"Have a good rest of your life," he told me as he stepped over the threshold, boarding the Paris-bound charter. "You have to love this because it's so beautiful. What you have here, you have to love it because it's life," he whispered in that softened French that we all have come to recognize and swoon over between Political Science lectures. "The feeling that comes in this house, with all of these people..." he assured me, "It's so special." And so I forced a smile through watering eyes. I scrunched up my nose so tight and told him that I'd miss him and gave him another tight embrace and he told me to stop being a silly American, getting so worked up over something so minute, so daily. The softness of each kiss planted so gently on my warm cheeks, and closed eyes trying to make memories of moments, and down the stairs, and out the door.
Some words just don't translate.
Falling in love with words and touching skin-to-skin and the sweat that pours down my shoulder in a forty degree room with silence and no lights but the panoramic cross atop the mountain and the sweat stings my eyes and clears my sinuses and drips onto the floor in puddles and midnight.
He always promised that any story that was ever worth telling would involve a girl.
Liberté. Égalité. Fraternité. 1936.
I was lost in the Southern Hemisphere. Promisso, Promisso. S'licha, Promisso.
Twenty pesos. Eighty cents. Eighty two, even. Point five.
You're from Detroit, she said as I examined my clothing, searching for a symbol of my hometown.
I found none. Nicht. Rien.
It's a beautiful thing when people follow their intuitions, she continued.
And I removed the chain from my neck, replacing the 5 shekel Hamsa with the Franc from South America.
To arrogantly assume enemy lines.
To point out evil and good and to fight the former with the latter. In memory now, as there is nothing else.
"Suddenly," you whispered, "the world seems such a perfect place."
Ideas become revolutions become high school, history class lesson plans.
In theory, I figured that if I were to hold your beating heart to mine for long enough, the honeymoon would finally end.
She told me that the big island of Hawaii is only good for visiting. I've already climbed the falls in Jamaica.
And Paradise Island is nothing next to Netanya in May.
I'd take waking up to you .au lieu de. some over-the-counter drug on any given morning.
So come on, baby. Come on over.
Let me be the one to show you.
"I didn't see this as a romantic idea. It had nothing to do with France itself, with wearing hats or writing tortured letters from a sidewalk cafe. I didn't care where Hemingway drank or Alice B. Toklas had her mustache trimmed. What I found appealing in life abroad was the inevitable sense of helplessness it would inspire. Equally exciting would be the work involved in overcoming that helplessness. There would be a goal involved, and I like having goals." - David Sedaris
You can write on the walls here, but nobody calls you a poet.
( Baszd meg az anyádat. )
I thought maybe I couldn't read the poster in the bathroom because I was drunk...
Then, I remembered that I was in Montreal and it was written in another language.
This evening, I watched The Aristocrats with Russian girls and danced with my Chinese roommate at an 80's disco.
And ate Subway. For free... because sometimes you have to stop pretending and admit that you're an American.
But then I ate Poutine. Which pretty much cancelled out anything good that I've ever eaten in my life.
And that's the beauty of each moment. You can't get too attached or comfortable because it's going to change.
The only factor in our lives that remains permanent is impermanence.
( You shouldn't recognize this face. I'm a ghost in this place. )
( Just Your Everyday Word Vomit. )
( 106.7 - All Country - All the time. )
( Your smile is the catalyst for my pen to the page. )
We've got a lot of ground to cover... Might as well get an early start.
Meet me in outer space. I will hold you close if you're afraid of heights.
My tribe's come in sevens. My Mother's come in threes. If you're superstitious, you'll find it in thirteens.
I don't get lucky. I don't get unlucky. There's no such thing as luck.
We have bad streaks to serve as the equivalent foil to those that stand in a better light.
It's April now. It's amazing to know that a year has come and gone. Without closure. All I did was run.
I work with the Judicial Dean at Wayne. Like clockwork, these young kids come in to repent for their sins.
And I leaned in to whisper something encouraging to your Mother. To your Grandmother.
Because it's true - he wouldn't hurt a fly - and because I understood that look. It hurt me to see you hurting.
And I'm almost positive that if we opened you up, your stomachs would be tying knots just like mine did.
To this day, we tell the same stories, hoping that someone new and powerful might finally overhear.
The birds are soaring freely above our heads, the bums on the streets are multiplying exponentially and my life is falling apart.
Yes, it surely is Spring.
Danny and I are going to Israel and Russia in six weeks.
I'm working Pioneer over the summer and moving to Montreal in the Fall.
Most importantly, the Tigers' season is about to begin.
And I think that I got it out of my system last June. The running away bit. I dissolved friendships and hid in Ortonville for the hot season.
The moment I returned from the country, I delved into the City. So spontaneous. Always changing my route at the last moment to avoid judgemental eyes.
Those photos are above my bed. To me, they symbolize nice afternoons... nice feelings. You just happen to be in them.
I stood in the doorway of last week's funeral. "Looks like you won." she said to me, smirking as she crossed her arms over her thin frame.
And he didn't move. He didn't leave my side. He told her of the amazing efforts that I have produced.
A two year final exam.
Can you handle what life has to offer? Better yet, will you hold fast to the opportunities that so many lose faith in?
Sometimes we wake up in separate beds. And that's ok because I'm a cover hog.
I help out in this classroom at one of the Detroit Public Schools and sometimes I won't tutor at all.
Sometimes... it's the teachers that need a mentor. A friend. Another girl to whisper with over a brown-bagged lunch.
And I sit and listen to them for hours upon hours. And towards the end, they'll ask me why I want to teach.
And all I can do is laugh to myself and move forward with the conversation.
Because I don't want to teach. I just want to change lives.
Naturally, I'm worried if I do it alone. Because who really cares if it's your life. "You never know... it could be great. Take a chance because you might grow."
He keeps calling my line. "Do you need more time?" he asks. And I love him for understanding that some things are better when they are left to their own devices.
I am Wayne State University's Emerging Leader. As of Monday, I will have made my mark here. I suppose it's time to move on.
I'm trying out this new thing called caring. Simultaneously, I'm teaching myself how to love.
I refuse to become a hypocrite.
She walked in through the side door.
"Where is Lexi? Where is Lexi? Where is Lexi?"
My biggest fear is that a day will come when I won't be able to hold you like that.
And I'm anxious... Just afraid, I suppose. Because while you lived for her, I can't live without you.
To be supportive is a trait that neither can boast, yet they refuse to watch me fail. Admiration. I can only imagine.
Here, here; to pilfering the adventures that only others have and to reenacting the 'nose-grazes' that only happen in drawn-out, teenage dramas.
It's nice to be home. To watch the rain fall on the lake while 105.1 and assorted Country stations overcome the silence that accompanies solitude.
The only person whom I ever shared that spot with was Robbie Patterson.
Rightfully deserved. Everyone needs one of those. A spot, a dream, a sense of adventure...
"So this is 361; you've come more than full circle. Appreciative snaps. Moreover, I suggest something completely random happens later in life. Be ready."
I'm sorry that I didn't write back; I was never very good with words.
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.1){kind=small}
zimmythejew's journal
satisfied
excited
happy
discontent
drained