Second Chunk.
Anyways, back to college. College is a place where you meet these new people that supposedly are going to change the rest of your life. So I was waiting, here, in this same room, waiting for my life to start changing. Waiting, breathing, writing, breathing, waiting, etc. And nothing seemed to be happening-so I decided to do what any right-minded freshman was-ignore the signs. So ignored I did. But when it came and bit me in the butt I realized that I should have been paying attention all along.
Newburyport-now wasn’t that an experience? To actually be in a car, a real car. The train ride was slow moving-and all I was trying to do was read. Two words. That’s all that I managed to finish. He had already decided that on the way to his hometown he was going to make every effort to impress me. Big Kim (and she was big, so I guess I couldn’t blame him) and their math class, all the guys, the hugs, the camaraderie, and what he missed. And God, believe me, with all of my heart and my soul, all of the past tears, smiles, all of the missing hugs from the Jimmy Dean roommate who was careful to avoid stagnant touching, and before the introduction of my savior RA, boy did I understand. I understood all that we were ready to give up was the thing we missed. You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. Truer than seeing your breath on a winter morning. Truer than “The sky is blue, because…” and the fact that that statement alone made me hate my first boyfriend. Truer than “I Loved You.” And that’s as true as you can get. Being there, with him, waiting for the train to stop, I realized that all I needed was this moment, this time, this love, between us, between us not understood by either, to get by the rest of the year. A short time span-a short lived love. Or a love made to live short, or made to stay submerged because of the vast consequences. Consequences I don’t think either of us would ever entirely understand. Consequences-but in a flash the conversation turns, because I realize-“It looks like fall.” Yes-he’d noticed to. In the city-but here, it was unmistakable. The leaves had a definite fall color. Pulling me back. Slipping-away, away, down, down, down-missing, missing, and missing. Holding it back, but still the salt brinks at the tips of deep whirls of dark, deep dark-brown leaves.
And then seeing the mother that makes me cry-well that was the end. A smile from a mother is like God’s kiss every day, letting you know that no matter what, someone loves you. Moms are great because no matter whose child you are, they understand the bond that has been severed or severely stretched, and they tend to accept you without question, and to embrace you every chance they get to fill that void.
Moving, fast, through a city-river. Marsh. Crazy lesbians. Not so crazy lesbians. Best friend lesbians. And then, onto home. A home! A real, live home with people and feelings and thoughts and a garage and a pogo stick. He can’t do it, but he says it’s still cool. Besides, we’re too old for those now. (As her dad did say, we shouldn’t be wondering what the words and tune to the Eskimo song is, because we’re in college. Doing collegiate things. Right?) Backing out, after of course letting the car warm up, we head to the house. Green, with a soccer-stickered Audi outside. Green. Pretty green, agonizing green, envy green-jealous? No. Never. (maybe. No-never.) Green nonetheless, but now it’s done. Past it by. Onto the school. The school, the people. “You’ll like him.” And I did. Brandon. And the play starts. Pulled into a whirl of thoughts of the past-Bye, Bye Birde with its fire. The feeling of trying out, and not making it. Which, of course, leads to Mike Axtell on the bridge. Damn that bridge to all hell for looking so peaceful millions of years after he had moved off to Hoosier country.
First act. Head spinning, thoughts spinning. Whispers. Close whispers. “I just wanted to let you know how amazing you are.” Breathing-close. Lover-close. (Haha, lover-style.) “That’s (my ex-girlfriend, best friend, good friend, etc) and later I have a story about sloppy seconds.”
What about oops-firsts?
Newburyport-now wasn’t that an experience? To actually be in a car, a real car. The train ride was slow moving-and all I was trying to do was read. Two words. That’s all that I managed to finish. He had already decided that on the way to his hometown he was going to make every effort to impress me. Big Kim (and she was big, so I guess I couldn’t blame him) and their math class, all the guys, the hugs, the camaraderie, and what he missed. And God, believe me, with all of my heart and my soul, all of the past tears, smiles, all of the missing hugs from the Jimmy Dean roommate who was careful to avoid stagnant touching, and before the introduction of my savior RA, boy did I understand. I understood all that we were ready to give up was the thing we missed. You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone. Truer than seeing your breath on a winter morning. Truer than “The sky is blue, because…” and the fact that that statement alone made me hate my first boyfriend. Truer than “I Loved You.” And that’s as true as you can get. Being there, with him, waiting for the train to stop, I realized that all I needed was this moment, this time, this love, between us, between us not understood by either, to get by the rest of the year. A short time span-a short lived love. Or a love made to live short, or made to stay submerged because of the vast consequences. Consequences I don’t think either of us would ever entirely understand. Consequences-but in a flash the conversation turns, because I realize-“It looks like fall.” Yes-he’d noticed to. In the city-but here, it was unmistakable. The leaves had a definite fall color. Pulling me back. Slipping-away, away, down, down, down-missing, missing, and missing. Holding it back, but still the salt brinks at the tips of deep whirls of dark, deep dark-brown leaves.
And then seeing the mother that makes me cry-well that was the end. A smile from a mother is like God’s kiss every day, letting you know that no matter what, someone loves you. Moms are great because no matter whose child you are, they understand the bond that has been severed or severely stretched, and they tend to accept you without question, and to embrace you every chance they get to fill that void.
Moving, fast, through a city-river. Marsh. Crazy lesbians. Not so crazy lesbians. Best friend lesbians. And then, onto home. A home! A real, live home with people and feelings and thoughts and a garage and a pogo stick. He can’t do it, but he says it’s still cool. Besides, we’re too old for those now. (As her dad did say, we shouldn’t be wondering what the words and tune to the Eskimo song is, because we’re in college. Doing collegiate things. Right?) Backing out, after of course letting the car warm up, we head to the house. Green, with a soccer-stickered Audi outside. Green. Pretty green, agonizing green, envy green-jealous? No. Never. (maybe. No-never.) Green nonetheless, but now it’s done. Past it by. Onto the school. The school, the people. “You’ll like him.” And I did. Brandon. And the play starts. Pulled into a whirl of thoughts of the past-Bye, Bye Birde with its fire. The feeling of trying out, and not making it. Which, of course, leads to Mike Axtell on the bridge. Damn that bridge to all hell for looking so peaceful millions of years after he had moved off to Hoosier country.
First act. Head spinning, thoughts spinning. Whispers. Close whispers. “I just wanted to let you know how amazing you are.” Breathing-close. Lover-close. (Haha, lover-style.) “That’s (my ex-girlfriend, best friend, good friend, etc) and later I have a story about sloppy seconds.”
What about oops-firsts?