I remember a lake in summer.

I remember big sandbox at the pier and packing us for the day.

I remember little sandbox, your kid and mine playing alongside one another, iced coffee, please keep sand inside the sandbox.

I remember Wednesday lunches, Grand Central Oyster Bar, The Corner Bistro, Szechuan Gourmet.

I remember macro plate at Souen, extra sesame dressing.

I remember my last massage. Thank you, Raquel.

I remember spontaneous celebration.

I remember birthday parties in parks, seeing you there, knowing you’d be there.

I remember your garden, your chickens, the coffee pot always brewing the next cup for me.

I remember setting off the car alarm three times, our cackling cutting through the quiet of the silent retreat.

I remember you standing in snow, in sadness, smoking a cigarette.

I remember the deck, all of us stretching, feeling the comfort of peace and actual understanding that might come from becoming wiser and the conscious work of kindness.

I remember beers and beers more beers and the ice in towels after theater league softball wins.

I remember back and forth on Clark, back and forth on Foster. I remember the dressing room above the funeral home. I remember catching magic in my hands in dark spaces.

I remember luxurious evenings with women I love, pulling cards for me, talking about theater with me, holding my hand, my head, my heart and when I needed them they were right there.

I remember the diorama in the shoebox.

I remember the warm orange morning after bringing you both home from the hospital. I am alive I thought. We made it.

I remember driving fast, to who cares where, with you. North, usually, from wherever we are. Away, from wherever we are. Sometimes my arms around your waist, hanging on for dear life, riding on the back of your motorcycle.

I remember the fireplace at the Union. I know it’s still there because you and I visited last Christmas.

I remember the lily pool.

Theater on the Lake.

Asheville in winter and summer.

Bovina in fall.

Chicago in winter.

Brooklyn on November 1, 2008.

I remember coming up out of the subway at 42nd St., never dreading going to what I got to call work.

I remember sitting in the dark theater.

I remember places/thank you, places.