I remember calling you to see if you wanted to walk home together after work.
And getting an unintelligible sob in response.
I remember standing in my cubicle yelling at you to tell me where you were.
A spectacle for many observers.
I remember running to the AMC movie theater to find you.
I do not remember the five blocks, cross walks, or traffic.
I remember leaping up the down escalator to embrace you.
That’s the first time I ever saw you lose your composure, and I felt my world shift.
I remember holding you as you called your parents.
And all night long as you cried yourself to sleep.
I remember doing dishes as you showered the next morning.
Letting myself cry for the first time since getting the news.