Saturday, August 20, 2011

I Know

That I often refer to that place as the killing school.
That it was by far the darkest hour.
But, somehow,
I made some lasting friends,
Fiends that continue to connect despite infinite cross country moves, breakups, and calloffs.
I meet them always often in the middle of Indiana, the day before their wedding to a man named Chuck who I've never met but can see is very nice.
And Nathan and Heath show up just before it gets dark. They're the live music. And we hug like its the last time because it probably is.
And they look the same, except their beards are longer, and their arms are darker, cause they work on farms now. They grow organic produce somewhere way way up there where Dave Mathews and Phish used to play. Probably still does.
They're no longer an item but still harmonize nicely.
Picked up the harmonica and banjo.
And still know the music that goes to the lyrics I wrote on bath towels when I was 21 and barely hanging from the shower, on the train tracks, sipping cleaning supplies.
Songs about plastic bags and cracked hands.
Every once in a while they shout over the tiki torches,
"Jessica, you wrote this one!"
Not really.
But, not bad.
I do remember writing.
I remember people calling me a writer.
Pointing at me hunched over that raggedy side table with a crayon and a roll of recite paper.
I remember being confused.
Extremely baffled and bemused as to what could possibly happen next.

And we hug the bride and we hug the bride's best friend and we hug the bride's half sister.
And we thank them so much for the burgers and the beer, and the invitation, and can't wait for tomorrow, going to be just perfect, oh, thank you so much, how special, how lovely, good jobs all around, how nice and how lovely.

And then we pile into the civic. Just the two of us. And we cruise back to the hotel with the windows down and the humidity laughing at our cheeks. Doesn't take more then twenty six hours to establish a routine in this town.

And we spoon to the crickets.

And I think what a difference. To have someone to go home with. To have a person to home with. To know a person who homes you.

Got it.


Love Always,
The Writer


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