Today's Vintage

As I sit here, preparing to write this next entry, the song "A house is not a home" comes on the radio. See, this is how I know I'm doing the right thing, its so beyond the obvious now. Every day there is some little tiny reminder that where I am in life is only a pit stop and that my heart, my "home", is elsewhere. Ok so I did not plan to start this entry out the way that I did, but it made me exhale in a very soothing way, so its all good :)

So anyway, as I was walking around the supermarket this evening, along the wine and spirits aisle no less, I picked up a bottle of Sterling reserve meritage vintage 2008, and was instantly transported back to the year 2004. I was sitting inside of a very quaint Italian Restaurant in the Short North district of Columbus Ohio. It was a cold night in February, and I was sitting across from a very dark and mysterious poet who knew exactly what to say, and how to say it. But it wasn't the poet that stood out in this memory, but the woman who was sitting at a table across from us. She looked normal enough, and there was nothing flashy or outlandish about her appearance. From the way she was dressed it seemed as though she had come to the restaurant just after work and apparently did so often, as the owner knew and greeted her by name.

I watched her place her order, well, more like the owner ordering for her since he obviously prepared the same thing each time she came in. She then pulled out a bottle of wine from her bag and sat it on the table. The waiter came by and uncorked it for her and proceeded to pour her a glass. She picked up the glass of wine, inspected its flawless color and swirled it around ever so gently to release its allure. I watched her eyes glean with anticipation of inhaling the tempting aromas that awaited her senses. Then she closed her eyes, tilted the glass towards her nose and took in the deepest breath. Just then her cheeks rose into a satisfied smile, as hints of plum, chocolate, blackberries and earth, no doubt danced around her sinuses. She then let out a very soft but pleasurable "aaah".

Now that I was in complete stalker mode, I returned my attention back to the poet and commented on how content she looked. He looked at her, and while doing so said "yeah, loneliness wears the mask of contentment very well." Right then, the complete picture started to fill in, the table set for one, the book that she pulled out to read soon after pulling out the bottle of wine, and even the way that she sipped her wine, as though she wanted desperately for that momentary burst of palatal happiness to never end, but of course the glass would eventually be drained empty. I was entranced by this woman, this stranger who for some reason both intrigued and terrified me for reasons that I would not come to understand until now...

Because now, I'm standing in the middle of a freakin' grocery store, dressed in my 9 to 5 attire, with the ingredients necessary to make my famous flat bread pizza inside my squeaky basket, and a bottle of vintage 2008 meritage in my hands, and wearing the most beautiful mask of contentment every made. I feared that woman sitting at that table by herself, because in the back of my mind I knew I was one sip away from becoming her; and now we share the same glass. Loneliness is a cruel beast. It paints the grand illusion of freedom and unbridled ambition, and limitless options. But in reality its nothing but a cold and narrow road that leads to despair. Its a road that I've grown so tired of being on.

So as I sit here typing away and revealing these tiny little nuggets of truth, I realize more and more how much I miss my family, how much I despise the cold side of my bed, and how I, like that woman in the restaurant, go on day to day wearing this mask and hoping that no one can see just how solo my life really is.

My pizza turned out flawless as always, and I savored each and every sip of wine that crossed my lips. But now, sadly, my glass is empty. T-Minus 337