7

7 years ago, when those guys flew those planes into the buildings in New York City, I watched the smoldering rubble on television and began to wonder what it might mean.

Would this be the alarm? Or would we sleep on?

I believe in tossing dice and yarrow sticks, and—because everything is connected—asking “What does this say to me?” I wondered, Jenna, what it said about getting married. And when we did, just 18 days later, those televised images were fresh in my mind.

Two

buildings

falling.

I imagined a man in one of those buildings who held secret feelings for a coworker. And that morning he woke up with conviction. He would tell her how he felt. He would ask her out to dinner. Maybe she felt the same way. Of course she felt the same way. He assured himself of this as he approached her desk with sweaty hands and his entire sense of futurity dangling on her response when—

How many lives did I sense your nearness? But merely saw your hair round a corner. Watched you disappear into a crowd. Never worked up the courage to ask you to dance. Or had too much pride and never looked back. Lost your number in some trick of fate. How many times did I mutter your name?

I have imagined myself between the flames and the leap and wondered: Could I? Would I?

Do you remember that February night at Lake Michigan? We ripped off our clothes and ran for the water and screamed at the moon. The snow burned our bare feet. Instincts raged against continuing. Entire histories of biological evolution revolted. And we kept running. Beyond ourselves. We overcame ourselves. Leaped into the water. Became someone else.

I would’ve jumped. I would’ve grabbed your hand, looked at you knowingly, and tried to say something spontaneous and poetic like “Jenna. You’re the fire in the snow. You are my biggest leap. You made my building fall. And like a fiery explosion of flower petals and yellow taffy, you turned all my tragedies into acoustic ballads by lonely boys.” And we would’ve jumped and fallen into the unknown, together.

Happy 7th Anniversary, Jenna. After 7 years I’m still falling. I still can’t wait for you to get home at night. I still sneak glances at you when you’re not looking. And my feelings for you still ache to be articulated in the form of birds and fish and water and mountains. I don’t know what it means. I still sit in this smoldering rubble and wonder what it means.

Here’s me raising my glass to you and the 7 Year Itch. May we continue to change into those strangers we lust after. I love you the way stars burn. ~J