At the End of the Dock

Wine Near the Golden Gate Bridge

I was sitting at a wine bar in the city sipping a nice balance between a Zin and a Cab called End of the Day. The people walk by and they're all so beautiful and well dressed and suave. It was all very calm too, Fall just beginning to tiptoe into the atmosphere and I was getting well toasted as I threw back the last couple drops of my third glass. I ordered another.
Then I thought about you.
I thought about your hair and your voice and the way you sing and the way you say my name and how you look when you sleep.
I haven't heard from you in weeks. Right now, you're the hero that plays the victor in my dreams and I dream about you almost every night.
So I just sit and sip, lost in my daydream. My low-cut sweater steals glances from people as they pass but I don't care. I keep my eyes low and behind the dark sunglasses I get to pretend like I don't even see them. My wavy hair blows in the wind as I mind my own business staring down at my book.
Then a voice steals me from my concentration.
"Hi," it says nonchalantly, as natural as if it came with the breeze. I look up and my mouth drops open. It was him. The one that got away, the one I hadn't seen in years. The dark hair in complete contrast to yours, the one I'd dreamt about until you knocked him clean out of my subconscious. But he lives in my memory, a ghost in the corners of my mind as I waited to be a part of him again. I'd chained him to the fence, tired of being in unrequited love but unable to get rid of his beautiful face from haunting my dreams.
And there he stood as if he belonged right there in front of me, looking at me like nobody else existed in the whole world.
"It's been a while," he said.
"It has at that," I responded. I could hardly catch my breath. This man that played the main character throughout my entire childhood, my first love, king of my heart, appeared here before me, heavy as an anvil and strong as a hurricane. His presence could very well knock me over.
"Can I join you?"
And he does. I'm at a loss for words. So much I've been dying to say. So much I want to explain and I seek explanation in return. He looks different now, older, more mature. I don't even know the man sitting in front of me. I loved a past version of him that does not exist anymore but he plays through my mind like a broken record that I never had the courage to throw away.
Then, another voice sings through the air as I stare at the wondrous man before me and steals me from my recollection.
"Hi," it says with hesitation. It's you. You with the golden hair as glistening as the bridge across the bay towering over with your blue eyes and the tattoos coiling around your arms.
I pause.
"Hi," I stutter. My mouth drops again as he and I look up at you. For months it was quiet, for months I hadn't heard from either of you. But now here you stand towering above me, a competitive expression just barely gracing your face before you let it pass and replace it with a smug smile, all-knowing and prepared for battle.
He stands from his seat, rising to meet your gaze. After a haughty pause, he extends his hand.
"I'm James," he says.
You pause a moment too.
"Henry," you say.
And you shake hands.