A Random Image
 

Jett Superior laid this on you on || August 15, 2004 || 10:13 pm

I don’t know why I craft these entries.

(alternately titled ‘You Fucker’)

I couldn’t begin to tell you how many prayers I’ve floated skyward regarding you. Thing is, they’re not your standard prayers: Not the typical “Take care of this one, if you would,” or “Bring it around again, please, please, pleaaase.”

Nope, none of that. They’re more like, “Just let me forget, let me forget,” and “Help me leave this to the past.” It’s not sane to torture oneself this way.

I was reading something somewhere one time (can you get any more vague than that?) and this young woman about my age was talking about how she was the one to clean out her grandmother’s house and wrap up her legal matters after her grandmother had died. She said she learned more about her grandmother in those couple of weeks than she had known about her for all of the thirty years they shared.

She went through books, papers, letters, photographs. She found a picture of a young man in a Navy uniform over and over when she went through albums and boxes. On the back of each photo was simply a first name: Clyde. There was one photo that he had inscribed,

“I miss you every minute of every day.
“Love, Clyde”

in one corner.

There was a locket with Clyde occupying one frame while the woman’s grandmother sat perched in the other, a sweet smile gracing her lips. There were letters –and oh, my, the letters…the words flung between the two were amazing.

The woman marveled at all these things. Who was this Clyde? Why had her grandmother never, ever mentioned anything of him? Not one thing.

And there was no resolution to be found in all that correspondence. Nothing hinting as to why the demise of this elegant passion occurred. Later on, there was an ersatz journal found. It had snippets of poems, favorite quotes, brief thoughts from its keeper. There was one entry, some two years before grandmother’s death, saying something along the lines of, “Even now, I miss Clyde. I wonder about him often.”

I don’t want to be that person; that’s why I pray for it to be taken from me. Even still, this dance of wills will follow me to my grave; I suspect it will linger around yours, also.

::: :: ::: :: ::: :: :::

The summers when we lived

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp heartbeat to heartbeat, you and I

The dry-fire click of the screen

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp door the surest of punctuation

On the rambling run-on sentence

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp of hazy day after hazy day

You’d say,

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp “Okay, forget for five minutes

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp that you’re beautiful.”

And me:

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp “How do you forget things

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp you never knew?”

The frogs whispered at the tops

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp of their lungs, drunk with bugs

The rocks would flirt with the water’s surface;

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp they dropped down to kiss it five or three times

~Once even a miraculous seven~

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp before dipping into the wet dark without fail or flail

I’d say,

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp “My arm’s tired and I’m satisfied,

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp you ready to head on?”

And you,

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp “I’ll carry your sandals if only

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp you’ll hold my hand.”

Fella once told me (drunk as he was and drunker’n I was)

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp ‘the tides in your blood, your heart proves you got in you’

Making me nearly fall over from shock and almost fall out from relief

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp because you can’t doubt words of a drunkard evenifyouknownottotaketheiradvice

And sometimes, even though you know it…well

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp you’d just as soon hear somebody else say it

He said,

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp “he already has”

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp but you should know that was after

I’d said,

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp “you know, there’s a part of me that says

&nbsp&nbsp&nbsp this boy will wreck me like the titanic.”

8 worked it out »

  1. blamb 8.16.2004

    when I was in the 9th and 10th grades, i had this ’sidekick’ and we spent all of our time together even though i was interested in just about every other woman in my school except her (crap, my teenage years were a John Hughes movie) … she was fun, she was loopy, she was hot … but i guess when you’re that age, its easy to get focused on something in the distance and miss what’s right in front of your face

    i don’t remember how it happened, but we drifted apart in the last couple of months of grade ten and then i switched schools. i only saw her one more time, a couple of years later and she had a boyfriend and we talked for a few minutes and figured we’d bump into each other again sometime but never did.

    and i don’t really think of her much, but when i do i wonder how i could have taken something so good and so easy for granted, ’cause i never found anything like that in any of my actual relationships.

     
  2. red clay 8.16.2004

    oh, honey. why you got to rattle my cage?

    this is like breaking out the good booze for a recovering alcoholic.

    not that i have recovered. but hope is a hard thing to kill.

    you got to believe that one day it will be time to take the stitches out.

    she tried to tell me about yearning once.

    forget yearning, that’s for a 12 year old child.

    let me tell you about want.

    yearning is wistfull, it burns off with the noonday sun.

    want is constant as hunger, as thirst,

    as a swimmer kicking for the surface.

    “the thought of you makes my days bearable.”

    i don’t think of her at all.

    i put her on in the morning like a suit of clothes.

    just my luck i was wearing polyester when i run thu the flames.

    premanent.

    puttin her on the plane was the hardest thing i ever did.

    faint with grief, she lay against me light as feather.

    her tears not trickles, but a flood.

    her skin smelled like the sea.

    her pink lips red with all the kissin i couldn’t help.

    a hard man, who knows what’s right.

    and i’m still right, which makes it difficult to explain

    all the backsliding. she’s still a sprinter, the sweetest

    sprinter you ever saw, not suited for the long haul.

    i’m the only sinner you ever saw, perks up at the sound

    of a pistol.

     
  3. Jettomatika 8.17.2004

    brett: find her

     
  4. blamb 8.17.2004

    naw, i’ve learned that the past is the past and it’s best to leave it and let it live where it lives. i take the lesson and move on.

     
  5. Jettomatika 8.17.2004

    brett: find her

     
  6. blamb 8.17.2004

    that was twenty years ago; I’m not the person i was then and she’s not Clyde

     
  7. charles 8.18.2004

    I dreamed the past was never past redeeming

     
  8. Jettomatika 8.19.2004

    blamb: Yeah, but…oh, never mind. Read what charles said.

    charles: yes

     

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