How we seemed to predict what the other would say? Do you remember saying in the midst of all the words, those three words? 

Do you remember me saying them back? 

Do you remember running out of pellets, the birds skittering off to find another benefactor, the day growing cooler, the companionable silence sitting between us on that bench? Do you remember offering me that Carolina blue sweatshirt to wear for the short walk to my apartment, entranced by the sight of me pulling it over my head?

Do you remember talking about that crisp, bright day last September many weeks later, remembering it fondly as the day when . . . 

                                                   

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