Friday, August 31, 2007


THE DAY:Friday August 31st 2007
THE TIME: before843inthenighttime
THE MUSIC:Yellow; By Coldplay
THE MOMENT: My new self stretched out on my new bed inside my new apartment.

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Tonight I had a spaghetti dinner with a boy that wants to marry my friend. My friend wasn’t there. I made the fruit salad. I asked him so many things: his favorite things in the world, the reasons why he loved her, the flavors he likes in his ice cream, but could find no reason not to like him, though I’m sure that was the goal at the beginning. I cannot say which conclusion would have been more comforting.
In my room across from me, there are four round pill boxes on top of a pillowcase, on top of a table I stole from a dumpster. I bought them from a hippie type store on the island I’ve gone to every summer I can remember. In the living room, some stow-away island sand suffocates in a glass Sundrop bottle. Brooklyn's seashell stares it down alongside our other sideline attempts to create an ocean in our land locked apartment. It’s not quite convincing, but there is something unseen in the air around here that squeezes sunsets into you and filters down through all your back stage foundation thoughts… and so our tabletop beach, though meager, is enough.
Today I sat on the edge of this bed with a boy I know I could love. I think he knows it too. I don’t think he plans on letting me. (There is an anticipation, a longing in me for who he is, the kind that compels me to wear a white sundress when I see him again, but not to change it when I drip red popsicle all over myself.) As I think of him, all that we were, the absent feeling of what is now left over, the knowledge of what we could work to be… half of me is overcome by a comfort that silences all surplus thinking… though still, in an undeniable corner towards the back of my mind, a dial tone rings out.
It is him.
I catch myself wishing he would reach for me.
There are five girls in my life here. I am one of them. The other four waited for me to come home from home. When I did, they were ready for me. This alone is a baseboard blessing inside of me. We made a beginning though we did not actually end. They know my summer. We know our fears, our intentions, our stumbling blocks. We know the strengths, the forces of the women we are. We are a flash flood, a sand storm, a funnel cloud, a natural power watched from a distance.


1 comment:

siovhan said...

This is one of the most honest things I've read in a long time. And it's five are a sandstorm. A blessed sandstorm.