One Summer: New Hampshire
Janet Kuypers
1/26/24
I remember visiting you in New Hampshire,
this was before I became a Vegetarian, and
I wanted to try lobster in Maine — but instead,
I settled on the mess hall at the Air Force base.
You see, while you were at work one day,
your mom showed me a private room in the hall
your parents used for their wedding anniversary
dinner once, with one elaborately set table for two,
china cabinets, a couch, and a roaring fireplace.
I reserved it, was about to give my credit card
to the woman behind the window at the front,
when your father showed up, in full uniform
(I swear, I didn’t know a uniform could hold
that many badges and ribbons and medals on it),
but once he saw us, he looked at the woman
behind the glass and said, ‘I’ll get that.’ And I said,
‘Oh, no no no,’ but he looked at that woman again
and just nodded, so I begrudgingly said thank you.
While you were still at work, I went home, put on
a black velvet dress and waited. When you got back,
I told your brother and sister to say that I changed
our plans and I was in the bathroom. You started
banging on the bathroom door, and... when I opened it,
you were stunned. You were wearing a uniform
that looked like a gas station attendant’s, and there
was me, completely dressed up for a formal dinner.
After a perfectly lovely private dinner (it didn’t matter
that it wasn’t Maine or that I’d never eaten lobster),
we went for a stroll outside — you held my hand,
and I remember thinking then that I wanted you
to kiss me. We talked about that night since then,
and you said you wanted to kiss me then too.
But... I think we’re both glad we never did,
because, I promise, this friendship we have
will always mean more than one kiss ever could.
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