New York

The day has not started well. You’ve already been up for hours, not able to get comfortable enough to sleep soundly: head pounding, with your forehead and occiput trying to out-do each other to see which can implode first; neck stiffening in response to the headache; stomach churning independently, only adding to the background nausea your neck and head are creating on their own. The sunrise was unkind. The usual warm feeling of light on the hardwood floor is replaced by an emphasis of how sore your eyelids and eyebrows are, and instead of inviting you out of bed it merely curls you more tightly into a ball under the comforter with the extra pillow hugged to your head to cushion and comfort it.
Why couldn’t this wait until tomorrow? Haven’t been sick in a long time, why today? Today was supposed to be a good day, start easy, fill with special moments, end gently. You’ve been working hard, and after a long delay, you deserve/need a day that would go perfectly. Timing! Maybe if you could just will these symptoms away for a few hours. Think, what can you come up with to bargain today for tomorrow...
Oh,... that noise,... that buzzing has got to stop! There it goes again, repeating over-excitedly,... the door buzzer? What time?... Oh God, 10:30 already?
The realization and the last of the anticipation you went to sleep with bring you to your feet too quickly. You get to the button for the front door, but then run out of energy...
Footsteps ascend the stairs two at a time. There’s a misstep, a few hard flat-footed steps, something dropped, and an under-breath curse.
I let myself in, and, drained though you are, you let out a laugh (a weak one), exhale through your nose, and the corners of your mouth turn up slightly. My cap is crooked almost to the point of falling off. My back pack is hanging from one strap at my elbow. I’ve got a coffee cup in each hand, and what must be some coffee staining the left thigh of my jeans. One of my earbuds is still in, and I’m trying not to step on the other one. I’m trying desperately to hang onto a notebook, a manila envelope, and a bouquet under the free elbow. The folded top of a paper bag is clutched in my teeth. My glasses hang precariously at the very tip of my nose. The self-aware grin I’m wearing when I first come in is gone in an instant. In the next instant, I’ve dropped or put down everything in the still-open doorway and hopped over it to where you’re still leaning against the wall at the door buzzer.
Hey, you don’t look so good.
“I’ve hoped for so long to hear you say that to me when you came to visit."
Come on Beautiful, lean on me and I’ll get you back to bed. Once you’re comfortable, I’ll try to be more of what you hoped for.
The first few steps are shaky, so you let me take you by your elbow and waist, but reluctantly, with a hint of bristling.
Hey relax, it’s me remember? Helping with difficult first steps is what I do.
You let out a sigh of resignation, put your head on my shoulder. “I’ll try to be a good patient."
Don’t even worry about it. Now come on, you can lead, lean on in.
We promenade back to your bedside (I kick the front door shut as we pass), and you flop back in. I help you get your legs in, then step away for a moment to grab your desk chair to sit alongside.
“I’m sorry, ohh,... I,... you should,..."
Shh, don’t worry about me today, we’ll just have to enjoy a visit on a smaller scale. I’m glad I’m here today. I hate to hear about your bad days when I can’t do anything to help. Leave today to me now. First thing was supposed to be a quiet breakfast and silent-pause-filled chat anyway. Back in a moment,… maybe two. I take a walk through to close the curtains – they’re light, but shade enough for you to open your eyes up comfortably, or at least more comfortably. There’s a bit of rummaging around coming from the kitchen, along with some quiet whistling. After a minute, I’m back with a tray and some extra pillows.
Let me help you sit up a bit while I set up a cushion throne for you on the bed. There, now settle in and here’s your coffee: I poured it into one of your thermal mugs. Maybe the caffeine’ll help you with your headache. How’re you doing there?
“A little better with the curtains closed."
We’ll leave them closed then, and make our whole world outta these rooms today. Now, I hope you like the coffee from the place across the street – ease into that, and I’ll try to get some other things put together for us.
“What were you whistling?"
Just the CD I was listening to on the way up on the train. You wanna hear it?
