Yesterday, I spoke with him.  He was somewhere in Iraq, I guess. He called me from an unlisted number, military, special forces – Him. I’ll save the name for later, because for the longest time I didn’t know it either. No, really. Somehow I’d learned the names of his three brothers, previous girlfriends, educational history, past employers, along with the silhouette of his bare body wandering from room to room, the same found later beneath a scratchy blanket, all of this before I knew him.  But then, maybe that’s not completely true.  I already understood the feel of my head against his chest, his graying hair, hands, neck, back, all of this before I uncovered his name.  But I want you to understand, it wasn’t because he hadn’t told it to me. In fact he’d stated it, his name, upon our first evening’s introduction; I’d just been distracted. You see, I was trying to find the wine. It had already been a long night, and at that moment when we met, locating a glass of Sangria was what had held my attention.

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