Letter #46: An Open Letter to the Guy that isn't with Me on a Friday Night

Everyone knows that Fridays are the best day of the week. From the beginning of the day it's a journey to the good, just knowing you've got the whole weekend ahead. It's the promise of relaxation, late nights, and lie-ins. And you're really missing a lot by not being here on Friday nights. 

If you were here, we'd be lying in my bed while we re-watch this week's Parks and Recreation. We'd laugh at fart attack and cry when that thing happens that we don't want to spoil for anyone else. Well, okay Maybe I'd cry again and you'd quietly admit you shed a few tears when you watched it yesterday. You'd laugh at me and start tickling the spot that you know will have me thrashing until I have to gasp for air. We pause and start all over again. 

We'd order pizza from the shop around the corner and drink with beers at the dining room table. We''d talk about the crazy weather because that's all anyone is talking about. And we'd laugh at local news stories during the six o'clock hour. You'd suggest that the dishes should be washed, but neither of us would get up, and let them sit until Saturday morning.

Perhaps we'd put in a movie sometime in the evening and you'd make me swear that I was going to pay attention and not fall asleep early. But midway through I'd come over to you in the chair and put my head in your lap. I'd start to drift off, you'd start to play with my hair, and you'd talk to me until the ending. 

Or maybe we would have had dinner plans with mutual friends. We'd lament about the lack of hockey, make plans for the Steelers game on Sunday, and decide that we'd all had a enough beers for a Friday night. We'd head home, public radio on the station, and we'd chat about the election. Our votes ready to be cast.

Or just maybe we'd go to bed early, the sound of the fan humming as the temperature dips outside and we await rain throughout the night. We'd put our heads to the pillows, get under the blankets, with hopes of early morning pancakes and parades. 

You're out there though, Guy who isn't with me on a Friday night. In your own bed, or in someone else's. At the bar, or playing board games with friends. Maybe you're on vacation, or coming home from a business trip. Or you're catching up on weekly television while you eat Chinese food on your couch. I have no idea, and you probably have no idea that I am here.

But I hope one Friday, you somehow make it here.