Nicaragua

I thought it was Nicaragua, but when I finally awoke in the late morning, I was no longer sure- it’s hard to know when you’ve never been.

Getting out of the car, I spotted a colorful village on a hilltop not too far in the distance and wanted to take a picture of it with my phone, only to realize I had left it charging at home. Anyway, it was too risky to take out, so I turned and ran over to the restaurant you were entering up a ramp, cutting through a slope of hedges, and meeting you halfway. You didn’t recognize me at first- I had recently had my hair cut and dyed, and didn’t look like the version of myself with which you were familiar in life.

You had let him walk ahead, which you often did, even though we all know you were always the one to lead. Entering together, we were approached by a woman whose teenage son had also had his hair cut and dyed, and had frosted tips.

With a start I became conscious, the only real separation between our existences. We never did get to have dinner in that unknown place and time. If we could, I’d want our consciousness’s to cross paths again tonight. You might suggest Vincentown Diner. It was one of your favorites.

And I never did get around to taking any pictures last night, but the image of that colorful hilltop village is still ablaze in my mind. I wonder if you saw it, too.