wait to see her in what she does next. That woman is a true actress.”
“You may have to wait a long time,” Patrick said. “She just dropped out of a pilot for a sitcom.”
“She did?” the owner said. “I didn’t hear or read about that. How do you know?”
I’m “talking” to her. “I must have read it somewhere,” Patrick said. Which is true. “Stuff happens, you know?” Patrick said. And I’ve been waiting a long time for my life to happen, and it’s all happening because I wrote an e-mail to an angel who wrote back. “If you get a copy of I Got This, hold on to it for me, okay?”
“She was really sexy in that one,” the owner said. “I may keep that one for myself.”
After a quick shower and after watching a few minutes of Lauren performing in Feel the Love with the sound turned down, he read Lauren’s most recent e-mail. After rejoicing over her test results, he tried to imagine her voice reading the e-mail to him.
I know she’s relieved, but why am I so relieved? I mean, aside from knowing she doesn’t have an incurable disease. It isn’t as if she and I are ever going to—
He paused the DVD when the screen filled with a closeup of Lauren laughing. I would love to see her laugh like that in person. My God, she is so beautiful. I may leave her like that all night. I don’t care if the image gets burned into my TV screen.
He started his reply.
Lauren:
You said I sounded 45. I still don’t know how I feel about that. I feel 65 some days. Today, though, I feel younger because of your great news. I’ve always believed that bad things happened to good people for a reason and that good things eventually happened to good people. You’re the proof.
I’m watching you right now in Feel the Love. You are really fun to watch. I have you paused on my TV while you’re laughing in the second scene. You have a lot of teeth. I’ve counted at least 48 so far.
I hope you’re laughing now.
I wish I had your grace. I know that sounds weird, but I’m not the smoothest person in the world. I bang into things. I don’t mean to. I just do. I’ve gone through three tool bags from banging them around so much, and I find bruises on my legs and arms nearly every morning. You’re fluid, smooth, and natural. There’s something poetic in your every gesture. Even your hands speak. You may have a little Italian in you.
I was engaged once, too. Her name was Natalia, an Italian girl from Carroll Gardens. Natalia was a nice girl, quiet, kind of shy. After she returned the ring (she didn’t throw it into the East River or the Hudson, and it’s probably still at the pawnshop), I had trouble speaking her name, too. At first. I can write her name now.
I guess you could say that Natalia and I were high school sweethearts. She was my first real girlfriend. She worked at Casa Rosa and then at Fragole, first as a waitress and then as a cook. Natalia could really cook. In fact, she cooked so well, she left this part of Brooklyn and me entirely.
She told me I wasn’t part of her “plan,” but she never told me her plan while we were together. Her plan was to marry a rich guy and start her own restaurant, and she did both, and in that order. She has a thriving restaurant in Bensonhurst, a rich husband, and two kids. She probably doesn’t even have to work.
I run into her every now and then during mass at St. Agnes. We speak, but it’s still awkward. There’s more, but I don’t want to depress you, and she broke it off nearly twenty years ago. Life must go on, right?
Guess what? We have something else in common. We’re both not looking. If you’re up to it, maybe we can “not look” together. I may be pushing 45, but my eyes are still young and strong. Maybe we can find what we’re looking for together.
I think the love you described in your e-mail only exists in movies and romance novels, not that I have ever read any. I never felt that kind of love with Natalia. We weren’t all that
“You may have to wait a long time,” Patrick said. “She just dropped out of a pilot for a sitcom.”
“She did?” the owner said. “I didn’t hear or read about that. How do you know?”
I’m “talking” to her. “I must have read it somewhere,” Patrick said. Which is true. “Stuff happens, you know?” Patrick said. And I’ve been waiting a long time for my life to happen, and it’s all happening because I wrote an e-mail to an angel who wrote back. “If you get a copy of I Got This, hold on to it for me, okay?”
“She was really sexy in that one,” the owner said. “I may keep that one for myself.”
After a quick shower and after watching a few minutes of Lauren performing in Feel the Love with the sound turned down, he read Lauren’s most recent e-mail. After rejoicing over her test results, he tried to imagine her voice reading the e-mail to him.
I know she’s relieved, but why am I so relieved? I mean, aside from knowing she doesn’t have an incurable disease. It isn’t as if she and I are ever going to—
He paused the DVD when the screen filled with a closeup of Lauren laughing. I would love to see her laugh like that in person. My God, she is so beautiful. I may leave her like that all night. I don’t care if the image gets burned into my TV screen.
He started his reply.
Lauren:
You said I sounded 45. I still don’t know how I feel about that. I feel 65 some days. Today, though, I feel younger because of your great news. I’ve always believed that bad things happened to good people for a reason and that good things eventually happened to good people. You’re the proof.
I’m watching you right now in Feel the Love. You are really fun to watch. I have you paused on my TV while you’re laughing in the second scene. You have a lot of teeth. I’ve counted at least 48 so far.
I hope you’re laughing now.
I wish I had your grace. I know that sounds weird, but I’m not the smoothest person in the world. I bang into things. I don’t mean to. I just do. I’ve gone through three tool bags from banging them around so much, and I find bruises on my legs and arms nearly every morning. You’re fluid, smooth, and natural. There’s something poetic in your every gesture. Even your hands speak. You may have a little Italian in you.
I was engaged once, too. Her name was Natalia, an Italian girl from Carroll Gardens. Natalia was a nice girl, quiet, kind of shy. After she returned the ring (she didn’t throw it into the East River or the Hudson, and it’s probably still at the pawnshop), I had trouble speaking her name, too. At first. I can write her name now.
I guess you could say that Natalia and I were high school sweethearts. She was my first real girlfriend. She worked at Casa Rosa and then at Fragole, first as a waitress and then as a cook. Natalia could really cook. In fact, she cooked so well, she left this part of Brooklyn and me entirely.
She told me I wasn’t part of her “plan,” but she never told me her plan while we were together. Her plan was to marry a rich guy and start her own restaurant, and she did both, and in that order. She has a thriving restaurant in Bensonhurst, a rich husband, and two kids. She probably doesn’t even have to work.
I run into her every now and then during mass at St. Agnes. We speak, but it’s still awkward. There’s more, but I don’t want to depress you, and she broke it off nearly twenty years ago. Life must go on, right?
Guess what? We have something else in common. We’re both not looking. If you’re up to it, maybe we can “not look” together. I may be pushing 45, but my eyes are still young and strong. Maybe we can find what we’re looking for together.
I think the love you described in your e-mail only exists in movies and romance novels, not that I have ever read any. I never felt that kind of love with Natalia. We weren’t all that
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