(no subject)
we've been talking a lot lately about how we'll remember these two years in nyc once they're over.
it comes to mind mostly when i'm riding the six into the city with headphones and a good book and a cup of motherfucking dunkin' donuts iced coffee. the other day, it was bright enough outside that they kept the lights off inside the train until we descended (hell-style) into the subway tunnels. riding above the bronx, seeing the flat and gray bronx in bright sunlight from a cool and shadowed train. i don't know. i asked my roommate what she thought, how she'd remember it all. we slipped into sun, back into shadow again as we approached a stop.
she scowled, shrugged. "i think i will be proud that i got through it, but i do not think that i will remember this fondly."
i understand what she's saying because that's how i assumed i'd remember ithaca. but anyone who listens to me talk for ten minutes or reads a single entry on this damn journal knows that now, i remember ithaca as a haven. a hard and glorious and bittersweet year and i MISS it. i remember when the snow didn't stop for a week and instead of thinking about how cold it was or how my blankets were frozen to the window when i woke up, i remember that night when all of us went to the 7-11 for milk so i could make mexican hot chocolate and jacy was chasing us down with a block of snow a foot wide, solid. or the river, melting. the ice floes crashing and whooshing past our house all day and night, the constant flow of water. there was a christmas tree on one, floating past us like it belonged there. another time, there was a family of ducks cruising along on what looked like a mobile glacier.
i think, though, that what will come immediately to mind when i think about *this year at least will be the oppressive heat. the days spent naked or in my bra and underwear in the house, windows open, fans on full-blast, drinking gallons of water and eating popsicles to keep from passing out. and the pattern of it: the sweat, the advisories and then the crackslap of thunder, the downpour, the instant cooling and steam from pavement that wore waves of heat for days straight, into nights. the wind is blowing now, the windows are open. i'm waiting for the storm now. it's coming here and then we'll all sleep, maybe even beneath the sheets.
it comes to mind mostly when i'm riding the six into the city with headphones and a good book and a cup of motherfucking dunkin' donuts iced coffee. the other day, it was bright enough outside that they kept the lights off inside the train until we descended (hell-style) into the subway tunnels. riding above the bronx, seeing the flat and gray bronx in bright sunlight from a cool and shadowed train. i don't know. i asked my roommate what she thought, how she'd remember it all. we slipped into sun, back into shadow again as we approached a stop.
she scowled, shrugged. "i think i will be proud that i got through it, but i do not think that i will remember this fondly."
i understand what she's saying because that's how i assumed i'd remember ithaca. but anyone who listens to me talk for ten minutes or reads a single entry on this damn journal knows that now, i remember ithaca as a haven. a hard and glorious and bittersweet year and i MISS it. i remember when the snow didn't stop for a week and instead of thinking about how cold it was or how my blankets were frozen to the window when i woke up, i remember that night when all of us went to the 7-11 for milk so i could make mexican hot chocolate and jacy was chasing us down with a block of snow a foot wide, solid. or the river, melting. the ice floes crashing and whooshing past our house all day and night, the constant flow of water. there was a christmas tree on one, floating past us like it belonged there. another time, there was a family of ducks cruising along on what looked like a mobile glacier.
i think, though, that what will come immediately to mind when i think about *this year at least will be the oppressive heat. the days spent naked or in my bra and underwear in the house, windows open, fans on full-blast, drinking gallons of water and eating popsicles to keep from passing out. and the pattern of it: the sweat, the advisories and then the crackslap of thunder, the downpour, the instant cooling and steam from pavement that wore waves of heat for days straight, into nights. the wind is blowing now, the windows are open. i'm waiting for the storm now. it's coming here and then we'll all sleep, maybe even beneath the sheets.