you felt as if you just woke up

It was the red brick that set the first wave off.

The natural, yet completely unexpected wave of nostalgia that went rushing over my entire body like freezing water. Not tap water cold, but the kind of water that is leftover after a bunch of ice in a cooler melts on a hot summer day- that cold. I felt the impact at first in my chest- in my brain I felt something click. My eyes widened. And just like that, staring at that red brick, on that corner, in that intersection, across from that park, it came. The wave. The nostalgia.
I stopped. The familiar building with the red brick- not real brick mind you, but a tacky painted brick- I read that it was a bank. And the waves continued, reaching my toes. A conversation came to mind.

"I'm at the corner," he said.

"Like, the corner, corner?" 

"Yeah, it's a bank-"

"You remember what the corner looks like?"

". . . Is that weird?"

I answered with silence at first to hide my immediate smile. 

"No, that's really cute."

And he replied with a smile that I could hear through the sound waves. 

This feeling wasn't one I could ignore as Charme and I crossed the intersection. I always told myself I'd never remember what the corner looked like- it was too dark and rainy that night, a memory lost in translation and through abused reminiscing. Instead of it being the truth, the actual setting, it felt more like an idea. More like deja vu or a scene I read in a book.

But the feeling kept on, nagging at my brain.

I looked down Sixth Avenue and remembered how wet the streets looked that night, reflection of the stoplights rippling in each puddle, and all of the broken umbrellas that were turned upside down resembling black entangled spiders. I remember how cold we both were, odd for New York weather in August, clothes stuck to our skin and our trembling legs, teeth chattering, sitting close. Or maybe we were just using the cold as an excuse to sit side by side in the cab that I hailed right after you questioned if I could do it. You were new to the city then, still learning, still soft. I remember sitting in that cab on the way to the Ace Hotel and having your hands all over my knees, lips on my neck, my fingers lightly pushing you away but more so pulling you in. I remember laughing, and you telling me how much you loved my laugh, how much it made you smile. Your voice sounded like silk in my ears.

All of this runs through my head, sending the waves throughout my body, before I am done crossing the intersection. Indecisive, I am unsure if this corner is "the"  corner, but every part of my body and the way it was reacting felt like all the proof I'd need.

*  *  *

Time passes. After Charme gets lunch, I am still undecided. Or am I?

I needed closure. Or did I? 

I needed to know. No, you don't. 

I swallowed the nausea I felt rising in my throat and kept making excuses.

It would make me feel less crazy.

It would feel more real, proof that the night even happened. Evidence that it wasn't a dream and he was a real person. 

I go back to the intersection, the bank, the red brick. 

I had one way to solidify this memory, a bar we ended the night at. We were going to play pool but it never happened. I don't recall the name of the bar, yet I knew if I saw it then that was it. This was the place. This was the spot that incidentally changed my life, or a part of my life, up until now and maybe for years to come.
And even though it may have not done the same to his, I was becoming okay with that.

"I don't know what we're looking for," said Charme getting aggravated that I was making her walk in the cold. But there it was, The Four-Faced Liar, with one patron sitting alone at the bar, sipping a beer slowly.

I saw my reflection in its window and knew this is where you first kissed me and it wasn't messy or nervous or weird; it was perfect, just like in the movies. Our mouths fit and moved the same way. They were soft and warm and eager. By this point your friends had left. And a girl across the street got mugged and screamed. You said smiling, "welcome to New York City." And this was after you found out that I didn't live in New York. I lived in Florida, a state you moved away from just a few months ago. And this was the last night of my visit. This might be the last time I see you.

"Dont leave," I recall you telling me outside my hotel room after I wrote your number down on a bank envelope and kissed you in the hallway corner for hours.

And almost a year and a half later, I'm sitting here writing this living in New York, thinking about that red brick and that cab and your smile, wishing I had never left. 

My phone rings in Charmes kitchen and knowing who it is already, I am wishing it was you.