Stefan
Angry i just spent a lot of time writing something only for it to freeze during publishing. The LJ mobile app is trash! But anyway. I hate May 1. It’ll always make me think of Stefan and how his absence is something i never imagined would bother me so much. But it does. I miss my friend. I remember I was getting drunk at SBC when we heard they found a body in the Stop & Shop parking lot. It would be hours before i found out it was him.
I went and found something I wrote the first time we slept together. It was from September 2011. Just a month before I made it official with Kevin.
………………………………………………
& there is more clarity
than shadow to be had,
maddening in a way.
he throws out a casual invite
calls me
to insist
& after just a few minutes
he convinces me
i go
i drive
i arrive
in probably less than three minutes
he texts me to go to the back
like a dirty little secret
(he does have a girlfriend after all)
(ugh, she's really pretty & nice)
the doorway
propted open with a leg.
"hello, hello," he says
"nice prosthetic." i say
"oh that, that's patsy cline."
i narrow my eyes
& he tells me it's a long story
before he starts that long story
we're kissing
"patsy who?"
i say.
he's kind of talking
but kissing me hard
too
in between syllables
his huge hands
one, holding my face
the other at my waist
with fingers through my belt loops
i stop
take a breath,
i say, "the musician?"
he says,
"no,
(slips his hand up the back of my shirt)
the leg."
i don't care about the leg
i just hope he doesn't stop kissing me
he's blasting the aphex twins
In a blur
i'm high
& naked
we're on the kitchen floor
giggling
looking at the magnetic poetry on the fridge
arranging it to quote our students
his phone keeps ringing
the linoleum tiles vibrating near the stove
where his pants are.
it's his girlfriend in between her grad school classes
i tell him to get it
though he doesn't want to
he does.
she asks him if he's folded the laundry
he nods toward the living room
two big baskets wrinkly & overflowing on the couch.
he promises to get it done
& i'm sure he will
he's actually a nice guy
i think
he hangs up the phone
we have casual conversation about
folding linens
as i'm trying to get dressed
he stays naked
for a long while after
i'm dressed
i put my hair up
& use the bathroom
my eyeliner is smeared
& my chin is red
he walks across the apt
& packs us a bowl
we smoke
he sits leaning forward
elbows on the mosaic table
perched on the tall bar stool chair
"i wonder if a lot of people secretly think they're really cool?"
"who?" he says defensively...
"themselves." i say with a nod & a shrug...
"what?" he says with a slight bit of laughter
squeezing my arm
he hops off his chair
& brings me a stack of canvas
his paintings
i like them.
He tells me
he knows
without a doubt
that he's fucking cool.
i'm trying to understand him
i want to know him
he is so interesting
he IS
so cool
i wonder if people secretly think themselves really cool, deep down.
i mean they must, right?
i mean i'm not really thinking narcissistic levels here
but i suppose in the sense of the ego & everyday choices.
not a personality disorder
but instead a personality trait.
what we deem cool
& uncool
can't be purely societal.
can it?
he is so attractive to me
the way he doesn't give a fuck
the way he can just be who he is
so unabashedly
ok
i'm high
& exhausted
& riddled with guilt
& wonder
so don't hold me to this
when i'm of sober mind
& will be painfully aware of my ego
& pride
& i feel embarrassment
for what i did
& will likely
not post this.
……………………………
When he passed from an overdose
He had broken up
with that girlfriend
was months out of rehab
& was dating a boy.
i appreciate all the things
he has made me
materialistically
& otherwise.
I still have many framed pieces in the basement.
One of the last conversations we had
Was him warning me about kevin
Telling me addiction was no joke
Little did we know his addiction would be his demise.
The world lost a wonderful person on May 1st.
Rest in Peace (as you would sign your cards to me) my little “Jerkface”. Miss you. Hope youre still spreading your art & wonderfulness up there… or wherever you are.
I went and found something I wrote the first time we slept together. It was from September 2011. Just a month before I made it official with Kevin.
………………………………………………
& there is more clarity
than shadow to be had,
maddening in a way.
he throws out a casual invite
calls me
to insist
& after just a few minutes
he convinces me
i go
i drive
i arrive
in probably less than three minutes
he texts me to go to the back
like a dirty little secret
(he does have a girlfriend after all)
(ugh, she's really pretty & nice)
the doorway
propted open with a leg.
"hello, hello," he says
"nice prosthetic." i say
"oh that, that's patsy cline."
i narrow my eyes
& he tells me it's a long story
before he starts that long story
we're kissing
"patsy who?"
i say.
he's kind of talking
but kissing me hard
too
in between syllables
his huge hands
one, holding my face
the other at my waist
with fingers through my belt loops
i stop
take a breath,
i say, "the musician?"
he says,
"no,
(slips his hand up the back of my shirt)
the leg."
i don't care about the leg
i just hope he doesn't stop kissing me
he's blasting the aphex twins
In a blur
i'm high
& naked
we're on the kitchen floor
giggling
looking at the magnetic poetry on the fridge
arranging it to quote our students
his phone keeps ringing
the linoleum tiles vibrating near the stove
where his pants are.
it's his girlfriend in between her grad school classes
i tell him to get it
though he doesn't want to
he does.
she asks him if he's folded the laundry
he nods toward the living room
two big baskets wrinkly & overflowing on the couch.
he promises to get it done
& i'm sure he will
he's actually a nice guy
i think
he hangs up the phone
we have casual conversation about
folding linens
as i'm trying to get dressed
he stays naked
for a long while after
i'm dressed
i put my hair up
& use the bathroom
my eyeliner is smeared
& my chin is red
he walks across the apt
& packs us a bowl
we smoke
he sits leaning forward
elbows on the mosaic table
perched on the tall bar stool chair
"i wonder if a lot of people secretly think they're really cool?"
"who?" he says defensively...
"themselves." i say with a nod & a shrug...
"what?" he says with a slight bit of laughter
squeezing my arm
he hops off his chair
& brings me a stack of canvas
his paintings
i like them.
He tells me
he knows
without a doubt
that he's fucking cool.
i'm trying to understand him
i want to know him
he is so interesting
he IS
so cool
i wonder if people secretly think themselves really cool, deep down.
i mean they must, right?
i mean i'm not really thinking narcissistic levels here
but i suppose in the sense of the ego & everyday choices.
not a personality disorder
but instead a personality trait.
what we deem cool
& uncool
can't be purely societal.
can it?
he is so attractive to me
the way he doesn't give a fuck
the way he can just be who he is
so unabashedly
ok
i'm high
& exhausted
& riddled with guilt
& wonder
so don't hold me to this
when i'm of sober mind
& will be painfully aware of my ego
& pride
& i feel embarrassment
for what i did
& will likely
not post this.
……………………………
When he passed from an overdose
He had broken up
with that girlfriend
was months out of rehab
& was dating a boy.
i appreciate all the things
he has made me
materialistically
& otherwise.
I still have many framed pieces in the basement.
One of the last conversations we had
Was him warning me about kevin
Telling me addiction was no joke
Little did we know his addiction would be his demise.
The world lost a wonderful person on May 1st.
Rest in Peace (as you would sign your cards to me) my little “Jerkface”. Miss you. Hope youre still spreading your art & wonderfulness up there… or wherever you are.