our towns, close.

I’ve lived in a town dotted close on the map to the town where you reside. We may have frequented the same coffeeshop on the outskirts of our towns. We may have shared a word or two in line for a bagel. You may have showed me the cover of the book you were planning on reading for free on your daily visits. I may have read it already.

You may have stopped by for tea on your way through my town to yours after being out at shops looking for a silly hat to wear or shoes. I may have kissed you. You may have liked it.

I may have allowed you to sleep next to me because it was getting late and your town seemed like a far off destination. We may have stared at one another in sleep. We may have ordered breakfast from the coffeeshop.

We may have become friends who listened to songs and cried because they meant something. I may have listened to stories that you told and thought they were brilliant. We may have moved in closer proximity to one another’s town, but not the same one.

I am afraid to move.
You are afraid to move.
We decide to sleep it off.

greek town.

i found this while getting some story pieces together and i found it to be a valid reflection on my rollercoaster love/hate of being wherever i am at the moment. enjoy.

---------------------


Mother describes him as “aloof”. By “aloof” she must mean that he doesn’t make eye contact when I speak to him. I find him to be aloof as well, I guess I just never really noticed.

Every time I come to the city I end up with some kind of head cold. Congestion. Bags under my eyes. I think it’s great. I always end up figuring something out while I’m here and appreciating something I forgot to appreciate before. This time it’s the trees. I am awed by the trees and the un-palmish nature of their leaves. The sizes. Everything about them. Driving up through Wisconsin, I stuck my hands out of the window and bounced my fingertip from one treetop to the next. Smiling. Announcing every now and then to the boys in the car to take a look. To check out the trees.

He made me sit in the back seat. He called “shotgun.” I was pissed. It is not such a fine line these days between being a child and learning the value of respect. A man in the lot at the Phish shows told me “I don’t think they realize how incredible you are” as I walked behind them. I laughed for a second. I think he’s right.

I don’t want to go back to Miami. Back to jobs that model confinement. I don’t have to. I don’t have to do anything.

I have a perfect seat in a restaurant in Greek Town. I am in front of the open window, facing the street and a restaurant called Parthenon. There are bikes shackled up out front. There are trees that look like elm trees, but I’m not certain.

People here say “Real Good” when asked how things are. They are always, “Real Good.” I like that. I like that real well.