A Random Image

Jett Superior laid this on you on || March 31, 2011 || 5:07 am

Laurie, on the internet, is wry and funny and perceptive and writes like sentences are formed up in her very marrow. Laurie, on the phone, is solemnly hysterical and incisive and sharp as a freshly-stropped razor. Sometimes a friendship is written on the inside of your wrist without you knowing it, and then when a person shows up you instinctively recognize them; you can say anything without flinching internally as you do so. Man, do I ever like this woman. She is a force to be reckoned with.

“He reminds me of my first serious boyfriend,” I said. “An addict alcoholic who drove around delivering pizzas with a 40 between his legs. I was so in love with him. He was perpetually stoned, read three books a week, had The Atlantic and the New Yorker on the back of his fucked up toilet. That’s still my type, but I’m older now. I can hang out with this guy for five hours at a coffee shop and never necessarily see him again.”

You laughed and told me I was Janeane Garofalo and that no one ever moves to Dayton, except I’m not and I did.  Now? Five hours over coffee is fine, I promised. It’s so much better than wrecking years on a person with ultimate designs on other voices, bodies and rooms.  I learned everything I needed to know for a lifetime on that date at Planet X before it burned down, except that that brilliant stoner’s naked butt was cute, and honestly? I could have done without that. It was enough to make out in the car with the ice storm hitting the windows around us after, to slide inside across the frozen lawn alone, leaning against the door giddy from it all. The rest of it doesn’t do me any good now.


I tell you things, Jett Superior. I open my mouth. I talk on the phone, the Alabama smoothness of your voice flowing over my line, making me hate everything less, I admit it. I do things I don’t normally want to do for certain people for no reason, and I don’t know why.  You have some voodoo working.

What I didn’t tell you about that 90’s boy because it’s come back little by little since we hung up was that he wore this stupid hat that I nonetheless loved, and a hoodie from the Gap that I stole. The night before he moved away, a few months before I followed him, he punched a wall on a bad trip and ended up dumped on my porch the next day by a roommate who had to get the truck back and couldn’t afford the dead weight of a guy with a broken hand who couldn’t drive or carry anything.

“I’m sorry to make you babysit him,” the roommate said. “I just can’t deal with his shit right now. He’s a liability.”

Well, then. I was mowing my lawn on the first warm day of the season, while this man I thought I loved stood across from me, bracing himself with his feet between mine, bloodshot, still drunk and crazy.

“Do you wanna go to Santa Fe? DO YOU?” he said, swaying from side to side while I surveyed the concrete and thought what a fucking disaster it would be if he actually hit it. He thought he was hilarious when he was wasted, and he giggled thinking of the two of us taking this shit show on the road to New Mexico. “Do you wanna sign on for this? DO YOU?”

Hell yeah, I did. I was a stupid late-bloomer of 23. I wanted all of that ugliness, for some reason, then. I think I mistook it for beautiful, or maybe it was just the only way I thought it could be.

Well-placed moments sucked me in. He waited outside the ladies room in an Ohio gay bar that he took a friend and me to as a favor because we wanted to dance, to give me a kiss never yet surpassed, a kiss I can feel to my toes right this second, a kiss I’d tweet out to make the world jealous if I could, because it was that good and I’m a geek now. He quoted Whitman to me even before he knew of my deep attachment to everything that man did and said and stood for.

“Once, I pass’d through a populous city…Yet now, of all that city, I remember a woman I casually met there, who detain’d me for love of me; Day by day and night by night we were together,—All else has long been forgotten by me.”

He told me I was his soul mate — a phrase I still hate — until he changed his mind.

“You’re too good for anyone,” he said, and Lord knows there’s nothing I hate like a coward. “And you’re certainly too good for me.”

I waited out another acid trip later. He swung back and forth on our friend’s shed door while I sat on the back steps smoking, sober. He’s married now, I understand, and has some kids. I hope he quit drinking, but I don’t know.

40 years. 40 is amazing when you think about it, but it’s better when you don’t.

Jett: horseshit.
nobody moves TO Dayton
me: it would have been better if i’d never seen him again.
Jett: You need therapy.
me: i don’t write about my life on the blog, you see.
me: shut up. i know.
i did.
Jett: DAYTON, either
me: i moved there on purpose.
in a teal cavalier, with only what would fit in it.

I’ll sit on a beach with you soon, I think. I imagine a fire there. Answers will come clearer, or fade behind the moon, who knows?

We’ll have our way with our partially-shared 40th year. It’ll bring things into focus. It’ll kill. The bass will drop so right it’ll fix any possible busted groove. It’ll play our favorite songs on a loop.

I’ve never seen your face. How is that possible? No, really. How is that possible?

Happy birthday.

7 worked it out »

  1. TJ 3.31.2011

    Per usual, Laurie makes me all kinds of jealous with the grace of her syntax.

  2. Jett Superior 3.31.2011

    There is a little film in my head of him on that door and you pensive, drawing down the smoke.

    I have some of these moments, too, and they never lose their clarity or color.

  3. You two bring out good things in each other.

    Keep them coming.

  4. flutter 3.31.2011

    Laurie kicks so much ass. She just does.

  5. flutter 3.31.2011

    And also, ,Jett…you are awesome.

  6. Ann's Rants 4.3.2011

    I’m going to be late to take my kid to Sunday School, that is how much I loved this.

  7. Jett Superior 4.11.2011

    Laurie is brilliant, pretty much. I loved it, too.


RSS feed for comments on this post.

(you know you want to)