last night's attempt at satire. (though in the cold light of a rainy morning it's not reading so funny; just keep in mind it's meant to be tongue in cheek).

there is a very real possibility that in a few weeks time i may just came face to face with an ex-boyfriend.

well, not quite boyfriend... i don't think he'd like me to use that term. 

in our short time together he went from wondering-if-i-was-the-one to making-it-very-clear-i-was-not. so the "girlfriend" stage was never reached. 

hindsight has revealed this all to be nothing short of miraculous--a very great blessing.

but this knowledge does not in any way mitigate the urge to look good (really, really good) when i see him.

i confessed this all to my mother on the phone just a few nights back. she suggested my motives were not as pure as i might suspect. perhaps, i did want more?

yes, mother, in truth i do want more. i want him cry himself to sleep with nothing but the full realization of all he missed out on. not-even-girfriend-material, ha!

my friend alex has suggested all these feelings can be lumped together under the monacher, spite. 

i am inclined to think he is right.

you see, spite has manifested itself on my face in the form of a soul-consuming cystic boil (read: zit). and to add insult to injuries, it's on the left side of my face. i mention this because my left side is far superior to the right and thus absolutely vital in the plan to make this ex-whatcha-ma-callit rue the day. 

the good news is this: my mother will be visiting just a few days after the pre-arragnged-maybe-run-in. and if there are two things that get me wanting to look my best it's a visit from my mother and the chance of seeing a guy who's broken my heart.

you see how these events coincide nicely? it means only one haircut. only one really great manicure. only one round of the torturous crest white strips. okay, okay, i kid... the strips aren't that bad. 

a condensed window of needing to look pulled-together and glamorous. a condensed window before i can return to my unkempt hair, wrinkly button-ups, and natural face of slight-dismay.

win-win, i say. win-win.



(and not to worry, i'll let you all know how it all goes down. when it does. {if it does}).

i remember

 

i remember the first moment i saw him. the first flicker of a smile as he brushed past.

i remember the night we sat on opposite ends of the couch as the world ended. and the secret that gave way to sadness.

i don't remember him saying it might all work out. i've read that now, all these many years later, but i don't remember it.

i remember the day he said i'd find my own ella fitzgerald. i'd like to tell him now that i have--in the sounds of the pacific northwest and britsh folk movement.

and i remember the night he passed over my favorite book. wrote it off. and how i missed that clue.

i remember baseball caps and tennis shoes. living room floors and promises left there. single keys passing hands. and single booths at late-night diners.

i don't remember how much was missed--how many pointed glances were not taken in, how many tilts of the head went unnoticed. how often we spoke past the person, our words left hanging around our ankles.

i remember 125th street and an opened book quickly closed again.

but for the life of me i can't remember how my mouth felt as it wrapped itself around his name.

photo by sam shorey

it has always been and ever will be
in the crook of your arm i belong.

breaking it.

a lovely, young, german fellow has been staying in the apartment the last few days.

a friend of a friend, we offered him housing for this part of his trip.

he'd been planning to come to the east coast for quite some time and was meant to be accompanied by his girlfriend, but as he said, we broke.

they broke.

they broke it.

i marvel at these words. this language. and wonder if it's ever been so succinctly--so perfectly put. if truer, more piercing words exist to describe the end of...well, whatever it is that ends. because often it's not love. nor the individual. it's the time and the place and the tennuous meeting of...well, of whatever it is that meets.

i think back on all those great loves in my life. and of all the times i broke it. not very many, as it turns out. and of the times it broke before it even began. was i meant to fight for it? to stake a claim? to simply ask?

i don't think so. because i was so close to breaking, myself.

and i did. and i broke. and i needed to break. by myself. alone.

and i'm so glad that i did. because i love how i've managed to put myself back together. my beautiful humpty-dumpty fault lines both hidden and exposed, creating texture and life.

but now i wonder if it's too late to ask? to say yes, i loved you, i love you, and i refuse to let you break this. or if you do, i come bearing super-glue.

i do believe in marriage and i marvel at people's amazement of that--because don't we all? or at least, don't we all want to?

i believe no more courageous of an act exists. the last, great form of rebellion as liz gilbert pointed out her second book, committed. 


i don't know if it's possible. life-long love and commitment--the kind that never breaks. after all, we are human. but know this: i believe that things once broken can be restored. and i wake each morning with a humble thanks for that very fact.

the meat metaphor.

the thing about the new york city subway system is that you're bound to run into someone you know.

the longer you live here the greater your chances. (until you've lived here so long that everyone else has moved away. but i'm not there yet. close, but not yet).

often. when least expected. the door opens and a shadow of distant days steps on, looms over you.

i ran into one such...shadow not so long ago.

we made polite conversation.

i asked him a question regarding something my mind had retained from years previous.

he remarked on my good memory.

i smiled.

turned my head towards my lap and smiled.

i really wanted to turn to him, look right at him, say yes, i remember everything and get off at the next stop.

but i simply smiled.

and sorted through the conjured memories by my lonesome as innocuous language was used to fill the seven-year-stop-gap between us.

weeks later now a new memory has arisen. and it makes me giggle. makes me feel like i'm eighteen and young and the world is harmless.

ready? he compared men to different cuts of steak. asked why i'd want a macdonald's big mac when i could get a tender filet from the best steakhouse in town.

ha, steak. men!

funny because now i'm a full-fledged, card-carrying vegetarian (if they carried cards, i'd have one).

the metaphor never made too much sense to me anyway. and certainly never got him what i assume he wanted which was not all...above-board, shall we say.

and besides, i always liked a good big mac.

all in its time. all in its place.