Capitulito VIII

Nick moved into his current house six months before we met.

This is it, he always told me, this really is the house of my dreams.

Nick had many dreams. He dreamed of having a beach house, right on the sand. Where the ocean lapped at his back deck and his only pet was a dolphin.

He dreamed of a big ranch, where his whole family could live, where he could raise cattle and wear a cowboy hat, and kiss his perty little wife before leaving to run the farm.

He dreamed of living in a city, Chicago maybe, where he could own a sky scraper and put a green house on the roof. He said maybe he could take in lost animals and house them in the many stories of his home.

He dreamed of living in a forest, in a tree house. He said I could dress up like Jane and we could befriend the local monkeys. He smiled and made monkey sounds until I finally hit him.

Nick has this way of thinking up the most outrageous ideas. One day he told me he was going to buy us both tickets to the moon, because ‘all the cool people go there.’ He bought me those toy shoes that ‘make you feel like you’re bouncing on the moon’ and stuck pictures of the universe in my books. ‘Maybe we’ll see Elvis.’

One day he told me we were going to spend a year in Paris, just sipping on our fancy mochas ‘or whatever the crap they have there’ and write poetry. I looked at him, and he just grinned. ‘I don’t write poetry, Nick.’ ‘What, you just spend all your time reading it?’ He bought me a beret and a loaf of french bread and stuck little plastic eiffel towers in my purse.

He told me we were going to Australia to see the kangaroos. He yelled out, “Ah ya with me, mate?” And watched the Crocodile Hunter for a week straight practicing the accent. ‘Ya ready for th Outback, ey?’ He bought us hats just like Crocodile Dundee and tipped his every time he saw me.

One day Nick told me we were going to New York. He said ‘Pack your bags, we’ll take your car, let’s get outta here.’

And this time I actually listened.