There’s a bottle of wine in the refrigerator downstairs, the one where all of the extra stuff is kept; the stuff you don’t need everyday, the stuff that doesn’t fit, the stuff that you are saving for a special occasion. You mentioned that you couldn’t find the wine any place where you live; it was a favorite of yours and it had been for a long time . . . I bought that wine for you because we were going to have a special time to enjoy it. I bought your favorite crackers, you favorite cheese, and I even bought a box of your favorite cereal for the morning. It’s been two months now and the special time never came. The cereal didn’t last very long, the crackers went next, and I really don’t like the cheese, but I got hungry one night.
Your picture is no longer in the special frame I bought for it. The frame sits empty because nothing else really belongs there. It is a cherry framed advertisement for the store where I bought it. The drawer I emptied for your visits is slowly filling back with my things. They are like weeds overgrowing an empty patch of land. The empty end of the closet is empty no more. If you were to come now, there would be no place to hang your weekend clothes. But you haven’t come for many weekends and I don’t think you will be here on the next.
There’s a bottle of wine in the refrigerator downstairs. I’m growing very thirsty.
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