"yesterday"atmosphere
when life gives you lemons, you paint that shit gold
[rhymesayers]
remembering theme songs was never your forte. i was making a valiant effort at leaving work on time (which by now you know means approximately two hours later than i'm actually supposed to leave) and you called just before i locked the door to my office. one hand pressing against my torso with what must have been dozens of manila folders between them, the other hastily pressing 'accept' in my pocket before i even look to see that it's you calling me, then suddenly my limb was jettisoning the phone to my ear. i wasn't trying to be distant, i was just literally contorting my body, digits, and mind grapes to take care of a million things at once. besides, i could have hung up and made up an excuse later. but no, i listened (mostly because you started talking the instant the plastic touched my cartilage). you asked without pause: "which show goes [you're singing now, oh boy] 'it's a rare condition, this day and age...'? that's perfect strangers, right?"
you could have stopped at "rare" and i would have offered you an answer (an emphatic and slightly unnecessary "are you kidding me?") and a confident correction. my eyes scrunched up into my skull in frustration, but i didn't grit my teeth like i usually do. probably because i was combating trying to get out the door and trying to end this phone call with the ultimate cheer-me-up trump card: a mental picture of urkel. and for whatever reason, when i think of urkel, i think of you. that probably doesn't sound as sweet to you as it sounds in my pop culture-saturated head, but i love urkel. i cried when my mom had to explain to my dumb white 8-year-old self why it would be inappropriate for me to go as urkel for halloween. but you know that story already; it's one of your totes faves.
with that instantaneous flash of memory linkage, my eyelids relaxed and there was even a semi-smirk creeping onto the left side of my face. before i could give a proper and calm answer to your initial query, the reception cut out like it always does at work (another smooth move on behalf of my clumsy, awkward, and never thinking enough self). i turned my phone off and planned to call you back later - i wanted to remember you rather than talk to you (sorry if that's insanely rude). shoving all the paper nonsense into my bike's basket and eliminating the outside world's existence with thoughts of you and urkel swirling through my mind, i rode off to the beach, our part of it; home can always wait. anyway, this is the part i wanted to tell you about: remember that cat we named bronson? he was there, on the bench, like he had never left. i couldn't help but think of audrey hepburn--again, this stupid head of mine.
but that's not all, sherry. i thought you were there too. you and your damn flashlight that you always insisted on bringing to the beach. "you never know if we'll stay past sundown." we never did, but you brought it anyway. every time. so there it was, a flashlight shining from the middle of the tide, up into the half-black sky. how preposterous, me thinking you were there on the beach with that same fussy feline (it might have been a different cat, i'll concede, but you know how i like making stories better than they are in real life). of course it was some mildly intoxicated old man who had lost his way (and half his mind - hey, sounds like someone you and i know). i helped him out of the water, bronson following me there and back (maybe it was him after all), and clicked my phone on to call the police (geeze, that sounds like i was calling to have him arrested rather than trying to get him help). wow. i'm looking at this paragraph now and realizing you were right once again about something - i am parenthetically incompetent.
anyway, it felt like forever before it finally booted up and i could dial a number. before i could though, there was that follow-up text from you. here i was, drunk mustachioed fellow to my left, mangy bronson to my right, and i read your text before i dialed 911. "nm family matters duh." it's the only text, hell it's the only piece of you, that i've kept on my phone or elsewhere - you may have disappeared (you'll claim it was me, i know, and maybe you're right about that too) but the history is right here.
you could have stopped at "rare" and i would have offered you an answer (an emphatic and slightly unnecessary "are you kidding me?") and a confident correction. my eyes scrunched up into my skull in frustration, but i didn't grit my teeth like i usually do. probably because i was combating trying to get out the door and trying to end this phone call with the ultimate cheer-me-up trump card: a mental picture of urkel. and for whatever reason, when i think of urkel, i think of you. that probably doesn't sound as sweet to you as it sounds in my pop culture-saturated head, but i love urkel. i cried when my mom had to explain to my dumb white 8-year-old self why it would be inappropriate for me to go as urkel for halloween. but you know that story already; it's one of your totes faves.
with that instantaneous flash of memory linkage, my eyelids relaxed and there was even a semi-smirk creeping onto the left side of my face. before i could give a proper and calm answer to your initial query, the reception cut out like it always does at work (another smooth move on behalf of my clumsy, awkward, and never thinking enough self). i turned my phone off and planned to call you back later - i wanted to remember you rather than talk to you (sorry if that's insanely rude). shoving all the paper nonsense into my bike's basket and eliminating the outside world's existence with thoughts of you and urkel swirling through my mind, i rode off to the beach, our part of it; home can always wait. anyway, this is the part i wanted to tell you about: remember that cat we named bronson? he was there, on the bench, like he had never left. i couldn't help but think of audrey hepburn--again, this stupid head of mine.
but that's not all, sherry. i thought you were there too. you and your damn flashlight that you always insisted on bringing to the beach. "you never know if we'll stay past sundown." we never did, but you brought it anyway. every time. so there it was, a flashlight shining from the middle of the tide, up into the half-black sky. how preposterous, me thinking you were there on the beach with that same fussy feline (it might have been a different cat, i'll concede, but you know how i like making stories better than they are in real life). of course it was some mildly intoxicated old man who had lost his way (and half his mind - hey, sounds like someone you and i know). i helped him out of the water, bronson following me there and back (maybe it was him after all), and clicked my phone on to call the police (geeze, that sounds like i was calling to have him arrested rather than trying to get him help). wow. i'm looking at this paragraph now and realizing you were right once again about something - i am parenthetically incompetent.
anyway, it felt like forever before it finally booted up and i could dial a number. before i could though, there was that follow-up text from you. here i was, drunk mustachioed fellow to my left, mangy bronson to my right, and i read your text before i dialed 911. "nm family matters duh." it's the only text, hell it's the only piece of you, that i've kept on my phone or elsewhere - you may have disappeared (you'll claim it was me, i know, and maybe you're right about that too) but the history is right here.
No comments:
Post a Comment