You pulled a blanket out of the trunk of your car and spread it out on the curb in the parking lot of a suburban bar. That you even had it must have meant something. The warm air carried our laughter and the enticing scent of Wendy's chicken nuggets past people filing out of the bar as it closed down. You told me that smoking would damage my skin, that it was beautiful and didn't deserve to be ruined. I'd usually be annoyed just like any other smoker when someone tells them it's a bad habit, but your delivery was charming.
The evening started as a disaster, friend fired from work and bad news all around. I hardly even knew you when you asked if anyone wanted to play pool. Truth be told I'm not very good at pool and would have said no if it had been any other night. It's fallen out of my memory who won. Those kind of things don't typically stick with me.
People were leaving, but you, like me, had the feel about you that the night wasn't over, so I invited you to tag along with me. We took your car because it's impossible to refuse a sober ride when you plan on moving on to the next bar; things were already coming together so well. Being close to someone hardly known was exciting, I guided you through a foreign city to a bar made out of a double wide trailer. When we left, I took music from a friend that would end up spelling one of the most wonderful disasters, a simple song we played loud that still rings in my ears.
10.28.2008
a beginning
Nestled in a fort of pillows I'd constructed over the course of the evening, it was time to go home. Two in the morning and a long drive back to Dallas, where the couch I'd claimed as a bed waited for me. I didn't want to leave, to be alone and driving late at night. You'd turned out the light while I stalled and talked, my mouth pouring out words like it does when I'm nervous. I was nervous.
Darkness makes it easier to talk. In a room with no windows late at night, it is the easiest thing to talk. I hardly remember what I said to you. The words were just an excuse to stay. Swapping stories, the night passed so quickly, so much spoken but with so much left to say. You touched my arm and it was electric; such a small gesture and my inhibitions and worry gave way to comfort... and longing.
All the words had run dry while the sun rose and a sliver of light began making its way to our unadjusted eyes, and I found myself lost in your arms.
Darkness makes it easier to talk. In a room with no windows late at night, it is the easiest thing to talk. I hardly remember what I said to you. The words were just an excuse to stay. Swapping stories, the night passed so quickly, so much spoken but with so much left to say. You touched my arm and it was electric; such a small gesture and my inhibitions and worry gave way to comfort... and longing.
All the words had run dry while the sun rose and a sliver of light began making its way to our unadjusted eyes, and I found myself lost in your arms.
forgetting my sweater
The sun is still bright but the air is chilled. The days are shrinking into early dusk while I think of clove cigarettes and cross-country drives, horns sounding so clear and strong while miles disappear beneath the tires.
It was cold inside the office. They'd kept the air conditioning on, because in Texas you can't be sure if it's really going to cool off or if the weather is just playing games. It was cold enough inside that a jacket or sweater would have been more than appropriate, but I kept leaving it in the house in my groggy morning ritual of stumbling out to the car hardly functioning as human.
Thursday was no different. Stumble out from bed, do what is required to be at least marginally presentable, grope around for keys. Keys that are heavier than usual - they must be caught on something, struggle to free them from... my sweater. Tied to the keyring by the hood drawstring. What more could I want in life?
It was cold inside the office. They'd kept the air conditioning on, because in Texas you can't be sure if it's really going to cool off or if the weather is just playing games. It was cold enough inside that a jacket or sweater would have been more than appropriate, but I kept leaving it in the house in my groggy morning ritual of stumbling out to the car hardly functioning as human.
Thursday was no different. Stumble out from bed, do what is required to be at least marginally presentable, grope around for keys. Keys that are heavier than usual - they must be caught on something, struggle to free them from... my sweater. Tied to the keyring by the hood drawstring. What more could I want in life?
learn well the hunter's remorse
One of my cats was a dark blur, leaping to the back of the daybed-turned-couch and startling me away from a pretend world in the television. There was a moth in the house, flying erratically from light to blinds through the chilly room. Her eyes wide and wanting, the cat chirped and scrambled for purchase on the hardwood floor, desperate to make contact with the small, soft-winged mystery. Sharp teeth closed on the grey body; it fluttered briefly before coming to a final rest.
Puzzled, she gently batted it with a clawed forepaw. Nothing. Chirping, not with the chirp of the hunt but with confusion, she nudged it with her nose. No response. By now, the other cat was aware of the situation and came to investigate. Still nothing. A few chirps later, a few more fruitless battings, and the dead creature was devoured.
Puzzled, she gently batted it with a clawed forepaw. Nothing. Chirping, not with the chirp of the hunt but with confusion, she nudged it with her nose. No response. By now, the other cat was aware of the situation and came to investigate. Still nothing. A few chirps later, a few more fruitless battings, and the dead creature was devoured.
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