Christina ~ May 20

 

She sits alone at one of the small tables facing the bar at Jimmy’s HideAway, alone because I am sick and can’t be there with her. Go, I say, It’s the only night it’s open before you have to leave on Thursday. Go. So she goes. And as it turns out, we kind of end up having dinner together anyway, me from my bed in Northampton, she from that small table facing the bar in a Provincetown restaurant. She sends me a photo of the drinks menu, asks, What was the name of the drink I liked so much the last time? Was it the Long Point Lemonade? and I write back, Maybe, you can’t go wrong with that, it looks delicious. She sends me a photo of the drink, the people at the bar in the background, the light glowing through the glass, through the pretty pink drink. Wow, she says, It is delicious. Go slowly, I write, those kinds of drinks can really get to you. She sends me a picture of the chicken dish she always orders at Jimmy’s HideAway. I write back that I’m having a bowl of granola and chai tea for dinner that is oddly satisfying in my ill state, and that I’m glad to be home lying on my bed. She sends me a photo of the lemon cake with strawberries, and in each photo the pretty pink drink goes lower and lower so that by the time I see the lemon cake with strawberries the glass is empty. The waitress is being so nice to me, she writes, Probably because I’m alone. No, I write, It’s because she likes your face and your pleasure with the food and drink. Yes, she says, You’re probably right, she’s so kind, like someone we'd like to be friends with.