I am sitting at my desk with my thumb in my mouth, squeezing my jawbones. Only you would understand why I am doing this. I miss you. I have a lot of free time these days because I am either riding the bus or walking home from the drugstore, laden with my heavy, purple backpack with the bloodstains on it. I need the quiet so much more than I used to. I hate it when my roommate watches television and wants me to join her. Before I left for Israel, I used to watch six hours of tv a night. Six hours! I watched mindless sitcoms on Nickelodeon. I was unhappy and the tv was a way to shut off my thinking. Well, Israel cured me of that and I am no longer interested in vegging in front of the tube. Also, the cars irritate me. The streets seem so noisy to me after Israel. I tried to explain it to some people in Canada and they just thought I was crazy. It’s noisy here in the West. It’s noisy on the public bus, too, but I can tune that noise out fairly easily. So I sit and contemplate or I walk and daydream. In any case, I am frequently thinking about you. I realize now that you never loved me. How sad. You are a far more damaged human being than I ever even suspected, but I still love you. I wonder how your commute is to Evergreen College, whether you have night classes or day classes. I imagine you leading your class, all business-like. “First Aid is serious business.” I hope teaching makes you feel manly, like you are a competent professional and a contributing member of society. I hope you sleep well at night because you are actually tired from the day’s work.
While I am walking, I also like to mull over memories. In my memories, I ‘see’ the way you used to frown at me, so intense. Here’s one: I was laying beside you on your ratty, brown sofa. I had my head in your lap. I sat up and made a face at you to indicate that my jaw was sore. We both know why. I didn’t even speak it to you. I just made some whining noise, and then you gave me The Look. Flecks of gold in your brown eyes. “Come here.”, you said sternly, and I opened my mouth to you like a baby bird. You put your thumb in my mouth and pinched me hard. It hurt but it was a good hurt. I can still taste your flesh, a faint odor of nicotine on your fingers that reminded me of my grandfather. I didn’t know if it was the Vulcan Mindbend that gave me relief or just the fact that it was you. I miss you, David. Live long and prosper.
You must log in to post a comment.