"Two white girls, sitting in an East Liberty parking lot, drinking..."
Last night was full of poetic irony and those moments that remind me why I like to suffer-- because it means I get to feel alive.
We ended up in a parking lot, drinking Woodchuck Cider. She mocked me each time I flinched at the shadows.
"This is eerily poetic," she said, baring her teeth in that gaping jaw smile that only sees the light of day when she's a little tipsy. The sun went down a long time ago, but the streetlamps were sillouetting her head and I could see enough.
"Pathetic," I retort.
"Dangerously poetic."
"Dangerous is right. What if we get murdered or something?"
That smile again. "Then I'm sorry for taking you out with me."
And another hour of talking about how sometimes running away and starting over are the same thing and sometimes they're not. Another shadow shudders on the parking lot divider and I duck behind her. A laugh.
"But seriously," I say, my hands tracing feeble patterns in the air. "What if tomorrow you woke up dead?"
"What if I woke up dead?"
"Yeah. What if you knew you were going to wake up dead?"
"What would I do right now if tomorrow I was going to wake up dead?"
"Yeah."
"Seriously? Or, like, I'd fuck everyone in a three square mile radius?"
"Seriously."
"I'd call my parents and get them here. My brother. Joe."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. And then I'd... I'd wait for them to get here, I guess."
"Huh."
"What would you do?"
"What would I do, right now, if I knew tomorrow I was going to wake up dead?"
"Yeah."
"I'd sit here and drink cider with you."
"Seriously."
"Yeah. This is exactly where I want to be, right at this moment."
"Do you feel like that very often?"
"I try to. Most of the time it doesn't work."
"What if... what if you don't know where you want to be?"
"You have another cider."
"Okay. You have to open it for me."
"Sure." The edges of the cap bit into my palm. I was glad it was too dark for her to see me flinch.
Love,
Beth
We ended up in a parking lot, drinking Woodchuck Cider. She mocked me each time I flinched at the shadows.
"This is eerily poetic," she said, baring her teeth in that gaping jaw smile that only sees the light of day when she's a little tipsy. The sun went down a long time ago, but the streetlamps were sillouetting her head and I could see enough.
"Pathetic," I retort.
"Dangerously poetic."
"Dangerous is right. What if we get murdered or something?"
That smile again. "Then I'm sorry for taking you out with me."
And another hour of talking about how sometimes running away and starting over are the same thing and sometimes they're not. Another shadow shudders on the parking lot divider and I duck behind her. A laugh.
"But seriously," I say, my hands tracing feeble patterns in the air. "What if tomorrow you woke up dead?"
"What if I woke up dead?"
"Yeah. What if you knew you were going to wake up dead?"
"What would I do right now if tomorrow I was going to wake up dead?"
"Yeah."
"Seriously? Or, like, I'd fuck everyone in a three square mile radius?"
"Seriously."
"I'd call my parents and get them here. My brother. Joe."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. And then I'd... I'd wait for them to get here, I guess."
"Huh."
"What would you do?"
"What would I do, right now, if I knew tomorrow I was going to wake up dead?"
"Yeah."
"I'd sit here and drink cider with you."
"Seriously."
"Yeah. This is exactly where I want to be, right at this moment."
"Do you feel like that very often?"
"I try to. Most of the time it doesn't work."
"What if... what if you don't know where you want to be?"
"You have another cider."
"Okay. You have to open it for me."
"Sure." The edges of the cap bit into my palm. I was glad it was too dark for her to see me flinch.
Love,
Beth