(no subject)
Every now and then, when the other girls are asleep or off doing some goddamn thing or other, I take out my pictures and look through them. There are three that always give me pause.
The first picture is the one of Beth and Junior and Spike on the day after my niece was born. Beth Junior's tiny and Beth and Spike both look really tired, but they also both look incredibly amazed and happy. I sometimes wonder what Yorick would look like if he'd been there instead of Spike, but I don't wonder it for long. I know just how my best friend in this whole fucked-up world of ours feels about her guy from Mars, and I can't fucking imagine how she's holding up so well right now. She's so much stronger than I am. If I was in her shoes, I'd probably have offed myself by now.
The second is the picture of Quinn. It's almost worn down, I've stroked that scruffy face of his so goddamn much over the past however many months. He's such an Englishman: polite and reserved and shy and stumbling, and inside he's so brave. He's doing things I don't think I'd ever be able to do. I never had the feeling with him that it was some forever opportunity; it lasted as long as it lasted and I didn't even get to see him last time I was there. I'm not sure I'll ever get to see him again, but the memory of his face against mine, his body against mine... shit on a stick, he made me feel beautiful and whole instead of maimed and damaged.
One picture I never took but sure fucking wish I had is of Jack. Jack Twist, the cowboy from Wyoming, all nasty attitude and hand-rolled cigarettes and beautiful eyes and really bad jokes, and there's something about him -- him of all people -- that makes me miss Joe something fierce. Even after all this time. Maybe it's the way he pretends he's not flirting, or maybe it's the solid unapologetic tilt of his goddamn stubborn chin, or maybe it's that hat he doesn't take off. I promised him I'd see him soon, but I haven't. I won't.
I can't.
Fuck you, Alter. Fuck you and your whole goddamn army. You cunts have no idea what you mowed down in that corn field. Goddammit: I want that door back. I want men again. I want to see them, touch them, hold them, smoke with them, drink with them, sleep with them. I didn't fucking cherish the time I had with any of them enough. In a way, it's like the day the plague hit all over again but worse: it's worse to know it's there and I just can't touch it. I miss it and I'd crawl through hell to get back to it.
Oh yeah, the third picture: my goddamn dog of a brother. In San Francisco, before I left to deliver his letter to Beth.
I love you so much, Yorick. Just don't ever ask me to say it.
The first picture is the one of Beth and Junior and Spike on the day after my niece was born. Beth Junior's tiny and Beth and Spike both look really tired, but they also both look incredibly amazed and happy. I sometimes wonder what Yorick would look like if he'd been there instead of Spike, but I don't wonder it for long. I know just how my best friend in this whole fucked-up world of ours feels about her guy from Mars, and I can't fucking imagine how she's holding up so well right now. She's so much stronger than I am. If I was in her shoes, I'd probably have offed myself by now.
The second is the picture of Quinn. It's almost worn down, I've stroked that scruffy face of his so goddamn much over the past however many months. He's such an Englishman: polite and reserved and shy and stumbling, and inside he's so brave. He's doing things I don't think I'd ever be able to do. I never had the feeling with him that it was some forever opportunity; it lasted as long as it lasted and I didn't even get to see him last time I was there. I'm not sure I'll ever get to see him again, but the memory of his face against mine, his body against mine... shit on a stick, he made me feel beautiful and whole instead of maimed and damaged.
One picture I never took but sure fucking wish I had is of Jack. Jack Twist, the cowboy from Wyoming, all nasty attitude and hand-rolled cigarettes and beautiful eyes and really bad jokes, and there's something about him -- him of all people -- that makes me miss Joe something fierce. Even after all this time. Maybe it's the way he pretends he's not flirting, or maybe it's the solid unapologetic tilt of his goddamn stubborn chin, or maybe it's that hat he doesn't take off. I promised him I'd see him soon, but I haven't. I won't.
I can't.
Fuck you, Alter. Fuck you and your whole goddamn army. You cunts have no idea what you mowed down in that corn field. Goddammit: I want that door back. I want men again. I want to see them, touch them, hold them, smoke with them, drink with them, sleep with them. I didn't fucking cherish the time I had with any of them enough. In a way, it's like the day the plague hit all over again but worse: it's worse to know it's there and I just can't touch it. I miss it and I'd crawl through hell to get back to it.
Oh yeah, the third picture: my goddamn dog of a brother. In San Francisco, before I left to deliver his letter to Beth.
I love you so much, Yorick. Just don't ever ask me to say it.