Where is she?

"Amor, it's fine. It's just a little bit of coffee."
"You're not the one that has to smell like it all day. Ugh, I look like a slob."
"You can barely tell! Just relax."
"Tell me to relax one more time."
"Hey, I'm not the one with coffee on my pants."
"I am going to work. Good-bye." 

What happened to the woman I met in a Spanish coffee shop? Sometimes I can't help but revisit those days. It took some weeks of persuasion and charm but finally she gave it a shot and god, was it fun. Where's the woman that jumped on the back of my Vespa and dared me to jump into the Magic Fountain of Montjuic? The mysterious woman with her long black pony tail and fire red lipstick begging me to show her the world? She talked about the Queen of England and afternoon tea yet all of her ideas crossed a plane of similarity, similar to the discussions of Rhizomes by Deleuze and Guattari. Was this just natural progression? A sense of comfort? Or was this an ebb and flow with a predominant flow?

The white Camry that moments ago pulled out of the parking lot with an aggressive vigor crept back onto the Versailles property. With the car placed in park and still running that long black pony tail popped out and ran into my arms.

"I'm sorry. I just don't like being late...or covered in coffee."
"I know my love."

And with a kiss on that beautiful head of hers and the smell of coffee wafting through my nose I remembered: this is the woman I love.

Inevitably

There is more than a light murmur over the place. It's actually a casual bout of constant shouting and there is pleasantry in the oxymoron of it all. She slowly nibbles on her food.

Bite                        by                       bite.

Until the inevitable moment when she realizes she's late and grabs a lid for the small coffee on her way out and there I am. Inevitably, I debate the impermanence. Not of her, not of us, not specifically. The beauty of an us is the chance for it to slip through your fingers. 

Honoring Celia's 88th Birthday

It's been 10 years since her passing and still her voice echoes through the streets. She is the steady beat to our growing rhythm and still we hold on. Part of her impact was drawn from her humanism, her impermanence. We needed to absorb as much of that enchanting voice because we knew it wouldn't always be around. In fear of losing what we love we hold on tight.

I sit at our usual table and get lost in my thoughts. Staring out onto the vibrant Miami streets unexpectedly, listening for Celia's voice, is it inevitable for one to question something’s permanence? I believe it to be part of human nature. Like everything else:

The ebb and flow of the sea, economics, relationships. It's only natural. 

Inevitably, the question of reality floats through the many thoughts fighting for attention in my head. Does the we really exist? Are we just an imagined us? Is she my Nadja?

I take a sip from the steaming cup, I pick up my coffee and chase her out the door. 

Dr. Seuss Land

The small Styrofoam cups arrive at the table with their frothy milk tops steaming. And the conversation takes place the way it has many times before--over a cup of

I remember our first cup as fresh as the last. She ordered her Cafe au Lait and I commented that it was a fancy way of asking for coffee with steamed milk. Both her and the barista gave me their disapproving glances and the motions began: Clink, sputter, clank then the long awaited hiss. She called me an asshole and I invited her to dinner. 

We walked out to her car as she told me no multiple times. She said I was crazy for asking. I told her I've traveled to a world reminiscent of a Dr. Seuss Land where broccoli trees sprout from the ground and smoke seeps into a Spanish sky. A place where traveling through troupes of gypsies dancing on pieces of cardboard was an act that faded into the familiar background as you walked to this crazy place.

 I promised her at this moment that one day I would take her.  

"You're crazy," she giggled in response. She climbed into a poorly parallel parked car and with a small wave she was gone. The car clinked, sputtered, and clanked down the road and she was gone. 

I snapped back to reality and continued our conversation over dos cafecitos.