11 July
1999
Tonight is candlelit. The latest Pedro the Lion EP is loud enough to simulate a live performance in my tiny studio apartment. I'm waiting on a call from Mom and Pops. The Times is strewn about my scratchy sofa. It's after 9pm and I haven't eaten dinner. In other words, a typical Sunday. I spent the afternoon cleaning out the cubby hole next to my bed. The same hole that produces an atypical skylight in my basement studio. The minuscule hole where my nephew, Steven, and then Todd claimed to be the place in my apartment they'd most like to sleep. The only problem- it's always been littered with boxes and bags filled with old television antennas and college photographs and nearly 10 years worth of letters. Until today, when I finally got up the nerve to tackle and tidy the entire lot. One of the first things I stumbled upon was the quote book from my sophomore year in college. Strips of paper pasted on the pages of a simple blank book, which puzzled together, would produce several wall-length sheets of butcher paper on which my friends and I would record all the phrases that made us laugh the hardest. No subject left unturned... no acquaintance left unscathed. Everything from Joe's honest confession: "And you tell them that you love them... and sometimes you do." to Matthew's excuse for missing O-Chem class: "It would just have been very uncomfortable to see her [our teacher] vertically four hours later." to Aly's Spring Quarter running joke: "What do you call a man you don't know? Nice." I couldn't believe how quickly I remembered the exact context of each quote and how vividly the recollections of each person sprang to mind. I normally can't even remember what I had for dinner the night before, but it seems that these words inked with Crayola markers onto cheap white paper are a direct passport to dozens of people and moments I thought were long forgotten. Then the letters. Hundreds of them. Grouped by sender and tied with green and blue ribbons. I stumbled across a list of birthday wishes from Janet and an excerpt from the personals from Michael (circled: "Is anyone else in LA looking for something real? 26, only slightly neurotic, Real World finalist ISO someone to make my life like the movies.") It was like wading in a forgotten ocean saturated with reminders of just how cool my friends are. And then I sat still for an hour or two and reread all the letters from him. And I cried... because he was so lovely but is now so lost among old addresses and rumors and falling out of touch with those who knew us both. And I began to scheme of ways to fall back into his life; of searching him out and picking up where we left off. Yet I'm all too aware of my attachment to the romance of what's past and how the reality of a future could never hope to compete. But it doesn't stop me from thinking of him tonight. And wondering. Who do you miss? biggest kiss... ...kristen |
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