Alison and I walked together in cold European December Seeking a modest dose of culture & enlightenment in some grand dead palace where we could pass judgment on the decadence of queens and puddlejump around from surrealist paintings to Mexican food to picking up Evi at the airport. We found the time.
We'd gone out on the first night and been the only two speaking English at the bar, until we were interrupted by a hot Australian bartender who joined us and agreed to play Country Roads to our delight. We lost the time.
It wasn't lost on either of us how foreign it had become to be with each other like that, and happy I hope: We were instantly caught up as I kept bumping into her intentionally, and shouting "Entschuldigung!" because it was the only word I knew. We'd lost no time.
She told me about her piano search and looking after the Ambassador and hobnobbing with former presidents and dignitaries with all the uptight flair of the affairs of state, and her own shining searching lost loneliness that has come to mirror my own. We knew the time.
On the last night we stayed up playing checkers and rummy and chess until she could win, sipping wine as we ignored the gardens and museums that surrounded us, and taunted each other about how we were ready to party all night if only the other hadn't grown so old. We still had time.