#058

"I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy..."

Dear Bea,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. Combat is harder than I could imagine. Tomorrow we're shipping out for Saudi Arabia. I can't tell you much about it, other than the name of our mission: Operation Desert Shield. I haven't slept in five days but I keep hearing your voice in my head and it pushes me to keep moving. Send Nana my love. I can't apologize enough for not being able to shower you in morning kisses like you deserve. Thank you for being a strong, will-minded woman and the love of my life. I promise I'm finding my way home. xoxo

With all the love in the world,

Kota

His letters were my security. Of course I busied myself with book clubs, and charity events, and extra work hours, but his letters became my solace. They pacified my worries sorta like "hey yeah, I know you don't like to think about it but hey look he's not dead. He's not gone, he'll come back soon, just hang on a little more."

Kota and I met on a cold karaoke night in Gentleman Jim's. It was the year 1989. At that time, my friend, Ava, needed a numbing drink and Kota's cousin needed a celebratory screwdriver. Ava had one drink too many. Which consequently led her to grind on the crotch of a poor lanky, awkward drip who'd probably never touched a woman in his life. So I decided to take a walk to Pacifica Pizza which was conveniently across the bar.

We didn't have uber at the time, so as the designated driver of the night, my choice of beverage was a posh earl grey tea.

He found me in a booth.

"Something's off with this picture," he approached my table with a smirk and his head tilting to the side. I almost smiled. That's how it felt to look into his eyes. An immediate surge of joy filled me up. His eyes made me feel noticed.

"Pardon me?" I asked.

"A beautiful lady sitting by herself in a corner booth on a Sunday night," he answered.

I let the pickup line slip my mind and tried to respond back neutrally, "Okay. Picture this: a woman, taking a break from the rambunctious escapades of a drunk night by sipping on tea while thinking of ways to justify the third movie to Karate Kid."

Suddenly, a burning flash blinded me and the man lowered a Polaroid camera from his eyes with an amused smile dancing across his face, "It's an interesting picture, mind you."

He handed me the film. I hid my astonishment. Looking at the picture was like looking into another world. He captured me in a way I had never seen. He revealed a different version of myself that I'd never met. I noticed features of myself I had never noticed before; I looked more firm, yet I had a sort of openness about me that would lead someone to wonder what I thought about when I woke up in the morning. He captured an insecurity I hid from the ones I love, in just one flash. And of course I appreciated this, being a fellow photographer myself.

"I met Ralph Macchio in a urinal you know," he said easing onto a spot next to me in the booth.

"That's a bit odd, don't you think? Two men releasing mother nature while formal greeting."

"Nah he was a nice kid, very humble. But I didn't come here to talk about the history of one movie burn out," he explained. The man took note of my empty glass and waved a boy wearing an apron, "Hey waiter, refill for the lady and one hot lemonade. What? Don't look at me like that. Lemonade is a very adult-appropriate drink."

"I'm sure," I said incredulously.

"The name's Kota," he smiled at me, his hand sticking out.

"Bea – short for Beatrice," I shook his hand.