dancing with the elephants

i forgot the way your lips felt
against the smooth skin of my back
telling stories to my shoulder blades
and knotting promises in loose strands

i try to fall asleep gently
and force exhaustion into day
with your constant understanding
wrapping blankets around me

i met bobby when i was 16. he was best friends with sean and the three of us would do some pretty funny things. like drive through corn fields in the middle of july and operate on the duct tape stitches that held my volkswagon together. sean and him would screech pterodactyl calls through the close quarters of our private high school and stink up my car with lacrosse uniforms. god they would make me laugh.
bobby was so sweet. i guess you always say that when someone dies, but honestly, he was the nicest person i will ever meet. in fact, the first time i met him i thought he was making fun of me, but sean said no, he is just that genuine.
and when my parents abandoned their duties and left sean lonely, bobby was there to listen. he helped sean through the divorce and rebellion.  the first time sean got arrested, the first of many, unfortunately, bobby called me. he said that there was going to be a call from the police station and i should intercept it. a few minutes later i did. and i picked up my brother and signed his release and we never told my parents. it was a secret the three of us kept. it was how we watched out for each other.
when i went away to college he would come visit. and when i transferred back to jersey, he would come visit. and when he decided on a major he thanked me. he said i influenced him in choosing an english degree. i thought that one day i may marry him (but i think that about many).
i saw bobby last week. he stopped over to visit sean, my mom and me. his girlfriend was with him. they were cute. beach kids in flip flops and hoodies and sand everywhere. she talked about moving to hawaii, he talked about visiting.

i had a good streak, not crying. i had a real long run with dry eyes.

bobby didn't wake up this morning. his parents found him in the basement unconscious. they won't say it was drugs, but i know there were pills he was popping.
22 is too young.
i keep thinking about circles.
i keep praying for sean.

who introduced me to modest mouse many, many years ago
i miss you already....
xoxoxo

Bankrupt on Selling
Well, all the apostles, they're sitting in swings
Saying, "I'd sell off my savior for a set of new rings
And some sandals with the style of straps
That cling best to the era"

So all of the businessers in their unlimited hell
Where they buy and they sell and they sell all their trash
To each other, but they're sick of it all
And they're bankrupt on selling

And all of the angels, they'd sell off your soul
For a set of new wings and anything gold
They remember the people they loved, their old friends
And I've seen through them all, seen through them all
And seen through most everything

All the people you knew were the actors
All the people you knew were the actors

Well, I'll go to college and I'll learn some big words
And I'll talk real loud, goddamn right I'll be heard
You'll remember the guy who said all those big words
He must have learned in college

And it took a long time until I came clean with myself
I'd grown clean out of love with my lover
I still love her, loved her more when she used to be sober
And I was kinder

hiding from the dead
buried in wet blankets
i saw your eyes in his foreign skin
my baby brother, sean
how my breath stops when those tears begin
falling
restraint pouring from your innocence
stop trying
strength won't pull us out of this
i love you
remember
love warm kisses
its not you
who is dead

"What else do you do?"
He says it with such condescension that I think of slicing his ashy skin and bleeding the arrogance from him.
I know what he is asking.  He is giving me the opportunity to detail the achievements of my life, to justify my existence before serving the second course. 
He wants me to prove that I am more then his waitress.
I know the answer he is looking for. He wants me to entertain his company with the background of my education and color pictures of my professional goals.  I know I am good at this, getting people on board, helping them see the texture of my dreams, but he isn't truly interested in me.  He is trying to make himself feel better. He just knew I was more.
I let his question linger among the bread crumbs and wrinkled linen.
I become infuriated.
Would he ask my 40 year old coworker what else she does?
No.
He asks me because I'm young and cute and flirting.  My answer has a better chance of being what he wants to hear.  My answer may be worthy.
But does my answer make me any better of a waitress? Am I more equipped to discern oyster choices or present dessert menus because I have a degree and a dream of something different?
More importantly, does my coworker's situation make her any worse?  Does he care that she comes in and serves him the same manhattan and sirloin and then leaves to be mother to her 3 children?
Does that make me more exciting or him feel more secure that the woman folding his napkin may one day have a napkin folded for her?
The moments grow awkward and I think about answering:
What else do I do?
I smoke cigarettes and sip dirty martinis. I listen to music and read poetry. I flirt religiously and sometimes I spend nights with boys who will never get to know me. I meditate and practice yoga and drink too much coffee.  I love intensely.  I don't eat meat. I think about pollution, ethanol, and global warming.  I want to feed the hungry.  I sing to babies and put toddlers to sleep.  I taught a child about imagery and family.  I believe that life is a circle and time is fake.  I try really hard to be forgiving.  I volunteer in soup kitchens, hospitals, and foreign countries.  I dance, everyday.
And in between your appetizer and dessert, I dream BIG dreams. 

