a swimming pool with stars mixed in its grout.
we, the Three, stick to the pool’s great misshapen edge.
trying not to breathe, trying not to move, above all, to not be seen.
we speak our own language of giddy excitement, bursting from our moment of trespassing.
2 small flashlights seem like the strokes of lightsabers, waiting to cut through our sweet, secret charade.
Stop.
Go,
now the Three weave along the black shore,
happy to be free but stimulated and ready for our next obstacle.
live tortoises mix with those of stone in the moonshadows.
Stop.
Go,
back in My place.
billowing sheer white curtains fill with thick sea air and part to reveal a cloud burst.
all the water in the world storming over This ocean.
great cracks of lightning; these must be the roots of the sky.
the Three meet outside, no words,
nothing dry.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
A Navy Sky
a navy sky.
air charged with six bodies worth of excitement.
one dark haired, blue eyed boy. hard worker, quiet.
one blond boy, broad shoulders, 6’3”, Russian accent.
one curvaceous blond girl. tousled hair, no makeup, all in black.
one red-head. girl. fiery. green-eyed.
one east-indian boy, wild black hair, slight accent, glasses.
one pale, raven haired girl. red lips, sarcastic sneer.
Mick
Vasily
Maira
Poppy
Abhijit
Ruby
on their way to a concert. a good one. the best one.
“favorite band playing two towns over? of course we all jump in the fucking van and drive on over. we’ve known about them since the beginning. you bet your sweet ass we’ll be there” –Poppy
track 6, playing on the tape deck. not that old fashioned…
waiting to compare, do they sound just as delicious live?
arriving at the club. two bouncers, no i.d.
“drive around back, say we’ve got equipment?” –Abhijit
“fuck no, didn’t work last time, why would it now?” –Ruby
“I say we go. if it comes to it we can get in some other way.” –Maira
“roof?” –Mick
parked van, three lots over. no one goes to run down furniture stores this late anyway.
sneak around, out back pipes twist like ivy crawling up the wall in the yellow street light. we will mimic it.
slinking up a filthy metal ladder, one by one. till we all stand on top. and look out past out city to where we know others live. people we’ve never met and never will. out to the black space to the west where we know the Pacific curls over melted sandcastles. perfect silence. perfect night.
“beautiful. yes?” –Vasily
“yes.” – Mick, Maira, Poppy, Abhijit, Ruby
down small, stale smelling carpeted stairs.
bursting in, joining the crowd in the middle of the set. noise and warmth from so many bodies, but mostly noise, washing over them with the feeling of sinking into a hot bath.
all turning to look at each other and smile, they all knew.
they knew that this is what life is.
air charged with six bodies worth of excitement.
one dark haired, blue eyed boy. hard worker, quiet.
one blond boy, broad shoulders, 6’3”, Russian accent.
one curvaceous blond girl. tousled hair, no makeup, all in black.
one red-head. girl. fiery. green-eyed.
one east-indian boy, wild black hair, slight accent, glasses.
one pale, raven haired girl. red lips, sarcastic sneer.
Mick
Vasily
Maira
Poppy
Abhijit
Ruby
on their way to a concert. a good one. the best one.
“favorite band playing two towns over? of course we all jump in the fucking van and drive on over. we’ve known about them since the beginning. you bet your sweet ass we’ll be there” –Poppy
track 6, playing on the tape deck. not that old fashioned…
waiting to compare, do they sound just as delicious live?
arriving at the club. two bouncers, no i.d.
“drive around back, say we’ve got equipment?” –Abhijit
“fuck no, didn’t work last time, why would it now?” –Ruby
“I say we go. if it comes to it we can get in some other way.” –Maira
“roof?” –Mick
parked van, three lots over. no one goes to run down furniture stores this late anyway.
sneak around, out back pipes twist like ivy crawling up the wall in the yellow street light. we will mimic it.
slinking up a filthy metal ladder, one by one. till we all stand on top. and look out past out city to where we know others live. people we’ve never met and never will. out to the black space to the west where we know the Pacific curls over melted sandcastles. perfect silence. perfect night.
“beautiful. yes?” –Vasily
“yes.” – Mick, Maira, Poppy, Abhijit, Ruby
down small, stale smelling carpeted stairs.
bursting in, joining the crowd in the middle of the set. noise and warmth from so many bodies, but mostly noise, washing over them with the feeling of sinking into a hot bath.
all turning to look at each other and smile, they all knew.
they knew that this is what life is.
Regrets
Sometimes there’s a moment in time that you remember for no particular reason. In my case it’s the first day of second semester. Really, I don’t know how my brain could have foresaw the events that would later transpire, like a butterfly effect from these few moments, but it did.
I suppose I should begin from the top. Senior year was turning out to be pretty damn boring. It’s all well and good to have less homework, more freedom and all that good stuff, but when I get honest about it, it was really just more about being lazy before 13th grade, aka, Community College.
