The water does not drip, it spatters sporadically. Melodically drumming as it pools into puddles. Cool air compresses the lungs and recalls the rhythmic motion of breathing. Each frosted particle petrifying the passageway to the pumping organs below blue veins. The wind, a highway for each teardrop discarded so spitefully from the dark grey morning. It does not whistle. It whips.
I have forgotten my raincoat at my parent’s house. Doesn’t it figure that the day I leave for The Long Drive, it rains?
Sitting in Nero Café in Cambridge’s Center Square, I contemplate the thought. I am surrounded by what is surely Harvard and MIT students whom would certainly dwarf my intelligence. The three hour free Wi-Fi leads us all to draw out our laptops and click away rather than enjoy our beverages and perhaps even chat or simply look in each other’s directions. Such irony that the walls around us don books on their shelves. They have become but a decoration in a purely technological world.
I stay long enough to update family that I’m okay and finish my double latte. When I see Rodney’s bookstore a few blocks down the street I am compelled to walk through the doors. Walk slowly through the titles and remind myself that I already have eight books in the car that need reading before leaving with two postcards for my nephews in hand. There is something about a handwritten note that brings a smile.
“Home!” My friend texts me to let me know that she’s back and I can come over whenever I’m ready. My lips tug up and I head toward the address she gave me.
(An aside to give a shout out to all of the beautiful people who are letting me stay on their couch. You are what makes the world go ‘round.)
After some catching up, we head out to find something to fill our empty stomachs and settle in at the bar of Naco Taco. The Saturday night crowd was, well, crowded, despite the large size of the hipster spot. The only seats left were at the bar, which were perfectly fine for the two of us. I order a far-too-large full bowl of Mexican corn, having misread the menu and believed that it would be a full cob, but enjoy every bite despite it. Megan ordered the Milanesa Torta which she said was a tad on the spicy side, but otherwise great. When her fiancé arrived post-grub, we decided to make our move to the next spot.
Miracles of Science a much smaller joint just a block or two down Mass Ave. A little triangle bar with an industrial feel with the food and drink set up on the walls in the form of the periodic table. Artistic types circulate around each metallic table. The lights are low. Our conversation drifts into the reaches of the English language; how pop culture, television and music, have influenced the world to speak an American tongue.
We venture back to Meg’s apartment around 10:30. Decide to have just one more glass of vino and continue our conversation and finally hit the hay around 12AM.