As I was waiting in the elevator, a woman suddenly angled through the closing doors and appeared amongst us. Slightly startled and self-conscious, she looked about at the motley crew surrounding her. A handsome man, with whom she had just made eye contact, asked her what floor she wanted.

“Seven,” she said, and then as if it was a word she thought she was saying in her head rather than out loud, softly added, “oncology.”

Nobody said anything, and she looked down. Her blond hair was still shiny and immaculately maintained, and she had one of those artificial tans that stood out, somehow suggesting she had always aspired to be a trophy to someone.

She smiled weakly at me, “ To look at me you wouldn’t even know, “ she began, but then as if seized by a kind of shame, she stopped. None of us felt like we belonged, it wasn’t just her. And then we all rode the elevator up in awkward silence, each one of us getting off at our own particular floor, each one stepping into a world we never dreamed we might belong.

I sat at the bar, listening to your message once again, and still smiling, spun on my stool like a liberated child. Before me on a little stage a beautiful woman with severe and mysterious bangs performed music that was alien and precious and entirely lovely. In a nearby booth there was a young couple– arm in arm, their heads pressed together. They swayed to the music. Oh, oh, what a beautiful autumn night, really, what a lovely night, and this couple, you could see that they weren’t expecting to find this tiny miracle unfolding before them, this music playing just for them. They were just out for a quick drink, maybe a bite, but now they were in the middle of a poem, everything they encountered a happy accident, the soundtrack to their romance.

I had to leave a little bit early and the musician was still performing. As I passed by her I turned and smiled, giving her the thumbs up and mouthing the word, “awesome.” She smiled and nodded, and I like to think her eyes sparked with a little bit of surprise and gratitude, and then I hit the street, a little bit of rain falling, and I was then, as I am now, thinking of you.

Madeline:

Somebody far in the distance is strumming a guitar. Just beneath the hum of the fan, I can hear it drifting in through the open window. It enters so softly, as if a daydream of romance that’s now free of its moorings and lost in the streets.

I look across the street into the illuminated parking garage and as if summoned, there’s a young and attractive couple in Rock n’ Roll clothes holding hands. I have to look through the dark into captured light, and the way the garage is lit makes it look like a theater and the couple is on stage, and they are so very happy they might actually be skipping. When they come upon the striped parking garage gate arm, they delighted even further, and bending back they both did the limbo beneath it, still holding hands, laughing and smiling at one another, unaware that anybody was watching.

Love,

Carter

This is what is said:

Anna:

On Saturday, at about two in the morning, I stepped into a cab that was blaring opera.

It was completely unexpected and absolutely beautiful. The taxi was speeding through the mild, winter night with such light and joy contained within—we were a dazzling secret. Oh, I did not want to get out of that cab–the two of us, the driver and I, we could have gone until dawn as far as I was concerned. Keep the meter running, cabbie, let’s unroll the windows, let’s pour the music out into the streets and have the stars fall in.

I wish I had moved to Toronto with you, I wish I had loved you better.

RM

Julia,

I know what you’re saying.

One night while in high school my friends and I were driving around in somebody’s father’s Mercedes. We had music blaring out the open windows. All virgins, we were a genial pack of average boys, but we thought we were pretty cool—real catches.

A girl I thought was pretty was walking along the street and I yelled out, “nice calves!” She kind of smiled at this remark, saying something deflective and neutral, and we mistook this for encouragement. We thought that this was probably the best thing that had ever happened to her– a car full of cool guys paying her attention. We drove slowly alongside of her, offering her a ride and attempting a flirtatious posture. She was smiling, but she began to walk faster as this attempted seduction proceeded, and then she began to trot. And when she looked back at us there was terror on her face, and she yelled, “Please, please, please, just leave me alone!”

And then the car was still and quiet except for the music.

It is a moment I have never forgotten.

You were right to say what you did to him.

Always your uncle,

Alan, xoxox

Dear Madeline:

I came across you at age 11 on Monday. You said hi. I said hi back.

You were riding along on your bike, with a possibly pink helmet on and a white, short-sleeved shirt. I was huffing uphill, so you were coasting down. When I looked up, you were smiling at me, smiling about yourself, was my impression. It looked like your eyeteeth had just grown back in after losing the baby ones, so maybe you were even younger than 11. You said hi, perfectly calmly. Made me smile. Pretty sure it was you.

Love,

Elizabeth Tevlin