"Reading the bible, changing the clitterbox."


"Hey. It's me. I can't sleep."

"Oh fuck. Oh, god, no, fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck Miranda, it's four in the goddamn morning."

"It's just before three. Quit exagerating."

"What could you possibly want right now. I've been calling, texting for days, both of your numbers. No answer. What the hell, we were supposed to catch up on like the...you know. days ago. Fuck Miranda, I have to work in the morning."

"You have to work right now. Seriously. Alan, it wasn't just you. I've barely spoken to anyone. Just Crystal and Amanda. Mark called to talk about the proposal..."

"Oh, yeah. Tell him congratulations from me."

"Yes. To them, yes. From you. And Jeremiah Harrison called yesterday. I saw Keenan last friday. Keenan and Lisa are the only people I've hung out with since I've been home."

"That's it?"

"I texted Wood. He called me the next day. Maybe the day after that. The text said, I have news. And I can't sleep. And I remember this, you know? And I'm worried what this will degenerate to by Thursday, The last two times I did this, I suddenly realized I loved some boy or another three days before I left, and both times, they were next to me in bed the morning of my departure. Once in my bed, once in his. And the one when it was his? Fuck, this is what I fear the most--because I got out of his bed, told him I loved him, then flew from Miami to Seattle and at some point pushing twenty hours later I was in another boy's bed in Olympia telling him I loved him. And both were true."

"Wait. Wait, wait. Back up."

"No, hold on. I'm saying...I'm saying that I remember that next morning. The Olympia morning. Vividly. I remember waking, and with my eyes still closed taking a deep breath through my nostrils, and then parting my eyes, and the room was bright, and his sheets were navy blue like mine are now, and it took me a good ten seconds to realize where I was. His arm was around me, over the bedspread, and I realized that it had been over two months since it had been there before, and then it all hit me. It hit me that this--this morning, when I was awake and he was still breathing softly behind me, was the best it was going to be. And I'm not looking forward to Sunday morning. I was 23 then, I had half as many tattoos and I was so very in love. And worse than..."

"Wait. what the fuck is on Sunday?"

"No wait. Worse than that will be Sunday. Because Sunday will be exactly the same, except I will likely wake up alone. And worse than knowing that the present moment is the absolute pinnacle of the two of whoever is realizing that it's already passed and you missed it. And then I'll just be there. And I mean, I already know it. All of it. I know what's in store for me but I can't..."

"Wait. Seriously. Shut the fuck up for a minute."


"You're leaving."



"That's what Jeremiah said, and I was just like 'I know, right?' like I didn't know. And yeah, I don't really know why, I guess. I just, you know, big change. And I miss them. My fucking girlfriends. My boys. Even Kyle. And I want everything to sit still for long enough for words to make sense again without this--these stupid little devices I use when I can't figure out how to combine a couple of story lines eloquently enough to just tell a fucking story."

"Seattle? You're going to Seattle. How long this time?"

"Indefinitely. Some kind of near future forever. I have a year lease on my writing studio that I'm sharing with Amanda down the street from my house. Maybe a year. Maybe less. Probably not more."

"Your voice is shaky."

"I'm terrified."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at home. Well, my home for five more days, anyway. All of my pictures are off of the walls and in boxes. There's stuff all over and nothing is where it goes except for my shoes and my bed. It's so fucking sad to see these three-and-a-half years spread all over my floor and to see every little photo and memento fit neatly into one manila envelope."

"Oh, come on. Don't be scared."



"I am scared. Come over."

"By come over, do you mean doggy?"

"Oh, just shut the fuck up and get in a cab. Don't let me be alone. Not tonight. Not 'till I leave."

"Kay. Ten minutes. But Miranda?"


"You know what you're doing, right? I mean, you're setting your own trap, making your own bed. You know what's next, right? I mean, you just laid it all out. For me. You're repeating yourself and you know it."



"Just get in a fucking cab."


1 comment:

angelica said...

at least i still have the blog.