hold ourselves together with our arms around the stereo for hours

have been working non stop recently - 6 days out of 7, doubles on tuesdays, mornings spent between doctors, emails, bills, phone calls, auto body shops, post offices, banks, errands...
mundane life.
mondays are my only day off.
i always start sunday morning with that to do list running through my head.
i always end monday thinking i deserved the break.
i'm not crying - i need the money and its coming - but i'm tired.
exhausted really.
so today was nice.
real nice.
slow and summer.
woke and checked a few things off that list. (doctors, bank, it never ends)
stopped at the farm market and made a fresh salad: romaine, pineapple, jersey tomatoes, almonds, pecorino romano, olive oil, pepper. sat out back with my brother.
we ventured to the last empty lot on our once vacant street. competed in our own derby tournament.  whiffle balls and home runs and mosquito bites up bare legs.
read some, wrote some, commented.
drove to the fish market. bought topnecks and crab legs. stopped at the liquor store, shiraz and fume.
fired up the grill and devoured a seafood feast.
i'm about to sit now, smoke that joint i have neglected, and watch that show i've waited 7 days for.
ahhh, mondays.
sweet, sweet rest.

he keeps a faded 5x10 behind the visor. she looks young and innocent. sitting in the foreign window sill, lager in hand, smiling. he didn't know she would break his heart then. she did.
they walked miles around the water. discussing the situation. she kept repeating explanations. three years is what he gave her.
to go exploring and live.
she was angry with the answer. confused, annoyed and comforted. like a safety net she wasn't sure she wanted.
she tried to tangle it. punch holes and let the water slip in.
but he keeps mending.
when she moved out, she moved in. found herself all over again.
found him in the mirror reflection.
three years and counting.

sex appeal:
its not dresses or cigarettes or martinis.
its not words, they're deceiving.
its not even music (though it may be a bass line)

it is honesty and confidence.
vulnerability.

i was 17. he was 25.
said he saw me all around town. i didn't recognize. and i was no pageant queen, no award wining beauty.
i was me.
at 17.
young and naive.
he invited me back to his house. a party. so i showered and dressed and returned to the scene. alone. and that meant everything.
i was sexy, but didn't know it.
sexy. by myself. with my ideas and diction and laughter. with my wide eyes and sense of adventure. because i was comfortable in this skin, ten pounds lighter. i didn't know there were rules. i didn't know there was a game i was supposed to play. i just knew me.
17.
he later came to tell me this.
that it was my confidence that drew them in.
my innocence and bravery.
i took it all away.

i told him how i felt at 19, but he was a young soul, couldn't relate. he may one day feel that way, but i was six months younger, yet older then him.  it may have been astonishment. i wasn't looking for that supervision.

so i found him at 21. he was calm and gentle and in love. could spend this life taking care of me, but i don't want to be taken care of.

and at 24 i finally realized, that life is lovely through these blue gray eyes. and i'm gonna tell it like i see.
'cause this is sexy.
this is me.

The ground was wet well before the rain.  I remember sliding through the hills of a western state.  The air was heavy and damp.  The windows were down, trying to catch a breeze, trying to feel freedom, or find the meaning. That was when I started smoking during the day. When the perfect song shuffled into range and no one was with me.  When chance won a hand against destiny. That was when I decided I was going to leave. One day. That was when I knew it was about me, always.

There are those drives when you lose yourself, directions in lap, printed mileage from start to end, and still, lost. Sometimes I don't see anything, blank landscapes. And then, I'm there, with me, as I was when I left.  The end is the beginning and I question if I really traveled anything. 

Then there are the few final minutes, when you begin to recognize your surroundings and you sense the ending, the coming home. There is this reoccurring thought that comforts my return: "You can keep going", it says, "You don't have to go home yet"; but eventually, I always do. And then she whispers, "You'll go out again, hush anxious soul, you'll go out again".