TO KNOW ME IS TO LOVE ME

     I finished cleaning the apartment, lit an incense, and sat to drink my coffee. The aroma was strong, something with tonka bean. Sitting and drinking in the quiet. I watched as the smoke rose up and spread throughout the room.      Growing up, I had always thought that my house had a neutral smell, like it didn’t really smell like anything. My dad couldn’t handle strong scents and my skin was sensitive so we always used fragrance free detergents and never sprayed perfume or lit candles.  My best friend's house smelled heavily of incense. Sort of like those stores in the mall that sell tapestries and crystals.  Her house had a darkness to it—dark shag carpet, dark painted wood molding, and a wall color I can’t recall now but vaguely remember as being brown. They always had sheer curtains drawn over the windows. And from the incense a smokiness swirled through the air.  I spent a lot of time at her house.  I hated the smell of incense....

     When I looked out the window it had started to snow.       I caught the train perfectly on time despite running into heavy traffic from the redirected routes of the parade. In tow, my Balenciaga weekender and I had worn the thin Burberry trench coat out of the house even though I knew it was my worst rain jacket and that it wouldn’t serve me in the cold Upstate. I draped a sweater over my head as I stepped out into the rain and hailed a cab to Penn Station. I muted the blaring TV screen but watched as the taxi news displayed the great deluge coming down on parade-goers gathering in Midtown.      The train passengers had thinned and I no longer had a seat mate when we pulled into Albany. I got out to stretch and to feel the cold air. The feathery pieces floating down had excited everyone on the train car. Taking photos, faces beaming. I went into the station to buy a coffee and stood on the tracks for a brief moment taking a scalding...