A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || October 25, 2005 || 10:19 pm

Living the life of another.

Dear Mike,

There are things I’d like to know about you. About your life. Who are you now?

I thought for sure you’d make a career of the Marine Corps — I see that you did not. Can I ask why?

I’ve been looking for you passively since last year. Heather –you remember Heather, don’t you?– died of cancer then and ever since I’ve been wildly compelled to root up people that shared even a moment with us. I am manic in certain areas in my life, it seems.

I remember that last awkward conversation with you. I felt like I’d been slapped, even though I didn’t let you know that. I know you didn’t mean it that way, but it stung Despite The Fact. I just remember feeling really, really bad for you and the difficult spot you were in.

I remember other things, too. The offense you took at what a shit my husband was being so early into the marriage. The look of lovesick that draped you even as you bravely and stoicly played the role of jolly comrade.

I saw you, Michael. I always saw you. Politeness kept me from telling you so.

I told my website readers (I see by my stats that you’ve found it now) a story about you once, and they gobbled it up. It wasn’t even one of our best moments, really….all that tension. It didn’t capture the you and me as I recall us. Hell, the popsicle truck story would mow them under. Any tale about thumbing a ride from a popsicle truck on I-40 in Memphis, Tennessee on a fine, fine hunnert-and-five degree day is a story with mass appeal and is hard to fuck up, no matter the way you tell it.

See? I just told it, albeit in fine and short fashion, and it sounded amazing and wonderful in less than a breath. Okay, maybe two. I was pausing at the good parts. Which is to say, all of them.

Hot damn, I find myself wanting to type very stickily-sweet things like: Life Is Fine Poetry and Holy God Do I Miss That Popsicle Truck Sometimes and just maybe I Occasionally Am Very Sorry For Those Things That Never Were.

You know, just the fact that we are both sitting here (albeit at different times) is reason enough to go rummaging through our veins. There’s no call for all that, though. Leastways, not tonight. Tonight is better for lying tired limbs and head across down and cotton and dreaming on old tomorrows. And laughing when the jaunty little phrase, “HOLY COW! CUBS WIIIIN!” chimes pure like fine crystal while echoing up from Backwhen.

You sounding like a grownup just won’t stop astounding me, so there.

pee ess….I worried about you during the whole fucking war. I’m glad you’re okay; you’re damn near my favorite Yankee and my pitiful memory would never do you justice.

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

When I’m weak and my head is sore / And I feel like I can’t go on no more / I come in here where normal rules do not apply

Can’t tell the bottle from the mountain top / No we’re not right

// David Gray, ‘We’re Not Right’

3 worked it out »

  1. skillzy 10.26.2005

    Well, well, well. Welcome back, we sure did miss you. What is it with you and me and Yankees? We need to discuss this some starry night in the back of a pickup truck, in the middle of a field. You, me, and Jose (or Jack).

    And what fucked up human instinct is it that propels us towards the sparks and explosions of an inevitable ugly crash, when we should just be sitting comfortably in our loving homes? Instead we foolishly careen along the cliffs in a popsicle truck, aware of the danger but powerless to fight it. You know?

  2. del 10.26.2005

    Good to see you back at it, picking at the partially healed wounds from the road rash of the past! Mind you, I say that with a sincere amount of respect in the fact that you don’t hesitate to gaze back and think “What If…” or “Remember When…”.

    Ah well, here’s another song for you to sing today, it just seems to fit with your post to “Mike”:

    And we’re so afraid and it’s such a shame,

    There is no reason we should doubt it.

    The things we want to say we’ve never said!

    And we look away and it’s all ok and

    Never really talk about it

    It’s a shame the way we dance along the edge

    Dance along the edge.

  3. Coelecanth 10.26.2005

    It’s a beautiful autumn day here. This far north the trees have gone bare and fractally, the perfect day for coulda, shoulda, what woulda.

    Here’s to sweet memories and welcome back.


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