She promised to bring neither a dish nor a bottle, as we had requested, but a gift. Something pretty but completely useless, as is usually appropriate for a wedding gathering. I told her that we would have more use for food, but she adamantly refused to either cook or spend money on alcohol.
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Me: If you were a tourist, you’d have a return ticket.
Him: Good point.
Me: You’re a new New Yorker.
I walked back to the house, somehow confident that the deluge would not catch up with me on the way home. I was right; it didn’t. In fact, it still hasn’t. The temperature has gotten a little cooler and a little more breezy, but it’s still pleasant enough outside to stroll through. In fact, I kind of want to do that now. To go for a stroll.
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Do you know what happens when it snows in NYC? Oh, I’ll tell you… what happens is that every mode of transportation that leads out of Queens becomes unusable…
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At the same time, I could see myself, only white and balding and fifteen years older, holding on tightly to someone else’s kids, to a metrocard, to a pillow, to a job, to an inanimate intangible thing, to a blogroll, to a bottle of alcohol… to a guitar student who can’t pay for her lessons…
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“You should have told the monkey to make a quick stop in Queens and bring your father back his railroad pass!”
“Okay, mother. Okay.”
… in the same way that the Christians claim that demons tremble at the name of Jesus, I feel a slight trepidation every time I hear his name called, even if it’s in reference to someone who isn’t him: an actor, a ball player, a famous movie character… it doesn’t matter if I know the reference or not. His name was called. I tremble… briefly. My breath quickens… briefly…
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Of course I quickly realized why that was a bad idea when the drunk Friday-night-in-South-Jamaica crowd started hassling me. So I headed back to the station. It made me wonder though not so much why I left the station, but why I went back to it so quickly. Why would I be any safer in the station than outside of it? What was really the difference?
...read more hereAm I being dramatic or emphatic? Why do those words rhyme? Why am I undermining my point with useless digressions? Because it’s 3am. Oh. I should sleep. But I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep until I figure out what I’m going to do…
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That notwithstanding… I do hide. I was hiding. I don’t take up space… although maybe I want to. I’m told that I leave pieces of myself everywhere, as though in some way I am still in every place where I’ve left my scent. Like a dog marking his territory. Classic was here. That’s what I’m told. As I understand it, I just lose pieces of myself every time I move…
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