My wit and my eloquence are not at their best at this particular moment, which is why I have no quick riposte to your ribbing. All my humour is dry and self-deprecating anyway. It’s making me wonder if you think I can’t take an Asian joke or two. The truth is, I don’t know how to make fun of anyone but myself.
Too bad you’ve got piss tests coming up. We’ve got this balcony, the right occasion, and I don’t drink anymore. Doesn’t mean I can’t listen to your war stories, or dangle in the air when you give out bear hugs. Perhaps I’d be less awkward when it comes to such bonding if I was in high-school JV football. Seth made the team one year, and scored a touchdown for guys like us.
I remember you. Iain and I went to buy a $5 hit off your bong 10 years ago, back when we cut our teeth on prairie fires and five-cent wings and I’ll-never-do-that-again. You were dancing to jazz by yourself in a beater and perpetual Kangol when we walked in, but you wore no shame on your face. The world is small when our lives are not.
Last time I saw Iain was at the housewarming, but I still think of him every time I use those crystal glasses he gave me that day. He would have wanted them filled with something tight-bodied and twelve-years old. Nowadays all I can take is a little Bailey’s on my Mayan chocolate Häagen-Dazs. Luckily they’re also perfect for ice cream.
I’ve long missed these nights. Breathing fresh air when stepping out of a stuffy bar. That sudden calm when coming out of the din. Big groups with the chance to change conversations. Nights that have been replaced by dinners with nuclear families and one-on-ones. Oddly enough, the only thing in common are stories of how one’s son is learning to play with his dick. The world would have me believe that a man isn’t made by the drinks he orders but by the attention he gives his kids.
If only I didn’t have to go so soon. I’ve never been to the peelers in Ottawa, and I can only imagine where my bills will end up.
Our final days grow ever darker, but winter feels far away when I turn on the A/C in the car as we set off on the scenic route. It’s strange to think I’ll never be here again. I do my best to take my time, to remember the smell of every wooden house and twirl of hair and cozy wind. This was never a way for me to escape my life back home, only a journey I knew I needed to take.
But the novelty of grey hair and almond eyes has long run out, and now I’m just a man, trying to find out where he belongs.
Continue reading “we put our feet just where they had to go”…
It’s night, and a gentle song begins on my bedside speaker. Until this point, I’d always wondered who’d be the first to hear this song with me. Whose breath I’d feel on my body as the melody got lost in the darkness along with our inhibitions. It wasn’t a song I’d been saving, only one I never had the chance to share until I found myself here, exploring the open fields and windswept mountains and towns in between.
Continue reading “take me somewhere nice”…
The stars are clear out here. A train runs through the centre a few times a day, blaring a horn as a warning to people who may be going from building to building by crossing the tracks. It’s a tiny village in a snowglobe, only the snow hasn’t come.
I haven’t been around this many people in years. I’ve long wondered what it’d be like to live this life one more time. To have rituals and theatre plans and regular friends. None of this is real, of course, but I don’t mind pretending if only for a little while.
Girlcave. Fucking awesome.
Continue reading “The willing suspension of disbelief”…
I find myself resigned to someone’s care. It’s not an easy kind of control to relinquish, but lately I trust as little as possible in the future and do my best to go along for the ride. As the old poem goes; be wise, strain the wine, or as Zorba would put it, “DON’T BE DELICATE”. I didn’t plan on living forever anyway.
On a cold night, we keep the only promise made, one of those small wonders that still make me believe. I fit somewhere between needs and wants, temporary relief and long-term side effects, class and homework, nibbled lips and bitten tongues.
Continue reading “this same flower that smiles today”…