On the first day of the second semester I went to see my counselor. She was a short, somewhat wobbly woman with red hair and tiny rectangular glasses. Her job was simple; grant me the free class period I had been dreaming of for four years, while wasting as much of the time I was supposed to be in class as possible. I walked in, chatted with her about stuff that I can’t really remember now because let’s face it, I’ve got to use those brain gigabytes for more important things. Like song lyrics. Anyhow, the really important part was what happened next. I say my thank yous and step out of her closet-sized office, closing the door behind me. I turn left and head down the hall towards the door. Now listen up, this is the part I was talking about. For no particular reason, I happened to notice a kid and his mom sitting on the old wooden chairs that constitute the waiting area. He has brown hair, a fitted cap, and one of those old-fashioned baseball jackets. He keeps his head down, while his mother chatters away about god knows what. I glance over and then walk out the door. That was it. The thing I didn’t realize, that maybe could have been worthy of my time, was how god damn good-looking he was.
He was new, fresh from whatever hellish high school experience had forced him to transfer to our humble 2000 student institution. I must have seen him three more times that same day. The weird thing was, he already had friends. Let me just take this opportunity to share with you the fundamentals of high school hot boy bro-code. They travel in packs of other Abercrombie model candidates; worse than the packs of their female counterparts. It seemed he had taken up camaraderie with Daniel Bugiardini, Class of 2011’s resident douche bag. That was my first bad sign.
A few weeks passed with me making no notice of him, and then one day I was walking by his group of friends in the hall. I was alone and listening to snippets of conversation and when I walked by I heard his name, Luke Torrazzo. I believe it was all downhill from that moment.
Since you are taking your time to read this, and because they are un-interesting to write, I will skip the boring bits. But to give you an idea, they mostly involve me spying on Luke. It really was quite creepy.
It was over that week that I noticed his square jaw, his tan skin and his stunning smile. Straight white teeth with a wide set smile, he looked like he was sent from another planet to be the Clark Kent to my Lois Lane.
And let me tell you dear reader, that is why I made my move. I decided to take a somewhat roundabout approach in getting him to notice me, and that’s how I conceived my plan. The perfect opportunity arose as I was walking in the hall that Monday. He happened to be walking with an acquaintance of mine, whom I then casually stopped and said hello too. Naturally Luke stopped as well and that gave me the time to say, “Hey, are you by any chance related to John Banner?”
“No…but I am related to a John Torrazzo.” He said.
So I say, “Wow that’s crazy! You look just like him,” and then for the grand finish, “and that would be a compliment, he is very good-looking.”
He smiled at that.
Reader, you can probably tell by now that I truly didn’t believe Luke looked uncannily similar to John Banner. In fact, that was just a made-up opening line for the rest of the conversation. A chance to introduce myself and start building a platform for later encounters.
You are also probably thinking, “Why, this girl is a huge freak and entirely out of her mind with young hot-boy lust”. Well reader, you are probably correct in that assumption, but really, I felt it was completely normal. Well, at least semi-normal.
Anyhow, my plan was not a success.
I’m sure you are not surprised…a reader as clever as yourself could’ve seen that coming. When does stalking pay off? Never. And that is the lesson I have learned.
Anyhow, after a few weeks of chatting here and there, Luke and I had fallen in to a routine where we would walk to our last class of the day together, idly discussing the weather, school functions, etc.
This is when I learned that it is never a good idea to ask a boy you have just met to Prom. Because that is exactly what I did. And the answer I received after toiling for weeks over “Should I? Shouldn’t I?”
That would be “Maybe”.
Maybe? Oh happy dagger, kill me now. Instant embarrassment. So I wait a few days for just a tiny yes or no, but nothing on the topic arises during our daily trek. This is a very curious situation for a teenage girl to find herself in. She has but herself on the line and now she waits, bait in the water facing an uncertain fate. Both equally bad I think; either be eaten or rot in a watery grave.
At this point I have to do something. Desperate times and all that…
So the next day during our walk, I bring it up and ask him to please be honest and just have the decency to let me know that he’s not going, to my face. Not the words I used, though one can’t be sure since I’d obviously lost my head over the whole debacle.
“No, sorry. I can’t go to Prom at all.” Definitely the words he said.
At this point I go back to my friends dejectedly, knowing that I would be needing a large frozen yogurt.
Fast forward to Prom night. Senior prom, me alone, no date. I tell myself I don’t care, but who am I kidding? It’s like I’m being specifically punished for not having a date; shunned to the end of the long dinner table, stuck in the singles car, and utterly jealous of every girl with a matching tux and date inside it.
I swear, I tried to have fun. I really did! I felt beautiful and everyone was having a great time. But then, as all stories must go, disaster struck. This night, it was not in form of a ripped dress, ruined makeup or a natural disaster. No, this was far more humiliating. Luke was at the Prom, not alone, with a date. A date who was drop-dead gorgeous none the less.
Let me just say, that I was really tempted to inflict bodily harm. But reader, if I’ve learned one thing, it would be “Don’t get mad. Get even.”
I didn’t get even though. I went home to a warm bed and ate cookies. Almost as good I would say.
I suppose I should begin from the top. Senior year was turning out to be pretty damn boring. It’s all well and good to have less homework, more freedom and all that good stuff, but when I get honest about it, it was really just more about being lazy before 13th grade, aka, Community College.
