But Not Forgotten

I think, no matter where you stray,
That I shall go with you a way.
Though you may wander sweeter lands,
You will not soon forget my hands,
Nor yet the way I held my head,
Nor all the tremulous things I said.
You still will see me, small and white
And smiling, in the secret night,
And feel my arms about you when
The day comes fluttering back again.
I think, no matter where you be,
You'll hold me in your memory
And keep my image, there without me,
By telling later loves about me.

-- Dorothy Parker

They aren’t dating. At least, he doesn’t think they are. He’s not sure what she thinks because so far they haven’t really ever talked about anything important. They just rib each other about sports scores or sales stats or personal fumbles. They talk about little things, and he likes that because sometimes he forgets what little feels like. The last big thing he did blew up in his face, so little is nice for a change.

They skip out of work early today, slipping out the door before Andy can notice and invite himself along. Neither of them feels like going home, so she drives them to her favorite Japanese place. She says the view sucks, but the donburi is great. He nods even though he’s not sure what that is.

They get a small table near the window (the view does suck) and he loosens his tie while she picks up a menu.

He stares out the window and makes every effort not to think about the woman he isn’t with, but it’s difficult when there’s an unanswered text message from her in the Saved folder on his phone. He didn’t get it until he had sobered up, but even reading it then confused him. His head could never be clear when it came to her. He didn’t reply to the text, just saved it until he could think of a decent reply (if that would ever come).

“Are you okay?”

He realizes he’s probably been staring out the window for too long. He blinks and turns his attention back to her and tries a smile. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About what?” she asks. “You seem... distracted, and weird.”

“Just... a friend,” he answers quietly. He begins pushing his chopsticks around the table with his index finger. “A friend from home.”

“Is he okay?” she asks.

He doesn’t correct her. “I think so. I don’t know. I got a text message that I haven’t replied to yet.”

“Maybe you should call him,” she says. “It sounds like you think it’s important, so why don’t you check with him?”

He looks into her eyes, doesn’t see a trace of another woman in them. He could never confuse the two of them, but they are always together for some reason. He can run miles away, but she’ll always be right next to him. Sometimes he thinks he wakes up to her laugh, but it’s always just the alarm clock or the dull hum of the refrigerator.

“Maybe,” he says. “It’s probably just work stuff anyway.”

“Okay,” she says. He knows she doesn’t believe him but they aren’t close enough yet for her to call him out on this sort of stuff.

“There’s this woman,” he says suddenly. He doesn’t know why he’s saying it, but he figures maybe it’ll help him move forward, so why not? “And I... I guess I miss her.”

“Oh,” is all she says. She closes the menu and looks out the window for a moment, then she turns to him and says, “So, you and her...”

“We were only friends,” he says. It’s technically true, but he knows it’s far from the whole story. “She was my best friend.”

“Maybe you should call her,” she says, and he can tell it hurts her to say it.

He looks into her eyes and still doesn’t see a trace of anyone else in them. He thinks maybe that’s what he needs. He licks his lips and says, “No. It’s... nah.”

He finally opens the menu and stares down at it. “How’s the tempura here?”

“It’s good,” she replies quietly.

“Good,” he murmurs.

She clears her throat. She wants to lighten the mood, so she says, “Is that the only thing you recognize on the menu?”

He looks up at her and grins sheepishly. “You caught me. I’m not a big Japanese food guy.”

“So, going for the old stand-by then?” she asks, smirking.

He thinks about this for a minute, then says, “Yeah... hey, what was that thing you said was good here? Maybe I’ll try that.”

“Donburi.”

“Donburi,” he repeats. He mulls the word over then leans back in his chair. “Yeah, maybe I’ll give that a try.”

After dinner, he doesn’t admit that he didn’t care for the donburi.