things that are possible under the wyoming sun

And I imagine the moment, when I sit in a booth with a pale green, cheaply coated diner table, across from him. The vinyl of the booth seats will be that kind of brushed burgundy, with unsightly scars. They’ll be the kind of tears in vinyl that scratch your back when you turn to grab your wallet, exposing the cheap synthetic padding beneath. The kind of seats you find in the back of one of those old Checker Cabs.

We’ll be sitting there, and the waitress will come.
She’ll call us sweethearts.
She’ll refill our coffees when we’ve already had enough. She’ll be beautiful in her age. Perfect crow’s feet like rays of sun from her eyes. Biggest smile. Diner waitresses always have the truest smiles. It’s a social enigma. And she’ll turn around, with her pot of coffee and white apron, dirty with whatever. And we’ll both notice with platonic eyes, that in her age she still has perfect curves.

And his hands will be wrinkled. Against the white porcelain cup, his wrinkles will be absurd.
And his liver spots. And his out-of-date glasses and jacket. And you know, his hunch will be so much more natural than mine. The hunch of an old man is perfect. The hunch of a young man is insecure. And I will hardly be paying attention. Wyoming girls are so distracting sometimes, and that’s where we’ll be. I’m sure of it.

And he will lean in as he talks, moving his wrinkled fingers around that porcelain cup, sun beaming over it. The sun will be too perfectly cut that day, with straight razorsharp edges on its cast. His voice will have too many rocks in it. It will stutter and it will choke. But he will talk that day. With my still smooth hands I will twist my cup and watch the dances of its cream. I will look at it all the time he talks.

He will lean in and say,
“Did you ever miss someone more than they missed you?”

And I’ll give a slight chuckle.
And I’ll shake in my bones but not in my hunch.
And there will be a moment, where the awful country music catches our ear in a strange way. And the pale green seems too vibrant. And I notice the torn vinyl is sticking my back still. And I will look up. And fuck, his eyes will be so open. Like a mirror. And there will be nowhere to hide. And he’ll lean in a little bit more.

And he’ll say quietly,
“Did you know it was okay? Did you know you were enough?”