On the first day of the second semester I went to see my counselor. She was a short, somewhat wobbly woman with red hair and tiny rectangular glasses. Her job was simple; grant me the free class period I had been dreaming of for four years, while wasting as much of the time I was supposed to be in class as possible. I walked in, chatted with her about stuff that I can’t really remember now because let’s face it, I’ve got to use those brain gigabytes for more important things. Like song lyrics. Anyhow, the really important part was what happened next. I say my thank yous and step out of her closet-sized office, closing the door behind me. I turn left and head down the hall towards the door. Now listen up, this is the part I was talking about. For no particular reason, I happened to notice a kid and his mom sitting on the old wooden chairs that constitute the waiting area. He has brown hair, a fitted cap, and one of those old-fashioned baseball jackets. He keeps his head down, while his mother chatters away about god knows what. I glance over and then walk out the door. That was it. The thing I didn’t realize, that maybe could have been worthy of my time, was how god damn good-looking he was.
He was new, fresh from whatever hellish high school experience had forced him to transfer to our humble 2000 student institution. I must have seen him three more times that same day. The weird thing was, he already had friends. Let me just take this opportunity to share with you the fundamentals of high school hot boy bro-code. They travel in packs of other Abercrombie model candidates; worse than the packs of their female counterparts. It seemed he had taken up camaraderie with Daniel Bugiardini, Class of 2011’s resident douche bag. That was my first bad sign.
A few weeks passed with me making no notice of him, and then one day I was walking by his group of friends in the hall. I was alone and listening to snippets of conversation and when I walked by I heard his name, Luke Torrazzo. I believe it was all downhill from that moment.
Since you are taking your time to read this, and because they are un-interesting to write, I will skip the boring bits. But to give you an idea, they mostly involve me spying on Luke. It really was quite creepy.
It was over that week that I noticed his square jaw, his tan skin and his stunning smile. Straight white teeth with a wide set smile, he looked like he was sent from another planet to be the Clark Kent to my Lois Lane.
And let me tell you dear reader, that is why I made my move. I decided to take a somewhat roundabout approach in getting him to notice me, and that’s how I conceived my plan. The perfect opportunity arose as I was walking in the hall that Monday. He happened to be walking with an acquaintance of mine, whom I then casually stopped and said hello too. Naturally Luke stopped as well and that gave me the time to say, “Hey, are you by any chance related to John Banner?”
“No…but I am related to a John Torrazzo.” He said.
So I say, “Wow that’s crazy! You look just like him,” and then for the grand finish, “and that would be a compliment, he is very good-looking.”
He smiled at that.
Reader, you can probably tell by now that I truly didn’t believe Luke looked uncannily similar to John Banner. In fact, that was just a made-up opening line for the rest of the conversation. A chance to introduce myself and start building a platform for later encounters.
You are also probably thinking, “Why, this girl is a huge freak and entirely out of her mind with young hot-boy lust”. Well reader, you are probably correct in that assumption, but really, I felt it was completely normal. Well, at least semi-normal.
Anyhow, my plan was not a success.
I’m sure you are not surprised…a reader as clever as yourself could’ve seen that coming. When does stalking pay off? Never. And that is the lesson I have learned.
Anyhow, after a few weeks of chatting here and there, Luke and I had fallen in to a routine where we would walk to our last class of the day together, idly discussing the weather, school functions, etc.
This is when I learned that it is never a good idea to ask a boy you have just met to Prom. Because that is exactly what I did. And the answer I received after toiling for weeks over “Should I? Shouldn’t I?”
That would be “Maybe”.
Maybe? Oh happy dagger, kill me now. Instant embarrassment. So I wait a few days for just a tiny yes or no, but nothing on the topic arises during our daily trek. This is a very curious situation for a teenage girl to find herself in. She has but herself on the line and now she waits, bait in the water facing an uncertain fate. Both equally bad I think; either be eaten or rot in a watery grave.
At this point I have to do something. Desperate times and all that…
So the next day during our walk, I bring it up and ask him to please be honest and just have the decency to let me know that he’s not going, to my face. Not the words I used, though one can’t be sure since I’d obviously lost my head over the whole debacle.
“No, sorry. I can’t go to Prom at all.” Definitely the words he said.
At this point I go back to my friends dejectedly, knowing that I would be needing a large frozen yogurt.
Fast forward to Prom night. Senior prom, me alone, no date. I tell myself I don’t care, but who am I kidding? It’s like I’m being specifically punished for not having a date; shunned to the end of the long dinner table, stuck in the singles car, and utterly jealous of every girl with a matching tux and date inside it.
I swear, I tried to have fun. I really did! I felt beautiful and everyone was having a great time. But then, as all stories must go, disaster struck. This night, it was not in form of a ripped dress, ruined makeup or a natural disaster. No, this was far more humiliating. Luke was at the Prom, not alone, with a date. A date who was drop-dead gorgeous none the less.
Let me just say, that I was really tempted to inflict bodily harm. But reader, if I’ve learned one thing, it would be “Don’t get mad. Get even.”
I didn’t get even though. I went home to a warm bed and ate cookies. Almost as good I would say.
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