I felt like going home was a relief. The smells, sounds and atmosphere felt right. I just can’t go back to Miami without feeling like I am invading some kind of dark space.

Skippy Serving
He was the first person to get me high, eighteen with spikey blonde hair that could only have been fashionable (or tolerable) in the mid-nineties. It was behind a Denny’s on US1. He laughed when I choked. That was the start of a really nasty habit. I was eighteen.
He disappeared, as many did during that time in my life. He rambled to New York, to chase his dream of becoming a Broadway star. The kid could sing. Not that you would think such a thing from the looks of him; nine earrings in one ear and always swallowed by voluminous sweatshirts. Puppy cute, his wide, bright smile swallowed his face and made his ash-blue eyes disappear behind squinting eyes and fair lashes. I figured out he was a natural blonde from his eyebrows, because the swatch of hair atop his head was always different colors. He worked at Johnny Rockets when I knew him, a server and cook there. Homelessness often bit at his heels. We found him sleeping within the store, a child snoring on dirty booths. It was sad. And then he was gone. Poof.
When David and I sat down for lunch on Friday, I saw him. Juggling plates and customers’ demands, but always smiling that smile I remembered. His hair, now almost naturally colored, sat parted on the side. The punk kid still had a little “fuck you” in his appearance with a zero guage plug in his ear, but you just didn’t notice that beyond the smile. He didn’t see me. I don’t think he would have remembered or recognized me. That was 10 years ago. Behind a Dennys we laughed because I choked. It was a world away.
I was distracted throughout lunch, wanting to say something, but not wanting to annoy. So, we left without my speaking to him. I realized I didn’t have much to say.

What Should Have Been

I had not seen her since my going away party in Ft Lauderdale and I looked forward to laughing with her like I used to. So, we met at our hotel and ventured to the Grove for conversation and drinks. It’s funny - she was exactly as I remembered her. And I wanted to be what she remembered, but I can’t be that person anymore. So, I stilled myself and tried to connect with someone who has changed so much and so little at the same time. Her smile still warmed me, her skin still pale. But I didn’t see the growth in conversation that I expected. I tried to find common ground with her, looking for something to bridge the gap that five years left. But she didn’t seem interested in what I had done with my life. I listened to her and her boyfriend regail their tales of club life, her facinations with girls, and how they deal with a semi-open relationship. But I wanted more that just that from her. I needed more, and it wasn’t given. Maybe I expected too much. Five years is a long time. I wanted intimacy and truth - bone baring truth. I wanted to be reminded of who I was then so I can really take hold of what I am now. But the conversation remained surface level. We had a good time, I’m not saying it was terrible. I just missed her, and wanted more than I got. Sexuality and desire had nothing to do with it. I just remember sitting on her lawn as a New Year passed - sipping champagne and tossing our extinguished cigarettes down the toothy storm drain. I remember something about that night, an intangible that remained a lingering scent in my memory. But she did not wear that scent that night, so I went back to the hotel wanting to understand what I missed.
The nights events went like this. Meeting at the hotel. Driving to the Grove. Drinking at Wet Willie’s. Wandering about looking for something else to do. Finding nothing. Jeff finds free drink coupons and we decide to go to the strip club where they are offered. Find the place behind a Lincoln-Mercury dealer. Go. Drink. See fully nekkid women. Watch in amazement at the pole tricks. Get tired. Head back to the hotel and say goodbye. I would like to have her come up to see our home, but we will see if that happens.

The hurried pace of Miami made me miss the peace on my front porch. And we missed the kids to pieces.