Off of 51st Avenue, we walk along the train tracks, balancing, bumping into each other on purpose just to feel the touch. He is still engaged to someone else. But he is miserable and everyone sees it. Bowie’s “Young Americans” pours into the dark from the phone in the back pocket of my jeans. I summon courage and link my arm through his. We find an empty train car, climb the ladder to the top. I pull out a Sharpie and he writes David + Eileen and draws a heart around it. I have always wanted someone to do that.
Eileen Fickes is Nashville-based denizen of coffee shops and porch swings. She lives for fine pens and thick paper.