You Told Me This Was Crazy

I'll tie a ribbon in the storm

wild rain can't erase me

i never believed it was crazy

I'll tie a ribbon in the storm

so save a place for me

when you're somewhere else in love

and truth sits me down hard

save a place for me

If you remember me

remember you're not alone

when summer fades to snow

remember you're not alone 

A little was not enough

i'll save a place for you

a ribbon in the storm

even if you think it's crazy

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I usually see her with Dave on Sunday afternoons.

I pour two vodka martinis with a splash. Make them dirty, they say, and they laugh. They split a burger and joke with a man sitting next to them, watching late spring sunlight fade. 

Maybe just a beer now, she'll say. Dave smiles because she smiles.

Me too, just a beer.

Once darkness seeps into the sky they say goodbye. Always on a Sunday.

She arrived amid happy hour on a Friday squeezing between waitresses carrying wings, and groups jostling extra chairs to a table. 

Her eyes shined.

She said, Dave died Wednesday.

I bought her a martini and sat with her while someone in the kitchen prepared a burger for a woman who would take it home and eat it alone.

We were divorced, but we lived together, she said.

I smiled.

We were married years ago, then Trevor was born, she said. When he was seven we divorced. Trevor is 20 now. We got back together when he was 14.

I had boyfriends, but I kept them in the closet. They would ask, when can we meet your son? But they never did.

I couldn't imagine what it would do to Dave, or to Trevor.

Dave, he was like gum on my shoe, she laughed.

Her order came out and she sipped her drink.

She said, he really liked you. So do I. He liked to come here and see you. 

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