Little Blue

A 32L capsule and companion

Do you remember what I looked like, that first night in town? After those girls had walked me back from the pub so that I didn’t have to bear the dark streets alone? You know, we didn’t see another person along our way. It was that one pub across town that the solicitor took to me. We walked through darkening alleys and he kept telling me not to be afraid. I told myself I could fight him if I needed to. I didn’t think I needed to. He had the nicest house in town. We stood on his lawn and stared through his ten windows before crossing to the pub.

But do you remember how I looked? After I met the couple that was smoking outside? Their dog was so little and their accents so real that I could feel every “r” in my mouth. They all cared so much about Kansas. Do you remember how sick I felt? That medicine I bought at the corner shop, along with a giant bottle of water? How I walked and walked and walked until I decided I wanted to read? I remember the pint the bartender gave me after I promised that I had eaten. I remember the cab driver two stools over promising to drive me back from the wedding. I remember the tents and the Pimm’s and the flowers and flags. I remember thinking that this would be the saddest place to leave. I remember being wrong.

Because then, if you’ll recall, there was the entirety of Spain. The silk scarves and churros covered in mercy, the tower across from Alhambra and those teens using .5 for every photo. We asked for tinto de verano from any place in town. Do you remember that last Saturday before Barcelona? The bells that pealed with grandeur? The little boy with his bocadillo and loafers on the midnight square? Do you remember the mother who loved him? I remember Agua de Valencia and sweating through every pore in my body. I remember finding that monstrance shining through the windows when we were halfway through our drinks. I remember realizing that he’d follow me anywhere and forgetting it ten minutes later. I left a little note for that stranger on the pew, in Spanish and with love. He was different from the man who helped me reach the overhead bin, although their eyes were equally kind—far kinder than the boys on La Rambla. Do you remember the walk from the bus stop, the stairs to her apartment, the soft white room to rest? Do you remember how this happened twice? And the delay, the delay, the endless delays?

They shot fireworks on top of the sea and we dove in after them. Do you remember how cool the sand felt on our feet? The waves were as dark as the sky and I held my breath for as long as I could. There is still salt in my eyes. The sound of those cicadas north of the Pyrenees, do you still hear them? And I can still see them staring at those statues, telling me they could never watch a movie again. I remember thinking that it must be beautiful to have a heart that soft and still. They said that the hills there held saints, and I said yes, they are in blue. They gathered wildflowers by the handful and plucked lavender for love. Tell me you remember this. He prayed with me on a bench in the woods. He called out my name to bless me. We see each other in our dreams, which feel now impossible to separate from reality 30,000 feet in the air.

And now you’re sitting right above me, incapable of memory, and yet holding each one of them tenderly. I look at you and I remember everything. Over and over again. Do you think they’ll believe me?