“Only if it’s better than the whistling."
See? You’re starting to perk up already. I’ll put the CD in, and you can listen to more than that one refrain over and over. The CD’s not exactly your taste, even for a girl reportedly a little more country than she’d like to think, but it’s calm enough, and the lyrics are day-dreamy.
In the background, you can still hear me bumping around in the kitchen. The water’s on, and dishes are clinking in the sink... Oh, the dishes, meant to get those done this morning, you were just too tired last night.
“You don’t have to do those, just leave them."
What? Sorry, I can’t hear you.
“Fine.”
You know, I’ve really missed that, good to hear you still care.
“I thought you said you couldn’t hear me.”
Uh, right, you caught me. I re-enter the room.
“You should know better than to try and tell me you’re not listening."
I thought maybe in your weakened condition that you might not pick that up. Here’s a selection of possibles for brunch: pan au chocolate (also from the coffee shop), a very light French toast, and some cinnamon toast.
“I don’t feel like having anything really."
That’s fine, I’ve got ‘em cut into little pieces that you can pick at as you like. Syrup’s in the saucer. You can just doze if you want. I’m going to sit here and do the puzzle while I drink my coffee and eat the larger pieces.
“No, we should go out and do something, I’ll get up and get ready..."
But I’m already standing to cut off your exit from the bed. I don’t need to go anywhere, one city’s the same as the next to me, I just wanted to spend another day with you. I glance at my hand at your forehead. I turn it over and test again with the back of my hand. Girl, you are warm, lie right back into the throne there m’lady.
It takes a while to find something to use for a cool cloth, and you tell me where to find some Tylenol (I couldn’t bring myself to go looking in the medicine cabinet without some verbal guidance).
Once we’ve got you settled, the headache has lessened, and you can close your eyes without feeling like they’re about to snap back open. You go back to just listening to the CD, and the scratching of my pen on the newspaper. Each time I pause to consider a clue, I take the cloth off your forehead and fan you with the paper. Your symptoms are settling, but your original plans for the day keep coming up, first as daydreams, then as dreams.
I can’t quite make out what you’re dreaming of as I finish the puzzle (yes, had to guess at two letters, but they look right) and clean away the brunch leftovers, but I can tell from your expression as I watch you sleep that we’re having a great time together. When you wake up, the chair’s empty, except for your coffee cup waiting. The throne has become uncomfortable, and your still a bit light-headed. The apartment is quiet. You worry for a moment, but you can still see my backpack by the doorway. I’m on the couch reading, and you’re able to sneak up on me because I’ve got my earbuds in. Your hand on my shoulder doesn’t startle me though. I just turn off the music, mark my place with my finger in the book, and make room for you to sit next to me.
Feeling better?
“A little better, not much, not enough to do anything."
Was that a shiver? "Yeah, I’m getting a chill now."
Alright, here: put on my sweatshirt, and I’ll go get the comforter, and then we can go fly a kite in the park.
“Uh, that’s not happening today."
Just leave it to me. Go ahead and zip that up, let me sit down, lean on in (whoa, that was a big shiver), and I’ll wrap the comforter around and take you kite flying.
“Mmmm, okay."
Comfy?
“Just a minute, gotta scoot over a bit."
Alright now, just close your eyes and listen...

...Oh the wind is gusting gustily,
and the trees are thrashing thrustily,
and the leaves are rustling rustily...
“Rustling rustily?"
Okay, so it’s been a long time, and I don’t remember all the words, but it seems that it may turn out to be a rather blustery day. Maybe we should go to the park and put a kite up to give us an excuse to loll around in the sun.
“That’d be a good idea if only I had a kite."
No problem, there’s one waiting in my backpack.
“Is there any extra room in there?”I could take some of my travel stuff out, why?
“I’ll see what I can think up to take along as a picnic lunch."
Yeah, that’d be good. When you’re ready we’ll get going. I need a minute or so to get the kite put together anyway.
