CELEBRATION Devin Welsh
At the corner of Powelton and 34th, I pull my headphones out of my head, and the sound of Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On” probably continues to play in my pocket until I realize. I trot up the steps and pull open the door to Sabrina’s Cafe, instinctively using my sleeve, and I wave to the host seating people as I walk past with my eyes set on the stairs past them. The stairs creak, and maybe I start to hear music playing up the stairs, or maybe now is when I realize Marvin Gaye is still serenading my pocket. Either way I feel a warmth regardless of the season, and I begin to skip steps and smile like an idiot as I climb further up the steps. I don’t know if I’ll be wearing a mask or if I’ll cry when I first enter the space, making my mask unbearably adhesive, but I know when I enter the studio I will levitate over the threshold, maybe into a hug from the nearest Writers Room writer. I’ll settle for an elbow bump. We will be together, some of us sitting by the window, or on the floor, or some swanky seating selected by Lauren, Wenrick, or Patrice. Maybe they argued about it, or maybe they were unanimous in their decision. But, regardless of paint, or seating, or snacks, it will feel like home. It will feel like coming home. I will be home. But most importantly, I’ll be there with my family. There will be a collective sense of this feeling I’m sure, even among people I’ve never met in person. I will be surprised at how tall Nick still is. My heart will skip beats every time I hear the elevator door ding. (I imagine it will ding, and even if it Anthology 7
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