It was probably about 12 degrees Fahrenheit outside (Which he would note as -11C)

and snow was piled on top of my car, crisp and inviting,
like the snowbanks in my hometown.
I love to crunch my fingers down into the white abyss
and pack it up into an ice-ball, or blow it into a flurry of flakes.
(Which one depends on the wetness of the snow)

Of course I was panicking.
not the cute panicking where the cheeks flush,
and the hair looks windswept as you circle around
searching your thoughts
and the purse,
and under the car seat.

No I was fully panicking,
with the angry slamming of my empty beer glass
on the table top
and rolling my eyes at the server
when they tell me to have a nice day
the stomping to the car and throwing everything from under the seat out onto
the sidewalk

and he was quiet
“it’s probably in the parking lot”

I sucked in sharply,
“yah right, it’s gone.”
“Fuck!”

He drove me through the drifts,
knowledgeably navigating the Columbus streets

We arrived at my car

a little black wallet sat peaceably in the snow

He brushed off the windshield
and told me to start my car

I thought back to something he’d said
at the table

back before I realized my wallet wasn’t under the piles of receipts,
mittens, tissues, scarves and junk
in my purse

when I’d confessed that
I don’t talk about my writing
because people don’t listen
but when you don’t talk about something
it doesn’t’ feel real

and then I’d apologized.

because you learn to apologize
when you are a listener
conversing with talkers,
you apologize for filling the air
they’d rather fill themselves.

and he’d stopped me.
“don’t apologize”
“fuck ’em,”
“you can talk about
whatever you want to”

He said it will all the confidence
I’d never had
and all the sincerity
I needed to hear

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