Sunday, July 24, 2016
From a birthday card
You sing Jann Arden at karaoke like it really matters, like important people are watching. This speaks to something in you that’s superior to most people. You aren’t afraid to belt:
Maybe you might have some advice to give
On how to be insensitive
You sit down next to me, after you’ve wrapped up and some bro in a pink tank top is trying to sing the Beastie Boys, and you’ve got tears in your eyes. I grab your face and kiss your nose. You are surprised, but you like it, and you tell me so.
“Are you gonna sing something?” You ask, swigging soda water.
“Yeah,” I say, “I absolutely am.”
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Marika says that we’ll discuss the best scores and feedback over beers at the tent. I have no idea what she’s talking about but I nod and say, “Sure! Sounds good!” When I meet her there, she’s ordered a pitcher of something blonde and she’s eating pretzels and curly fries. “Hey!” She waves at me and I try not to cringe. “Hi.” I say.
I’ve known Marika since we were campers, since we competed just like these kids are. I never thought that she’d last. I never thought we’d be coaching together. I never thought I’d be stuck with her for four months of every year.
“I can’t believe that Amy actually got the highest score,” Marika says, picking a bit of pretzel out of her molar.
Friday July 22, 2015
Overheard at the No Frills
In the shade
Under the tree marked
with our initials
we wrote songs about the parents
we’d become a decade from now.
In the heat
Pressed against the cold fridge
door we kissed places we forgot
In the summer
rivers of sweat descending between
breasts and hips and shoulder blades
we wove macrame homes where our
cactus might live.
Thursday, July 21, 2016
Overhead at The Rickshaw
When you got to prison, you missed the smell of your home pillow – the one with the blue paisley design, worn from so many years of face and head and hair. You called your brother and cried and cried until your phone card ran out of money. You learned the rules, but it took time, and you goofed up enough that the guards kept their eye on you. This went against the plan to remain invisible. This went against who you always were – a well mannered wallflower whose anger was buried beneath layers and layers of fear, whose visions of knives and train tracks and fingernails only came at night, in the safety of your basement apartment bedroom.
Saturday, July 23, 2016
On the walk home tonight you grabbed my hand so I wouldn’t tumble down the hill and told me you were seriously considering buying a camper van.
It was a nice moment.
I could tell you more about what I was thinking inside my head when you said it.
I could say that I wanted to know you forever right then and there. I could say I wasn’t sure all this time because I was convinced you would find a reason to leave me but then I was. And it felt different. It felt different than being weary of you. It felt different being so completely certain.
But I didn’t say any of those things. I smiled at you. I gripped your hand tighter. And I looked into your eyes with a deep sadness for all the moments before I doubted you. The moments before I doubted you could love me as much as I loved you and as much as I needed to be loved.
So I think that was enough.
I think that was all I needed to do.
And then we came home and baked some tortilla chips because why the fuck not.