And so it now begins

After a relatively harrowing farewell in the Twin Cities, I sheepishly met Kelli at the airport, guilty as I was for the lateness of the previous night's duration and for the utter poverty of my condition as a travel partner. Yet again my friends, it seems, had had their way with me, keeping me awake till five in the morning and as far from sobriety as possible on a night defined primarily by celebration and departure. For better and for worse, this is an aspect of my relationship to the people I love over which I apparently lack all control, even at the age of thirty one, and which Kelli, thankfully, not only understands and is empathetic towards as a matter of her own kind character, but, given her people and her relationships with them, she knows because she's been there, maybe even more than I have. "I'm proud of you," she said, smiling as I sat down in the seat next to her. "Don't be," I replied. "Totally proud," she said. Around us, the airport filled with the sound of people dragging luggage on linoleum and news on the television of a hurricane in New York. My head hurt and I was tired. "Thanks," I said, closing my eyes. I am traveling with the right person.

In Seattle we parted ways, but only for awhile. Kelli is meeting a friend, going north to Bellingham for a wedding, then south to Portland where her brother and his wife are about to have a baby. We dropped her off on the corner of a street downtown lined by people, mostly men, in strange costumes. PAX, the largest gaming festival in the nation, if not the world, is being held this weekend. Last I saw of Kelli, she was disappearing with a green backpack over her shoulder into a sea of elves and wizards. In ten days we'll reconvene with Riley and the three of us will board a plane to Bangkok. Jesus.

That evening I walked through the streets and neighborhoods of Seattle with my ex-girlfriend Jane. It was strange to see her and it was also not strange. We ate Pho on Broadway and got frozen yogurt in a Hello Kitty cup which we took to a bench in the park and ate together. A little girl in a big bike helmet scooted by on a wooden bicycle without pedals. The sun was beginning to go down. The girl got off her bike and started jumping, kicking her right leg back each time she left the ground. She spun around a bit, like there was music somewhere, though there wasn't. Her parents, a couple not much older than us, stood together watching, smiling. 

Later that night, after a couple drinks at a restaurant on 15th called Coastal Kitchen, Jane and I walked back to her apartment. In Seattle, the night was cool and every now and then, the scent of lavender, which seems to grow quite well here, hung in the air around us. Capitol Hill was empty and we had our arms around each other, a false couple, though not because of love. The love is there, as much as it ever was, which was a lot. The admiration, the respect, that's still there as well. A thousand other things. And although it felt right, authentic and familiar and real, it was also a little sad. I don't know how much we need each other anymore, at least not in the way we used to. Jane is in Seattle now. She belongs here. And she will do the good work that she has always done and that she has it in her to continue doing and that she was meant to do here, in Washington. If anything, I love Seattle because I believe that this is true and I look forward to seeing what she accomplishes, the kind of girl she eventually turns into. I, on the other hand, I am somewhere else entirely. And so it happens. And so it now begins.