On Balance Weighted- The Bar

We find a break in the flow of traffic and almost run across the street. Reaching the parking lot we cut our stride and already images of my soulmate sitting inside and walking in and calling out, making some big and unmistakable announcement, start flooding to mind all at once. Must one have certainty in the precise detail of reconciliation? Is such a scattering as this a sign that I do not know what I want, or that I know precisely that I would like her to have a choice even in that moment? While there might be an increase in difficulty in the approach, one cannot value the increase in meaning of the moment of reconciliation in any other currency, and so the process continues, some days like a laser pointer, others like a mirrorball, but in each version it is her and I. 

As we pass the mailbox a memory of a rose takes me back and I remember the walk from the lake. Though this be Phoenix, quite nearly, occasionally, ever so occasionally, I am surprised by the rain. I recall walking through storms, a set of memories more persistent than most others, as I find myself wading through something like a soup of thought. I organize this soup as best I can, though today it feels much like dipping a bowl into the deluge surrounding you, waist deep, on all sides. 

"From pot to kettle

Who would look for a deluge

At sight of first spark?

This separation

Remains even when combined

Vice versa as well

Nothing, everything

Paths between are meal made

And our time enjoyed

From first to final

Round about the long way home

Fathomed and fathomed

That we might sit down

Sharing a drink, wings, and tales

As long as we'd like

For it is finished

Now cart and choreographed

And we each hold keys

A golden trio

Very little is needed

To remember steps

Aqua Christmas lights

Green introduced just in time

Then red to yellow."

He chuckles a bit, and I realize how out of place my words might seem for such an occasion but, as if reading my mind, he shoots me a second glance, a flash of fiery determination, and I can tell his chuckle meant something else entirely, like a path seen and an approaching storm. I open the door for him and he leads us to the corner table.

The table is vacant, a bittersweet prize. My mind shifts back to my brother, my friend, sitting beside me, and we swap tales and shared adventure perspectives throughout the night. The train of conversation takes us down familiar paths until I start remembering my absent soulmate once more, catching glimpses of birds and trees and clouds as I gaze out the window at the passing landscape in my mind's eye. In this superposition I speak my mind for what has me so torn. Gazing down the bar and past the jukebox all at once I continue my thought, likely sounding more like a lament by this point than a parley.

"For while I recall each step taken from gate to bar, I have seen seasons shift, I have witnessed rooms revealed, I have felt the frequency change. Who is to say where that door leads right now? Or from whence it might draw at this juncture? I have seen this door in the waking world, multiple stories, vision, on-screen, over the walkie-talkie, perhaps even dream, though on this last point I can't say certainly."

He catches my wistful tone and grows quiet, somber. The waitress comes by and interrupts in the traditional way by dropping the check on the table and asking if we need anything else. Despite this unexpected and untimely shift, we are the polite kind, and so with a smile he says "That is all, thank you." and I give a half hearted and half faced smile myself, the extent of what I can muster for this moment. As she leaves to wrap our exchange up, my brother catches me a bit off guard by saying "How about one for the road?" I know what he means, but still, at a time like this, why toss me a coin? I look back pleadingly, but he just gives me a wink, and I get the sense that he is more aware than I realized about how time passes here.

I rally.

"May brothers find faith, wherever we roam

Seen by own eyes and unique perspective

When seen on the road, we're looking for home

Seen by porch light, methods were effective

Simplicity makes for a light blueprint

A straightforward plan makes quick work of it

Save recollection for after the sprint

Fables told at bar, where truth and wit knit

The greatest of feats, but a moment's work

The greatest escape, tale told every night

One word of our source makes every ear perk

Yet despite thesis there's more left to write

Despite soulmate's absence I'm in good cheer

For hope that this path was only seen here."

He smirks at my parting line "I know where to find her." The hope I spoke of is the hope I now possess in full as my face conveys an excited plea. He stands, heads to the door, fiddles a bit longer than a standard knob should require, and opens the door, standing by it as I suspiciously walk over. As I look through, that which occupies the other side feels hard to describe, but with a shrug I let my feet lead me through anyway.