At the park, the trees are misted over with a light lime green as their leaves are just coming out. The bulbs have all sprouted and there are sprinklings of daffodil and tulip everywhere. The breeze is steady with a few stronger gusts, but it’s warm enough if we stay in the sun. High clouds speed across the deep blue sky.
Give me a hand putting this together, won’t you? You’re better at bows and strings, so why don’t you do the string around the sides while I hold the sticks in place. Yeah, that’s a good kite shape I think. Now, I’ve got some purple moon and stars paper to put over it, trim it with my pocket knife, glue it on, tie the string on, then,... I can’t believe it,... I’m so stupid.
“What?"
I forgot to bring anything for a tail.
“Check the backpack again, I think you might find something."
No, there’s nothing I’ve got in there that would work.
“Then it’s up to me if you’re not even going to look: see? Here’s some red ribbon I brought along -- you never know when you’re going to need some."
Good thinking, and touching sentiment. Now, are you pilot or co-pilot?
“Whichever one holds the string."
Okay mademoiselle pilot, wait here and I’ll walk the kite out. When you think you’ve got enough wind behind you, just give a tug.
I go about fifty meters away and kneel down for a second to adjust the rigging and untangle the tail (that red ribbon sometimes tries to tangle me up). Then we stand, facing each other, waiting for an inspiration to blow between us. With the first gust, you give a tug, and I’m ready. The kite slips from my finger tips and takes right off into the air (in contrast to air travel, the take-off is my favorite part of kite flying). You must be an excellent pilot; I usually U-turn into the ground the first few tries. I’m walking back over by you now, grinning at our (I don’t mind taking some credit for the construction, though of course the piloting is really the most important part) success. You’re letting string out leisurely, and the sky’s taking the kite as much as you’ll let it. By the time I get back, it’s already well above the treetops. Now, I don’t intend to just stand and crane my neck to watch it, I’m gonna sit in the grass -- the grass is dry, but the ground is still cold.
“Here, take the string for a second."
You go to the backpack and pull out the blanket. How’d that get in there?
“I’ve gotten used to your forgetting it, so I just make sure to bring it myself."
You let the breeze catch the blanket to spread it out, and it settles gently to the ground. You put the backpack on the windward side to keep it down, and find a comfortable place to sit.
“Now, it’s still my turn, you’re going to have to give the string back."
But of course, here. I lie down so I can still see the kite, and pull my cap down tight to keep the sun out of my eyes. You stay seated for the rest of your turn, leaning up against the shins of my legs as I lie with my knees bent up. After another fifteen minutes or so of kite/cloud watching and daydreaming, you hand the ball of string to me and lie down yourself, using my shoulder as a pillow.
Um sure, go ahead and make yourself comfortable.
“I will.'
I always like to try and let all the string out and see how high I can get the kite to go. Tugging for a while to get it to climb, holding steady for tension to build up in the string, then letting more string out and watching it drift, then starting over again. It’s getting a little tiring trying to fly it with one hand, so I shift under you so your head’s on my chest and both hands are free.
“That’s really not as comfortable.'
Hey trying to fly a kite here.
The look you give me reminds me how selfish and stupid that must’ve sounded, even as a joke. I go back to one hand holding the string. Sorry, go on back. What’s in the backpack for lunch (I’m anxious to change subjects)
“Nice change of subjects there. There’s just simple things, some fruit, cheese, crackers, some pretzels, water, maybe a smiley cookie for people who are nice to other people."
Just tell me what I need to do to demonstrate it.
I tie the string to the backpack, and the kite seems happy to just fly itself while we have lunch. As long as we’re doing that having things magically appear from the backpack, I might as well have a bottle of wine in there – only paper cups though, sorry.
[“You know, a glass of wine doesn’t really sound that good to my stomach right now anyway." Don’t break the spell, you’re not supposed to be sick in the story...]
