March 30, 2003
Tell Me About It
Listening: 'Murder in the Red Barn', Tom Waits
I sit in the passenger seat of the truck, trying to hide my tears in the repetitive Ohio landscape. I know he's looking at me.
"What?" I ask, trying to sound playful, wanting him to ask what is wrong and yet not knowing how I would respond.
"I was just thinking about how you want to be an elf." He pauses. "You look like one. I mean, your ears..." He trails off, but not for sentimentality. I suffer his gaze and sigh and mumble and my head falls to his shoulder.
I don't know why I'm crying. He doesn't realize until later that I was at all.
Later. Later, a couple of pained moments on the bathroom floor will force me to suck what tears I have left back inside. Later, an impromptu dance in the kitchen and a bowl of chili will make me smile. Later, while he lays beside me watching the second disk of the extended LOTR dvd, I will fall half asleep, and wake again, only to lift my head and kiss his brow and cheeks, and not be able to recall exactly why I was so upset in the first place.
Was there even a reason? I wrote a poem. I only really care for one line: "you love me, but i like to pretend i don't see it." I will give you a kiss if you take a gander at the rest.
I drove back to school in a daze not so long ago, veering away from the 275 South onramp with a forced hand. It's not like I won't see him tomorrow.
I bought myself a new loofah today, but not for school. Not for home.
Is it such a big mistake to replace his loaned one with my own? Will he mind so blatantly pink a bath article in his shower?
I suppose it goes without saying that the citrus and ginseng body wash is out of the question.
astera at 8:48 p.m.