Friday, January 10, 2003

Don't think cuz I'm easy I'm naive...

Even still, I remember days in your city. Like they're made of the cloth I was wearing those hot days, and I'm putting them back on. I remember the leafy trees, all green and tall and puffy with late summer swishiness; and too the unnoticed familiarity of being in my own province, something that's so obvious now that I'm not there. I remember walks, hand in hand, and then walks alone, shopping bags in hand, treats to bring home to you. That whole period was such a futureless time, me working my fingers to the bone, and then visiting, me not sure where I was going really, just spending money, eating good food. "This is what's important to me," I thought, even though I couldn't really find time to do things that used to be important. I wanted to read a lot; I ended up scanning words while riding the bus. I wanted to do art; one night I bought a box of crayons and drew a few little things for you. One night on the bus home I took out my charcoals; some boys from a hockey team walked by me in the aisle and complimented me on what I'd done. I thought it was kinda crap, but I appreciated their kindness.

Then there's you. I remember bouncy smiles, leisurely, easy, a hot mutual attractedness that we both succumbed to and rolled around in, and a whole week where you were literally all I could think about. It was frightening. No thought was un-related to you, and I thought of ways to slip you into conversations with total strangers. I did it so casually they couldn't sense the urgency of your name, your title of boyfriend. I remember melted chocolate, and hot beach days, and the thrown-about comfort of wearing nothing but a sarong all day long. Not even underwear.

I remember little about you. I remember the passing of gum from one mouth to another, and suddenly it was much more than that. I remember passing slowly back to my room across the hall, not yet sure of this new rift in my life. I took a bath at 2 in the morning; baths comfort me. I remember your lazy self-righteousness, and indulgence while wingeing on* other people who'd done you wrong. I remember the first thing I said to you when I saw you next, in the hallway, a sardonic, cynical, "Cheers." It was a learning experience. You'll live on in red-wine nights with the girls, I'm sure.

* This is an Australian/British term which I'd never heard before coming to Whistler. It means complaining about something. In certain places.

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