I’d had the date May the 07th in my head for quite some time.

ever since that call when I was in Buenos Aires, in fact.

May the 07th.

May the 07th.

the day I leave on my trip for National Geographic.

[if I'm being honest, I'll admit to still not believing that - even as I write it.]

but for some reason, the closer the day seemed more familiar, which was weird, seeing how such familiarity comes with things known – or expected. but not this. even I – as full of myself can be at times – couldn’t have ever placed myself on a train from NYC down to DC to walk into the offices of the Yellow Border.

May the 07th.

it still seemed like a big day – even beyond the train ride.

May the 07th.

I called my Mother on the night of the 6th – mostly knowing she’d remind me that I was going to do great and other things that Mom’s are good at saying.

‘oh yeah’ before I hung up ‘did anything happen on May the 07th to me?’

‘to you, honey? no I don’t think so – why?’

‘it just seemed familiar.’

‘it’s probably because it’s your nephew’s birthday.’

oh… that’s right.