141. all the crystal lovely dancing waves were hers.


I am one with the mood swings.

I turned eighteen a few days ago. I was convinced, and took work off. I had had an amazing dinner at the local Indian place earlier, with laughter and love and soulsister, stories of Elka and icecream trucks, snow and songs. They’re old stories, and I might have annoyed everyone by asking their telling, yet. I feel small, and if the highlights of history are told, that thread of connection returns, not a small strand but a huge shining web. A tapestry thread, if you will.

The real birthday was at home, with yummy food and strange peace. My soulsister came along for the ride again, as did two old family friends. we jested and something clicked in the night, I felt mature and soft and somehow destructive, but in that beautifully tender way that gently strokes a photograph before the fire consumes.

The candle crackles with the sound of a woodfire. I have earrings and martini glasses and a childhood movie, a book and a pen and a new film eager to be seen. The material wasn’t the point, though. I didn’t want it to be, and in my mind it wasn’t. The ambiance and the weight of the night are what stay in memory, toasts and a hug.

For the past half of the school year, there was a gnarled old board, huge and thick, splintery and warped. I get sick of picking wooden fragments out of cloth that brushes past, skin unfortunate enough to get in the way. I set it down in front of the teacher, as if it is worth saving. he shrugs, and sends me to the plainer. Back and forth, shaving off a little bit more with each pass. Again and again and again, the rounded twisted board is almost half of the thickness it was. Sanding it. I gasp, and can’t stop stroking the wood. It’s a beautifully strange-grained piece of cherry, round crop-circle patterns on the light and dark sides of the board, slim and smooth and infinitely beautiful. I think that it’s almost too cheesy for words, the transformation from splintery hulk to slim spiraling beauty. Somehow, that doesn’t stop my fingers from tracing it every few moments, marveling at the velvet feel.

Today, I was wired with coffee and sugar, cheerios and fruit. I bounced like a ferret on crack cocaine , singing and unable to stop movement, feeling fine and ready to dance. I finished transcribing the intro to a song, and couldn’t stop singing Flagpole Sitta for absolutely no reason. It was a long day, but a good one.

Saturday will be interesting. I invited everyone. From there, the choices are their own, and I will respect that. It shouldn’t be an event that causes stress. I don’t know how many people will show up. I don’t know how it’s going to be, how people will act, and that’s half the fun. After March, after the play I should be able to visit people again, be better at seeing those I don’t come in contact with at all. I hope they can meet me there.


2 Responses to “141. all the crystal lovely dancing waves were hers.”

  1. 1 Rachel

    Babe, I didn’t mean to make an ordeal about not coming. I just can’t put myself in a position where I feel uncomfortable.

  2. No, I agree. This is supposed to be fun – if you don’t think it’ll be fun, comfortable, if it’ll stress you out, then the cons outweigh the pros. And there are a bunch of people not coming, some whom I’m faux-mad at for not telling me earlier (if someone says yes then no, I get to tease and be pissy, but those are the only ones) A few people have called out due to IB, another couple because family or trips, and I don’t know who’ll come at this point.

    It’s a dumb party. It is not life-changing, or friendship-breaking. it is for fun, and if it causes anything negative then it isn’t good, not to go to or to have. I expect only a few things. I expect some people to chose to interact, another few to leave as soon as they feel they can, outside of their comfort zone but trying. I expect people like Julie to set the mood, and others to modify it with the games they bring out. And, I look forward to this, the choices that they make and the events that may unfold. With any luck, it’ll be awesome. If not, then it’s the last big party of highschool, the next being strictly close friends.

    I miss you, love, and want you to be happy and satisfied and still yourself, not sacrificing any of the contradictions that make you you. I don’t want you in an uncomfortable position. <3 Have an amazing weekend, beba.

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