downstairs

it's funny the way memories work. one minute you can be sitting downstairs in the dirty garage under his apartment building, cross-legged holding your still full bottle of beer and smoking a cigarette, listening to sewage flush through the pipes overhead and watching people bring their wet dogs up in the elevators. and he says you are beautiful. and instantly you are sitting on your chair in the little greek restaurant, moments out of the freezing rain and snow, you've just taken off your hat and gloves and coat, the lady asks if you mind if she turns off the television in favor of some music, and you are giddy with love and changes happening everywhere around you, and he takes your hands across the table and he looks in your eyes and he says you are beautiful.