Friday September 21, 2012
from the sign outside Ezra’s Coffee on Dupont
I want you to remember my birthday, and my little brother’s birthday and my mother’s birthday… without a calendar.
I want you to know my phone number off by heart. What if you lose your cell phone? What would happen then?
I want you to run me a bath, with epsom salts, and for it to be steaming hot when I get home from work and am cranky and cold.
I want you to take my too-tight clothes to Goodwill and, when there, find a china teapot with purple African violets.
I want you to never judge my popcorn eating rituals.
I want you to go to the beach and bring me back sea-glass for my collection. I haven’t added to it since I was nine and this bothers me.
I want you to never tell me that my breath stinks. I get very self conscious.
I want you to stop calling your sister every time you see a reference to anything involving cows. We get it. She likes cows. She’s also eighteen now, at university, and probably doesn’t want her older brother calling her every time he drinks a glass of milk.
I want you to to renew my subscription to National Geographic because I can’t afford it and you can.
I want you to propose to me when I’m least expecting it. If I know it’s imminent I might self-sabotage and do something stupid. But do it before I’m thirty three okay?
I want you never again to ask me if I’m in a bad mood. If you have to ask I probably am and would just like to be left alone.
I want you to know that I’ve never loved anyone as fearlessly as I love you. And that it’s messy when I’m fearless.