The kite now is just a purple dot with some red highlight in the sky. After lunch we start taking turns, one pulling down, the other winding the string back up. The ground level winds have gotten more unpredictable though, and as we bring it down the kite darts side to side as if it’s fighting to stay up. We’ve almost recovered it when a sudden cross wind crashes it into a tree, where it immediately spins and winds the string around several branches. I try yanking the string to free it, but it’s totally tangled. The tree doesn’t have any low branches to climb into it either. So, we go back to the blanket and pack up, salute the kite, hum a few bars of Taps, and pull the string until it snaps.The rest of the afternoon is spent taking a walk through some of the park, showing me some of the places you’ve told me about. As the sun starts to go down, you guide me to that quiet little Italian place that you like for dinner (I love the way that the people in the places you like always say hello to you).

“And then, back here again, and you’ll have to go, and we didn’t really get to do anything because I was sick."
Just because you’re krank doesn’t mean you should be cranky. How are you doing there, comfortable?
“Yeah, okay."
Alright, I’m going to put some more music on. I’ll be right back.
It ends up taking me a while to decide. No, wait, you’ve got the new CD. I didn’t even know there was a new one out. Did they come up into the city to play? I put it on and come back to the couch where you’ve fallen asleep again. I pick up your book I was reading before and slowly slide back down on the couch so as not to wake you.
Evening comes for real this time, and it’s you who wakes up to find me sleeping with the book finished in my lap. Your fever’s gone, and so are the chills, but the sweatshirt’s comfy and you leave it on to go into the kitchen.
When I wake up, there’s candlelight coming from the table, and a bowl of greens and tomatoes, and something smells good (I think it may have been my stomach growling that woke me). You’ve switched from playing CD’s to a playlist on the computer: all songs with history, or soundtrack potential. Hey, who said you were allowed to make dinner?
“You have to let me do something."
I let you take care of the picnic.
“Well, tonight I’ve gone to the speciality of the house: frozen pizza."
That has always been perfect.
Dinner is all catch-up: school, work, soccer, movies, books, comings and goings, trying to fit months into minutes. We both clear the table, and you start making coffee while I do the dishes.
“Please, you don’t have to do those, just leave them in the sink. Hey, you can just leave those, okay?" You put your hand on my shoulder to turn me away from the sink, and it turns me, and there’s a pause, and a moment (a prolonged moment) that we let pass.
There’s not that many, and they’ll only take me a second.
With coffee, there’s lemon cake with white icing ("I made it yesterday so it’d be ready already."), and quiet. Not an awkward quiet, just the quiet of understanding. Plus, you’re starting to drift off again. The playlist comes to an end, and it’s clear that means it’s time for bed.
“Won’t you stay a little while longer?" I’ll stay ‘til you’re sleeping comfortably. You go on to get in bed, and I’ll clean up out here. I’m going to borrow a thermal mug to take some coffee with, okay?
“Okay, try not to break it, or you’ll have to replace it.”"
I put the dishes in the sink, pour the rest of the coffee from the thermal carafe into a travel mug, and select one more song from the library, Jonatha Brooke’s “Lullaby".
I come back to sit in the desk chair that’s still by the bed.
“I’m sorry I had to be sick today."
Don’t be, that didn’t matter for me. It was good to see you today. Feel better tomorrow, won’t you petit?
“I’ll try, will you still be here?"
In many ways... you need a bedtime story?
But it’s been a rough day, and you’re already asleep. I stand up to lean close and whisper: I’ll miss you until I get to see you again. Then I take care of a little surprise, and let myself out.
The next day starts much better: still a little groggy, but no other symptoms. You get up, and find the surprise in the next room. The manila envelope is propped up on the table, and a hand-sized model of a kite, made of sun and moon paper, with a red ribbon tail, hangs in the sunlit window over the table.
You leave the envelope for now, opening it when you’re ready to go out. You leave the CD and take the story with you to read in the park. You go to the clearing from yesterday’s story, sit in the grass and start to open up the story when a glimpse of purple and red catches your eye from the upper branches of a tree...