Sunday, July 25, 2010

a tempest, a respite.


a friend, a writer, told me today to write about what i love, not what brings me turmoil. it was good advice. certain pieces of life can't be written right away. they should be put in a box in the attic, only to be revisited on a day, much later, when i am looking for something else.

after talking with her, i ran, and i thought about her advice. i should write about what i love. but the word "advice" kept coming back around. i've gotten a lot of it recently. it's all been about heavy, grown up things, though. into the box it went. so i kept running. and i started associating words with people and places, and before i knew it, 6 miles had passed and two people from long ago had found their way into today. so i'll write about them.

during one very bland year, i had a crush on a man who told me i was too interesting for my own good. it's my favorite thing he ever said, although i have no idea what he meant by it. i don't think he did, either. knowing him, he heard it somewhere else and thought this was a good a time as any to try it out, because we were otherwise failing miserably at flirting with each other. as we often did. why i kept on chasing him is purely cat and mouse, because other than not having him, i had no reason to want him at all. if i had to guess, at the moment he finished his sentence, i must have dropped my crush somewhere between the jukebox and the atm, along with the last ash on my cigarette. thank god. too bad he hadn't said you are too interested for your own good. he'd have been spot-on.

when i lived in miami, i had a friend named larry. he was much older than i, in his late forties, i'd guess. back then i was forty-by-way-of-twenty-two, so we made fine friends. got along swimmingly. according to mr. webster, "swimmingly" dates back to 1622 and means "very well" . . . the etymology is curiously absent from the entry. i wonder if mr. webster is toying with us sometimes. either way, it's a good word to use when talking about larry, because there was something grand about him, for no particular reason. we would go to dinner often, and would talk for hours, as if my newborn opining could interest a man who hung around with the likes of tom waits and gary sinise. weird thing is, it did. i kept up with him. i was an old soul back then. it's been a decade or more since we've seen each other, but we've spoken a few times. every time, he greets me with the same "hey danielle!" that makes me feel as if i've rescued him from a life of repose. larry is a rare one—a character, a gentleman, and a joy. i hope i'll see him again.

* * *
the rain is drip, drip, dripping from the sky and hitting my sidewalk in tiny explosions. the dogs are sighing away next to me on their beds. it makes me sleepy, too.

goodnight.

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