I think of you and my heart contracts, throat swells.

Was today the day I saw you in the parking lot? It was snowing and you were wearing earmuffs. You gave me a hug and said “Hi Luscey,” with a half lisp in the middle of my name when you were starting to smile and the letters were spreading out in your mouth.

Or one of the times spent in front of your two computer screens, clicking; staring with your mouth slightly open in concentration at nothing. Signing in to AOL Messenger and saying hello to me as I sat blocks away in front of my own computer doing the same.

Was it the summer day when I was walking down the sidewalk  in my steel toed work shoes and you drove up next to me to say hello. I apologized for smelling like gasoline; for my grass covered clothes and dirt dusted work face.

“You have nothing to worry about;” You smiled and I picked at the dirt caked to my elbow.

Was it the snowy November day when I sat on a garden bench looking at your gravestone as if it were your face? Tracing your name with my eyes, finding it impossible to connect the letters to the human who disappeared under the ground. I set my hand in the snow where your heart would have been and turned to leave.

Where were you today, any November 12 between 1988 and 2007?

I took no notice of where you were, any more than anyone else, until you were not. For a moment, though, your voice is in my head and I can almost see your face. The tightness in my throat unwinds in the comfort of your existence, at some point.

Luciana, 25