I had Mexican today. By myself, though I rarely eat Mexican alone. It is one food that’s better when shared. Like sushi. Or hibachi.
As the hostess walked away, I laid my hand on the menu and was overwhelmed by the memory of being in Lupe’s with a man I love, a man who slipped away to another plane of existence, two-years back.
|2006ish-Port Hueneme Air Show|
As I wait for the server, I see on Facebook that his daughter, also dear, has posted how much she’s missing him. And I swear, Harold Richland is sitting beside me, flipping through the menu, knowing he will order Chili Colorado when the waitress shows.
I am in La Bamba, on a different coast, to write while I eat, as I often do. But the love wells up, in to my throat, and the food is hard to swallow.
Harold I miss you.
I miss you.
And I love you, still, so much that it hurts.
~ O.J. Barré