pretty on the blue

My last post. The last two paragraphs. Have lingered a little. Hung around. Disappointed. Disappointed that I’d have those feelings. Disappointed that I’d write them down. I shouldn’t miss him. And there are many days where I don’t. But I haven’t written those days down because they don’t lay on the page as lovely. Longing is pretty. Missing is pretty. It’s veiled and soft somehow. It’s starring out a window. But the sour that boils up in me some days. That isn’t pretty. Every time I try to write the why of it, it spits out juvenile and clunky. Filled with and thens. And then, and then he, and then. I imagine myself catching my breath between accusations. Finger pointed. Wet cheeks.

So I don’t write it.

Instead it gets blown away when I’m looking for my keys, or lost in the mail. It gets packed away and forgotten about or handed off in a knowing look. It gets dropped or kicked under a table. It gets left on the bus. It falls out of my pockets when I sit down. Or stand up. It washes off me in the shower. Twirling down the drain. Married to the soap suds and smelling like cherry blossoms. You can’t always tell the vinegar by its smell. And sometimes the pretty reeks of sugar beets. My hair reaches the middle of my back now and see. Time heals all. All, time heals. Heel. He. Eels. Hey kid, it’s. Time to move on.

Off. On. Off.

On.

Had drinks and tiny appetizers with Boo and a Boy With A Very Small Head. This was overheard: I’m a hermaphrodite. This was said out loud: It was a different fucking Algerian. Number of tofu puffs consumed: 2 dozen. Number of chopsticks used on both ends: 1 pair. Number of people with dark hair: two. Number of girls: one less than three. Number of mixed drinks consumed: too times two. Did you know that in the movie, he kills her because she is terribly inconvenient. Know what else, I’ve been terribly inconvenient. So there. At least I wasn't murdered. At least. That didn’t happen. Or at least I don't think it did becuase whenever you breath out, I breath in. Positive. Negative. Positive.

NeGaTiVE.

I think I just took a step sdrawkcab.

Nah. I’m moving right along.

Another afternoon there was Brad and me. We were both wearing dress pants, slacks I said, trousers he laughed. And talking on a conference call. All his papers were dog eared and we walked away with a $100,000 contract to split. Banana split. He said she swirled her ice like Yahtzee. And I told him I thought the word sticky was a terribly ridiculous thing to have a conversation about. With the window down my hair spun around my head. An updraft (like fingers) brushing my neck. I wished for my sunglasses as we drove toward the city, across the floating bridge. I wanted to see if I could walk on water. I wanted to see if I’d sink or float. I wanted to see if it would recognize me after all this time.

Because that’s my home town.

Where everything is fluid. Where everything bobs with the waves.