Ah yes ... I'm sitting at my usual perch in Quiet Storm, watching the snow and not feeling motivated to venture out into it, you know, ever. It's beautiful. It reminds me of that night in Chicago with Henry, sitting here and watching the snowfall through the giant windows. Giant windows and traffic ... funny, how that one night spent in Henry's loft more than a decade ago has colored how I feel and desire once the sun goes down and the snow starts falling. I want to be around people. I want to just sit and watch. Henry and I didn't have many dates; that was probably our one and only "real" date, though we went to Estelle's for drinks many a time. And in my memory, it feels like we sat in his living room for just hours talking, and watching it snow.
I remember his back fire escape. The fire escape was right on the el tracks, between the Damen and Ashland stops - the last stretch of tracks before the el goes underground. Oh, the noise! But oh, how it becomes just another part of the backdrop, the music of life.
I liked my life there. I felt like I had control. It's still hard to believe how thoroughly I abdicated that responsibility sometimes.
Henry would be 60 years old now - 61, maybe. I wonder what's become of him. I wonder how he's doing, if he's happy. He had beautiful white hair that he wore in a ponytail, and I was so, so sad when he cut it short.