122305I watched him from across the table, leaning forward on his tall frame as he tried to hear my friend�s conversation over the roar of bar patrons. A piano player, who sat in the corner of the room, added to the commotion, with a large jar in front of him where a cash tip got you the song of your choice for the next three minutes. Somehow, the four of us fit into a booth, with Joe and I barely perched on each end, bookends for the done-with-college celebration that was ensuing. I exchanged words with the friend seated to my right, but kept my eyes on him the entire time. It was intoxicating to watch him; the way his mouth curled up when he laughed, the twinkle in his eye whenever he snuck a glance at me. I wished I wasn�t sitting across the table, but seated next to him, feeling his reassuring hand on my leg as the conversation swirled about us. I ordered a drink, then two. Liz got up to talk to an old co-worked, so I slid one spot closer to him. She left. I made Cass move. Success. I moved in next to Joe and instantly felt the comfort of his hand on my leg. I reached down to meet it and intertwined my fingers with his. While I continued to talk to those surrounding me, all I could think about was him. I mentally began counting down the minutes until I could feel his entire body press against mine, strong and warm under the covers. He squeezed my hand and I looked at him, smiling. I knew he was thinking the same. 121905Cheek to cheek
And I don't need a hundred gifts beneath the tree
- 'N Sync 121205Last night, we got to talking about changes: the good, the bad, the ones we notice and the ones that slip on by. Change happens whether we want it to or not. It�s a part of growing up, of shedding the life we�ve known one for that fits the new paths we�ve chosen. It�s inevitable. A lot can happen in a year. When I think back to the beginning of 2005, I was �single and loving it,� which is a clever way of saying I found it impossible to resist any man that crossed my path. I spent many weekend nights at bars and clubs around the city with my fellow single friends, boozing and canoodling, canoodling and boozing. I also was finishing up college and thought a position at the Star Tribune would be the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Fast forward 12 months. I�ve got the diploma. I�ve got a new apartment. I�ve even got a brand new car, thanks to Mom and Dad. But the newspaper that hired me also dropped me after six months. I called for my first unemployment check today. And I have no medical insurance. But I love my life. I may not have a �real� job, according to some circles, but I spend many of my waking hours diligently typing away at my computer, churning out page after page of a fictional story I hope to sell to a publishing house in exchange for a big, fat advance check. I love it so much that it doesn�t seem like work. Writing a novel is the most exciting and creatively challenging thing I�ve ever done with my time. I also met an amazing, fantastic, absolutely wonderful man in August who brings me more happiness than I ever knew existed. When I�m with him, the world stands still. He�s tall, handsome and knows what to order for me at a bar. We both have our own lives, but mesh into each other�s so seamlessly. His friends like me and my friends like him. What more could you ask for? If you still want to argue that things don�t change in a year, I have to disagree. Sure, I�m still the same basic person, but I�ve ventured down paths I never saw coming to lead me to the place I stand today. With every new step I take, I find I am even happier than I was before. And it�s all because of a little thing called change. 121005Liz�s cell phone began beeping incessantly. It meant only one thing: 9:28 a.m. Time to get up. I groggily opened my eyes and watched Liz walk to the window, opening the thick curtains enough to peek her head through. �Is it snowing yet?� I asked her.
She closed the curtains and scurried back to bed, jumping into the heap of white next to mine. She shimmied under the fluffy down comforter and let her body sink into the oversized down pillow. I had a matching one, a gigantic pillow that cradled your body as you laid against it. We figured it out last night, as we dragged our tired bodies from the ballroom up to the fourteenth floor a little before 1 a.m. If you propped it against the headboard, it was the perfect TV-watching instrument, a pillow crafted so well that I wanted to shove it under my coat and take it with me. I shut my eyes for a minute or two, wanting just 10 more minutes of sleep. Check out wasn�t until noon, but we�d agreed last night to wake up early and get breakfast somewhere. But as I laid wrapped in a warm cocoon of feathers, food was the last thing on my mind. Against my better judgment, I put on my glasses and slid out of bed, letting my bare feet hit the tan wood floor. I walked toward the bathroom, my feet traipsing across wood then carpet then tile. I flipped the light switch and closed the door, turning on the flat-panel TV. The Food Network came alive on the screen, the same channel I�d watched as I brushed my teeth last night. There was a phone hanging on the wall above the toilet paper, and though I wanted to use it, there was no one who deserved a wake-up call while I peed. Grabbing the Herm�s bar of soap, I washed my hands in the sink: a greenish bowl placed directly on top of the counter, with a chrome spout off to the right side. I plucked a towel from the ladder-esque towel rack on my left, rubbing my hands dry on the softest terry cloth I�d ever felt. I turned toward the shower, a stone tile encased beauty with five heads and a handheld spout on a long cord. I wanted to feel its warm water rain down on me, but the lack of clean clothes prevented me from enjoying its goodness. As I walked out of the bathroom, I hit the switch by the front door, watching the pink fluorescent bulbs from behind the floor-length mirror come to life, emitting a soft pink glow that made anyone look divine. The switch simultaneously brought two framed photos to life, as well as our headboards etched with images of the Minneapolis skyline. I flipped the switch on and off a couple of times, giggling at the upscale absurdity of our room. Packed and ready go, we closed the door and headed down the wood-lined hallway, stopping at the elevators where floor-to-ceiling windows gave a panoramic view of the downtown buildings just steps away. Soft jazz played from speakers hidden in the ceiling. I briefly checked my reflection in the mirror and contemplated plopping on the orange fainting couch before the elevator dinged to life and the door slid open. We walked into the dark gray lobby and paused for a moment at the front doors, looking for a handle before realizing they opened automatically. Two doormen pushed opened another set of doors for us, greeting us with �Good morning, ma�am.� The doors shut as a cold wind whipped past my face. And in that moment, reality hit. The cold, chilly, gray-sky reality that we�d just spent the night in the trendiest hotel in Minneapolis and now it was time to go home. Home to cans of soup and $30 jeans and apartment tenants you can hear through the walls. But for that brief moment in time, we had it all. �Goodbye, fairy tale world,� I whispered at the hotel.
120705And I never saw blue like that before
- Shawn Colvin
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