But I saw a street called Myrtle Avenue, which runs from Borough Hall to Fresh Pond Road, and down this street no saint ever walked (else it would have crumbled), down this street no miracle ever passed, nor any poet…

Henry Miller, Writing in “Tropic of Capricorn”

And so it would begin again. The association of a person, specifically a young lovely lady and a location. A street corner her corner the corner where we were first introduced the corner of Myrtle and Willoughby Myrtle off Bushwick Avenue that sunny day in June the art exhibition across the street that coffee shop Little Skips the building she lived in the blue light screaming out of her third floor window that night you made love only in your mind that night you called up to her window just for your own satisfaction that night you confessed in her doorway and ended anything that would not have been.

There was another location for Jane too that spot on Bogart where she sat by her bicycle selling her paintings her coloring books her pretty face her self-designed clothing her sexiness her being itself. So it had been nearly five months since I had seen her since anyone had seen her here she had been in Italy and Colorado and Los Angeles and I had decided it was long ago over since that lunch on Bogart when she told me she liked ‘boys, not men’ and I most certainly could agree to that amen. A relief really to be done with her there was no point and she had only been a drain on the asset base and the inner mind.

So rigidly planned ahead I awaited our seven o’clock meet up with nervous anticipation reminding me of a first date when I was twelve with Carol Epstein. I got off the subway and walked past all the spots around Bogart elated to the level that I was moaning a sweet high hum of elation remembering the memory of the romantic illusion I had dwelled under last Fall, longing to see it return in her lovely eyes. I walked down Evergreen towards where she lived practicing the rules I had memorized, do not touch her do not even think of anything sexual physical romantic she is simply a friend strictly business baby.

I walked past her building smiling it was still sunny I walked over to Skytown to recreate the time the young lady behind the bar there informed me that their liquor license had expired the place was not the place I remembered it was already gone so quickly I should have taken this as a sign. I walked up Jefferson to see a building that had been demolished removed the stray cats Yana used to feed all gone a vacant lot the clear brick over the head sign that the neighborhood was indeed changing as I remained optimistic redundantly naïve again in denial heading towards a soft cool hell of my very own creation.

I waited on the corner looking at her signature on the painting on the side wall. I was a few minutes early and was going to text her just at seven. Instead, for the first time in so very long she hit me first with the sorry Howie, I am running about ten minutes late. Not stuck on a subway or in traffic or at her studio as in the past no simply in her apartment safely tucked away upstairs most likely tossing clothes and trying to figure out what not to wear not for me of course but for the lovely ladies who would be hosting the event just across the street at what was formerly The Fitness Center, yes, I could wait yes.

And so I did, till seven twenty five a full thirty minutes from the first text quite typical constantly trying to reposition myself so that I would be in a good position to first spy her as she walked out of her front door as she walked towards me to recreate my assemblage of images of her pretty face of what she looked like of how she walked of her constantly rising cheekbones but alas, none of that she snuck out snuck up came towards me not even smiling much apologizing for keeping me waiting I kept my rules in tact she moved towards me bent and lowered her head and allowed me to kiss her cheek that’s it.

There and then I sensed it was over, she walked rapidly ahead of me her ambition obvious to get there and work the room and virtually ignore me so reinforcing my early impressions of her so reassuring that she could not even pretend to give a shit so much a relief to me that I needed to do nothing more that I had almost instantly relieved myself of any vestige of real romance but to keep on seeing her to write this to follow up and edit what had happened to get her to help fact check it but even that would not be necessary as the coldness got colder and even the memories of my feelings began to erode rapidly.

Sure the same what was I thinking I thought in October I was re thinking but I sensed it was important to try to land this ‘affair’ for lack of a better word on its feet firmly on the ground with a sober finale a closure so to speak but alas dear reader clearly this will not be possible she will remain a dangling thread a strand of lost lust a diminished chord of repressed sublimation a glance across the room a handshake on Myrtle that summer day that moment on the escalator when she burst into song the view of those ankle boots as I peeked under my desk the hug in the revolving door at the museum her hair in the wind

There was nothing left between us since there had been so little to begin with it was easy to sweep it clean but the stain and strain would remain she was a part of me now but an annoyance a mistake a wrong turn that led to disaster even the inspiration to write so damned much was dissolving in a blur as there were now so many stories to tell so much hope so many new things to come things not permitting her name and her likeness to remain in my mind things that I needed to bury fast things that I wanted to get past the urge for an instant hit of a palette cleanser to wipe the slate clean to sterilize my desires

We chatted briefly about her flight that was about it. All the times we had seen each other in the fall I had had that thick Dennis Farina mustache I don’t think she even noticed my face or thought about it there was no how are you no what’s new no how have you been no nothing no nothing to say warmth was out of the question while having no fantasy to dwell on as I had while with her in the past I tried to figure out how the hell a child could end up this cold sure no apparent love between the parents sure I was sure she was an only child sure she craved men’s attention non-stop I was the ultimate obvious fool

On the way to work in the morning is the time grief gets to me most. I often think of my mother and the way I never quite said goodbye to her for better or worse. Mostly, I see fathers taking their little girls to school holding hands all wrapped up against the drab winter skies. I try to visualize taking my daughter to school but she always got on a bus or got in the car we never quite walked like that sure the emotions are strong the same but there was no inner city moment in her early childhood just the vestige of the suburbs the first time she balanced a bicycle the first time she took the car off on her own all of that.

I cannot cry for losing Jane I never had her I never even pretended to have a simulation of love I should have left it as a glance through the sunglasses on that lovely June day but I went and spoiled it there was nothing left to remember but the inspiration that moment she first walked towards me at the Market.