Friday, November 9, 2007
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Thursday in the City
I figure that the thing about childhood that it's shadows stick with you in the oddest and most perfect ways. My new book paired with the unusually tight booth of that Korean coffee shop , the one with the classical music, seemed to act like old friends - like an inside joke that you think you understand but know isn't your place to ask about. My past thirty minutes or so have been spent peering into the sheet-talk of two lovers; that perfect calmness and trust in your body and anothers just being there together.
Some of my bad habits have left me, I have grown up just a little, I guess just enough. The beauty of this glimpse into simple love does not make me envious or needy, but calm, as they are. I rember a lovers skin turning perfectly thin at the wrists so you can see the veins branch off to feed touch and how a knowing hand on the small of my back can slow everything else in my world for an instant just so that everything seems possible. These moments can't be rushed. They come when they want to, dancing in and of of our lives just so one doesn't get too comfortable and forget how rare they are.
As I left the shop I grabbed a lollipop, a leftover from a measly Halloween run they probably had. I picked purple. It tastes like Dimatapp. A perfect match for the old creme that had embedded itself on my breath.
My tights started to sag as I walked over to the library. That awkward constraint that I haven't felt in years, which you aren't supposed to free yourself from in public, makes me smile, and my thighs start to feel that dull electric presence of cold...that crisp nice chill that makes you feel good about the world. I hike them up with a mischevious grin. No one noticed but it was good to be a bad-ass none the less.
The last time I was here was probably my first. Just after they opened it my mom took me to get my first card at the coliseum. It was paper and tore far too easily. She had to co-sighn because I was too young for my own but I still did my best handwriting, slanting just enough, and getting far to small as I rounded the end of my last name to be taken seriously.
For all I knew my mother was going to die a month ago and I sometimes forget that. The fact that her hair won't grow back save for one spot on the back of her neck, to the right, by her ear, should probably remind me but I swear it doesn't. It probably should have given me the hint the other night that the good old spheal about how she 'shouldn't judge women's lives in other cultures as being that of an otherworldly oppressed people when she still feels like it's her duty to cook and clean for her husband and grown children'. She cooks and cleans because it is the only thing that she has the strength to do. How's that for a daughter?
So now I am going to learn. I am going to put all of this behind me and learn about some junk that is going to make me a better person. The last legs of that lollipop felt like a fading childhood but now that dull-paper stick is eying me with disdain. I think I need more coffee.
Some of my bad habits have left me, I have grown up just a little, I guess just enough. The beauty of this glimpse into simple love does not make me envious or needy, but calm, as they are. I rember a lovers skin turning perfectly thin at the wrists so you can see the veins branch off to feed touch and how a knowing hand on the small of my back can slow everything else in my world for an instant just so that everything seems possible. These moments can't be rushed. They come when they want to, dancing in and of of our lives just so one doesn't get too comfortable and forget how rare they are.
As I left the shop I grabbed a lollipop, a leftover from a measly Halloween run they probably had. I picked purple. It tastes like Dimatapp. A perfect match for the old creme that had embedded itself on my breath.
My tights started to sag as I walked over to the library. That awkward constraint that I haven't felt in years, which you aren't supposed to free yourself from in public, makes me smile, and my thighs start to feel that dull electric presence of cold...that crisp nice chill that makes you feel good about the world. I hike them up with a mischevious grin. No one noticed but it was good to be a bad-ass none the less.
The last time I was here was probably my first. Just after they opened it my mom took me to get my first card at the coliseum. It was paper and tore far too easily. She had to co-sighn because I was too young for my own but I still did my best handwriting, slanting just enough, and getting far to small as I rounded the end of my last name to be taken seriously.
For all I knew my mother was going to die a month ago and I sometimes forget that. The fact that her hair won't grow back save for one spot on the back of her neck, to the right, by her ear, should probably remind me but I swear it doesn't. It probably should have given me the hint the other night that the good old spheal about how she 'shouldn't judge women's lives in other cultures as being that of an otherworldly oppressed people when she still feels like it's her duty to cook and clean for her husband and grown children'. She cooks and cleans because it is the only thing that she has the strength to do. How's that for a daughter?
So now I am going to learn. I am going to put all of this behind me and learn about some junk that is going to make me a better person. The last legs of that lollipop felt like a fading childhood but now that dull-paper stick is eying me with disdain. I think I need more coffee.
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