How to Love a Stranger.

By Adina Giannelli.

How about we meet in Chicago, a city neither mine or yours, and see what, if anything, might be found there;

And you will fly in from a small southwestern city, not your own, and I will arrive at O’Hare late, owing to unanticipated flight delays, and I will meet you in the lobby of the Hotel Godfrey, and you will be there, waiting;

And our hotel will be full of Europeans and people looking for a time, a show, a warm body (always a warm body);

And I will talk to you for hours, that night, about unanticipated subjects of all kinds; you ask for a year-by-year recitation of my life, and you ask are you okay? and how are we doing? and does this irritate you, the barrage of questions. Some people find it cloying, you will tell me, but I think it kind;

And we will sleep, strangers in a large cocoon, and your hand will slip quietly over mine;And we will float, curious, upon the muddy waters, in our rapid riverboat, our bodies anchored to metal folding chairs, our necks craning to see the city’s architecture from our watery vantage, the sun shining bright against us, in spite of and through the wind;

 

And the boat will rock and occasionally rise, the tide high or low (but I don’t know), and we will glide in our seats, unsure of what is flowing forth before us, certain only of our bodies, separate and together, moving easily through space and time;

And we will lie in the grass at Millennium Park, while the city’s choir of children belts out their music in rehearsal onstage, in anticipation of the President’s visit that evening, in expectation of something resembling future fame and glory.

And I will watch your face as you ask me questions, your fingers drawing imperceptible circles in the grass, and you will listen intently to every word I say, however petty or banal, even in moments of characteristic distractibility, you are present, and I am here;

And you will speak in circles or in tongues, and I will find myself enraptured, enlivened, captivated by every word, I will not forget the way your eyes light while you are speaking, the strong and steady cadence of your fingers (yours are doctors’ hands);

And we will wait for something said or unsaid, but the cadence of our footfalls on pavement and grass and urban paths tells more than enough;

And I will anticipate your stories, seek answers to the questions that have eluded me for many years, who keeps your secrets, how do you love, what makes you safe;