one night last fall.

It was in the fall, probably November.  He called me to come over--it was 10:00 on Sunday night.  I was tired and already in sweat pants and a rugby shirt I'd inherited from my brother.  But of course I'd go.

When I pulled up he came out, saying, "let's go for a drive."  I almost whined, "but I have to get up early..."  but in some attempt to embrace impulse, didn't.  I held my tongue and decided ah hell, one late night won't kill me.

We got in his car and he looked at me and said, "where should we go?"  I shrugged, a bit confused. "Business 40?" I suggested, "Through downtown?"  There is something about city lights at night--any city.  But the center of Winston-Salem at night is majestic in its isolated height and uncanny quiet.  It is heavenly, and the city charm can make anybody feel dazzling.  It's inviting and warm and sparkling with contrast.  Janitors and night watchmen have keys and they turn on the night lights in the city.

We drove down the expressway and got off on Cherry Street.  Weaving around down in toward Fourth and Trade, we got mixed up and turned around on one-way streets and turn-abouts.  Fall had come that day, a swift overhaul of any residual summer warmth.  It was eerie the way all the lights were on. Everyone, like aggravated turtles, was tucked up at home to avoid the cold wind.

With wide open parking, Mark pulled up by an apartment complex.  He looked at me and turned off the engine, smirking.  

"But I'm in sweatpants!"  

He just smiled and got out of the car.  

I opened the door and shuddered when the wind diced right through my cotton coverings.  He grabbed a long sleeve shirt from his golf bag in the trunk and threw it to me.  We ventured into a parking deck and came out to the landing which afforded a view of the skyline.  I'm sure I gaped and he, less concerned with city lights, wrapped his arms around me and lifted me up, stretching his neck to place a kiss my jaw bone as I looked at the light pouring out of the tall domed building that you can see from a thousand points around town.

I smiled, a gesture for the stars, as he spun me around.  And then, setting my feet back on the asphalt, he put his hands on my frozen face and I kissed him.

We walked up the street and turned right on Fifth, toward First Baptist, whose stained glass window glowed with colors.  

"We look like we're homeless," I said, flopping the unfilled sleeves of his large men's shirt that draped off the ends of my hands in his face.  

We stopped in front of a mural wall, holding hands, and craned our necks to see the picture.  It was too close so we crossed the ghost street to get a better scope.  

"Weird," he said of the ambiguous figures.  We both laughed.  "I mean really, what is that supposed to be?" 

The traffic lights switched dutifully from green to yellow to red to green again, though in the whole universe there wasn't a car on the road.