The Dust Storm Page #2

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didn't want to keep you

if you were meeting someone.

- No, no, I've got

nowhere to be, you?

- I'm pretty free.

Last time we saw each other.

- Your nephew was

getting baptized.

- That's right.

You were leaving

Seattle for Colorado.

- And I missed my flight,

so I ended up spending my last

day with you and your family,

even though we both

knew it was over.

- But we stood there together

pretending it wasn't.

- Yeah, that wasn't

uncomfortable at all.

- Not at all.

- No.

- I've seen your Facebook.

- We're not friends.

- We'll always be friends.

But you were right, on

Facebook, we are not friends.

- So how did you see?

- Well, your page isn't

completely private.

So I can see assorted

pictures you've posted.

- That's creepy.

- It's a little creepy.

But you haven't posted in

a while, not since this.

But I gather you're not married

or you don't have any kids,

or if you do, you're

embarrassed by them,

so you don't post any pictures.

- They're just really ugly.

- You should see mine.

They're in the car

waiting for me.

It's okay, I left it running.

- You still in Seattle?

- Mmhmm.

Remember when you lived there?

- How could I forget?

- And you had that

ceramic garden gnome?

- Norman.

- Norman, yes!

Oh, he was horrifying

with those red eyes

and that geriatric smile.

- I used to put him

in the refrigerator.

- Yes, I would go for a beer

and find this f***ing gnome

waiting for me.

- How come you never called?

- What would I have said?

- I don't know, any of this?

- Hmm, I don't know,

maybe for the same reason

you didn't show up to

my sister's wedding.

- You guys should feel

these for a couple days.

- Thank you.

You don't have any

place to be, right?

- Right.

- Right.

- Whew.

- What's your favorite memory?

- What, favorite

memory of all time?

- Of us.

- Uh, wow.

Okay, I came to your apartment

because we were going to dinner,

and you had made up this lame

excuse about no reservations

and that you were flustered,

and then I went into your

room to grab your coat

and you had rose

petals scattered,

and candles burning, and this

Italian meal that

you said you cooked.

- It was Olive Garden.

- I know.

- Yeah.

That was the moment when I knew

I could never live

without you in my life.

- But you did.

- No, I didn't.

You were always

there like a ghost,

haunting any

relationship after you.

- Your turn.

- We were working at the

bar, it was almost Christmas,

I think we'd been seeing

each other for about a month.

And you'd just gotten off

and left the building.

- It was so cold that day.

- And I watched you walk

across the parking lot,

toward your minivan.

- I hated that car.

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