He loved me.

In that food court. Filled with fresh smells of fried rice. Older smells of fried chicken. And lingering smells of fried potato. Nine restaurants offered samples. Nine places qualified to serve irreplaceable dishes for experience. Nine booths willing to trade edible objects for currency to pay the light bills. In that food court. Sat people with individual problems of their own. Each choosing to postpone their pain for another occasion. In that food court. We sat at a small table in the middle of the room. Just the two of us. In the middle of that room. He told me that he loved me. In that food court. He told me that he had to leave.

Thought did not take place. Time was no option. He was leaving. And that’s all I knew. I didn’t know anything else. Other than that he loved me. And that’s all that mattered.

Four hundred fifty three miles separated the two. In one world stood a young girl. Who had grown use to knocking at the door upon the dawns of her nightmares. In the other. An aging fellow who had dreams of raising a dependent soul. In the distant worlds, love remained.

Days grew into years. That young girl grew into a young lady. Nightmares transformed into reality. Minor problems escalated daily. Pre-algebra became calculus. Mickey Mouse tees tucked into washed overalls received audiences of cackling laughter. Mornings were now spent matching tights with a dainty dress. Days ended with skinned knees that he could longer doctor. But, he loved me.

At nights, my pillowcase caught tears. Hours of fantasying long ago dreams led to sleep. My eyes would mercifully shut to the beam of the summer sun. My body would unwind as I remembered the plays taught on the hide of the pigskin ball. Memories continued to the sincere promises that he would pull on the count of three. One… And blood on two. There was never a three. Vanilla bean ice cream was served to welcome the void gap. Time relaxed to the hum of the grooming of Earth’s coat. Followed by the fragrance of sweet grass. And the moist feel against my cheek, as he would reach to embrace me. He held me for an eternity. Mornings’ buzz dressed me in polyester pink jumpsuits. Serene moments unfolded the image of six feet deciphering candied dinosaurs from oats. Somber skies balanced the whisper of the engine. The silence would break. A kiss. And reminders to act like a princess. Simply to be treated like a princess. I awoke with wet pillows.

He remembered. He never forgot. Not birthdays. Nor track meets. He wished me good luck before performances. New traditions began. The phone would ring. Early on an August morning. Blessing me with a wonderful first day. His voice was never forgotten.

Multiple times a year. His tires travel over one thousand eight hundred and twelve miles. To ensure times to develop memories. To run from life to hug me. To look me in the eye to say, “I love you”. Reassuring stillness lay between us as we travel under the gold hairs of the trees. We endeavor upon road trips paralleling Solitaire. A game he taught me when we were years younger. Our worlds join on the long highways. Just him and me.
When the time is right. Stories of the last few days. Of the last few months drain out of my mouth. Into the quietness of the air. He is here now. And that’s all I know.

The winding roads take us time and time again to various food courts. Different accents offering different combinations of spices and savor. In this food court. Lingering smells bother me none. Samples waived at the ends of toothpicks are unexpected extras. In this food court. Empty booths evoke memories. Of piggyback rides. And hairstyles of puffballs. Times where I was his second shadow. In this food court. We sit at a table near a window. Content smiles painted on our faces. We sit and eat. Just the two of us. Watching life pass by on the other side of the window. Our time stops. He leaves his love for me to embrace. In this food court. In the middle of the room. I imagine a man and his two shadows.

He loves me.

Just because everything is different doesn't mean anything has changed.
-- Irene Peter