the start of something grand
the one they all call "slow boy" came stuttering in today. he empties the trash, pulling bags like waving sheets in the wind. excited rolling marble eyes are turned to me, and he says that someone left the access to one of the roofs open yesterday. "it isn't safe," he says, "someone who wanted to kill themselves could have just climbed up on the roof and jumped!" as if on cue, the bag of trash he is clutching rips and coffee cups and pathetic pink crumpled post-it notes come tumbling down in a mocking fashion, but he continues growing frantic, "it isn't safe! i almost climbed up there and closed it myself!!" his lips are angrily pursed and he shakes his head, doubtless imagining the possible horror that could have taken place yesterday on lunch break of one of we, cubicle bound. i nod and sigh, rounding the corner of the desk, and stooping to help him pick up the paper ocean that has accumulated across the berber carpet plains. "is that your puppy," he asks, gesturing to a photo of daisy may on my desk. i nod along and offer him one of my starbursts. we chew and chew and chew and, for some reason, it just feels better.
the first day i heard banhart, pretty recently actually because i am generally stubborn to suggestion, i bought three of his cds and became a shut in for the next two weeks. my mouth, hung open, for three hours and i stared at a wall, and when i came too later, well, it was without a shell. this is the beauty of becoming part of the muscles, the tendons of life stripped raw and vulnerable. this is the intricacy of a pinecone. when i thought it couldn't possibly be any better, then this came along. it's been on constant rotation, and it leaves me permasmiling.
aren't friendships amazing? how she can look at me like it makes sense when i tell her late at night that i think river phoenix is my guardian angel. somehow, it gets a head nod like she never expected anything else. how i can call her at 1:30 a.m. and ask her how dinosaurs had sex, and she will wake up and try to theorize with me.
EDIT: i found out that banhart grew up in caracas; do you know what caracas means to me?! well, i won't tell you.