Saturday, May 05, 2007

My yous are always changing.

When I think of you I think of the Fourth of July, and how we'd driven around for ages trying to find fireworks only to learn that everyone was holding off because of the impending rain. Instead, we took everyone to that place with all the restaurants and settled them in a booth and took a little walk because we still liked each other better than anyone else in the world. We stood on the balcony and talked about how scared we both were about how quickly and thoroughly everything was happening, and then we kissed. Somehow just like in a movie at that exact second the fireworks off the pier started, and it began to rain, and we both stepped backward because something important was happening but we weren't sure what. I knew just then that everything was about to change.

When I think of you I think of how you'd call me as soon as you put me in a cab home, and how you would keep me on the phone until I was in the door. Until I was safe.

When I think of you I think of the day that your car broke down on the side of 60 about three miles outside of Lake Wales. You were getting married in two days, and she would have snatched you baldheaded if you'd missed the rehearsal. And my parents didn't even know we'd left town because I should have been in school. So we did what any two sensible adventurers would do in a predicament: we pulled the frito pie off of the engine block and had a picnic on the trunk of the car.

When I think of you I think of sitting by the water talking about the stars, knowing exactly what was going to happen next and feeling like I might burst from surprise and anticipation.

When I think of you I think of how even when you were dying you managed to greet everyone that came to see you with a smile. The last time I saw you, you knew that the end was near, and you made me promise to do all the living that you were going to miss. Because up until the very end you thought of everyone else before you thought of yourself, and because you had a serious flare for the dramatic. Because you knew that living is a problem for me.

(PS, I've been in Seattle for four years yesterday, and while I wrote my usual letter I haven't published it. I'm trying to live without the summing up.)

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