Top Five

January 26, 2003

It's Sunday, so as usual, my adorable upstairs neighbor, Jasmin, came down to hang out with me while a realtor showed our building to some potential buyers. We made fun of the realtor when he wasn't looking, and when he took the buyers downstairs to see the basement, we joked about locking the door behind them. Today wasn’t as busy as last week, and after only a few appointments, he was gone.

"Are you hungry?" I said to Jasmin.

"Yeah, you?"

We walked the chilly streets to a restaurant a few blocks away.

“What are your top five pleasures in life?” Jasmin asked as we waited for our food. Random questions like these are one of many reasons to love her. But loving a person who asks these questions, and trying to answer them, are two different things.

I sat there with a dumb look on my face and let the conversation wander elsewhere. But Jasmin hadn’t forgotten. "Are you thinking?” she said. “Have you come up with your top five?"

Uhh—ummm—errr—

"Ok. I'll tell you mine."

“Good idea.”

"Okay, it's an evolving list—never-ending,"

"Yes, of course."

She counted them off on her fingers. "Number one, taking a piss. You know, like when you really have to go."

“Good one.”

“Kissing."

“Of course.”

"Laughing so hard that your stomach aches and your eyes tear."

“Another good one.”

"Swimming in the ocean."

“Nice.”

"And sitting by a fireplace."

“All quality choices.”

"Ok, so how about you?" she said.

“Can't I just copy yours?”

All I could think of to add was that yes, I liked kissing too, but even more than that is that moment before your lips touch. When you feel each other's breath and smell each other's skin. When you know what's about to happen, but it hasn't happened yet. Nervous and excited and strong and weak. Your blood flickers and hairs twitch.

“That's the one!” she said.

She talked about her dreams and her screenplay, her job, and her birthday. She told me about her upcoming road trip to Florida, what she was hoping to do when she got there, and the people she was planning to meet. She told me that the fly in my apartment is a bad spirit.

"What am I supposed to do about it?" I asked.

"I don't know."

The check came, and I offered to pay.

"No, no, don't be silly, let's see."

She spun the check around, looked at it, then reached into her wallet and pulled out a few dollars. "Oh shit, that's all I have."

“Chicks,” I said.

By the time we left the restaurant, snow had started to fall, and wispy flakes were swirling gently in every direction. The trees and dumpsters and sidewalks and cars were dusted with powdered sugar. We took some pictures under the street lights, made some plans for next Sunday, and wandered home.