2004-11-21 / 1:54 p.m.

(can you do that dance?)

I am in the giant walk-in closet, sorting through clothes, when I notice him: tall, gangly with dark hair falling into his eyes.

He's talking to himself:

Yeah, happy birthday to me -- hello, 30.

I wanted to laugh. 30 is thew new 21, don't you know?

I'll be 35, I told him, smiling.

He looked over, surprised, and asked me what that would be like.

Of course I didn't have the answer, I haven't gotten there yet.

He left and as I stood there separating the sweaters from the T-shirts, his friend came in and kissed me on the lips.

That's from him, he said. Get your stuff ready and hit the road with him. Take off, leave everything behind.

How much should I pack? I asked, dumbly, not thinking about the implications of "leave everything behind."

The friend flashed two fingers.

Two days' worth? Not a lot, would it be enough?

And so I started grabbing clothes and toiletries and books and wondering how I would sneak them all past GB. Wondering how I could pack up two days' worth of my life and get away with leaving my husband.

And then it hit me, I wouldn't do that. I couldn't do that.

I didn't want to do that. Even the thought of a real kiss from this man, even the mind-blowing possibility of what it means to start your life completely over couldn't get me to go through with it.

last night ... tonight