thinking himself sour

he’s like lemonade
upside down on a porch swing
wondering what’s wrong

****

The air has the smell of autumn in it. Just a hint of what’s still far away. I remember last year wanting to hold onto summer and not let it go. This year it’s passing by like a breeze. I’m not trying to save any of it. That sounds wrong. Like the holding on meant it was good, meant I wanted it to last. Really, I wanted it over, just in a different way. A new season in the northwest will wash over me and I’ll come out the other side in some other place, some other time. Some other person. It’s more fluid here, I’m along for the ride. I want to see what’s next. So the smell is nice. I smiled when it made it’s way to my memory and I love that it smells the same as autumn two thousand miles away.

So there is this boy. He’s wickedly clever. With a voice like butterscotch pudding. And in true form, I mostly want to hide under my bed. I mostly want him to go away. I mostly want to kiss him in the hallway. My ridiculousness in the matter has surprised even me. That’s a feat! I rarely surprise myself, mostly because I feel pretty confident that I’m capable of anything. And not in an "I can climb that mountain!" kind of way. It’s more in a "Didn’t mean to spill that wine all over the carpet, Mr. President." kind of way. So yeah. He’s here and I’m here and he makes me feel like the dorky girl in 7th grade who I never really left back in 7th grade. Pigeon toed and messy haired and reading on the bus. Sometimes when I smile, I swear I can still feel the braces.

I start my guitar lessons this week. I bought a hard-shell case and printed out chord progressions for the song i most want to learn. It’s My Favourite Chords by The Weakerthans. Lovely little tune. I’ve also spent too much time thinking up song lyrics and eyeballing stickers for the now nude case. Which won’t be nude for long. If it sits still, is in arm’s reach and is mine - it’s got stickers on it. Heck, if it meets two outta three, it’s got stickers on it.

What did I say about still being in 7th grade? Yeah.

Jodi comes on Friday for a fun filled fabulous weekend o’ fabulous fun. Our biggest plan stands as getting unbelievably drunk on Saturday afternoon and then taking a ride in this tourist trap called The Duck. Actual residents hate The Duck. Duck drivers will occasionally poke fun of you, on their loud speaker (!!), if you don’t look appropriately happy when they pass by. Duck drivers play loud disco music and lead the dazed and confused tourists through the arm movements to YMCA. Their victims get complimentary duck billed shaped kazoos upon boarding. Mike hates them. They are these WWII water car boat things that can go from land to sea without requiring much more than a driveway. Legend has it one sank a year or two ago. Surely no one was hurt. Surely the kazoos/life preservers kept everyone safe and sound but upon reading the news, Mike smiled, thinking himself Duck free forever. It had sunk! Farewell and good riddance! Until lunch time! Turning his head to see what goofball was blaring YMCA he realized, and I quote: "Apparently, they have more than one." So that’s Saturday. Quack quack.