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I got a letter from my mom today. It was a typical letter from her- two hurried paragraphs and an envelope full of newspaper clippings.
A+ is this thing in our newspaper where they put in poems and drawings by local high school students. "j.a." always has at least one in it, and she sends me a photocopy of it everytime. Usually, they're nothing special. I mean, they're good poems, I suppose. I'm not much into poetry anymore. They're usually about love or angst or nothing at all. But this is the poem I got today. catching fireflies with you we went out, all bare feet and glistening legs, my messy hair pulled back indifferently in a quick ponytail and yours an uncombed mess yet intriguing we ran holding hands, silky fingers intertwined in knots past the asters, forsythia, and columbines, all bouncing in the hazy near-dusk breeze near the edge of the woods we stopped to balance on careful fingertips the tiny delicate bodies and glowing amber light of the fireflies eye to eye the three of us were you, me, and a single firefly, for just a second; then as quiet as a whisper or the most handsome kiss, he took flight smiling, we watched his frantic escape and once again we ran, bodies entangled in fingery knots under a cloud of stars amidst a glowing curtain of shimmering life that summer we caught enough fireflies to light up the world Is it conceited to think this poem is about me? I mean, that happened. Just the line about "the edge of the woods" makes me think it must be. I have a hard time believing that she's having as hard a time with this as I am. I don't want to believe she's having as hard a time with it because I can't deal with that thought. I don't know why. I used to be so sure that I knew everything about her and that I would always know more about her than most people. To some extent, I think that's still true... but ever since I found out about her boyfriend... and even more ever since I found out there was a boyfriend she'd been lying about... I've convinced myself that she's over it and I'm an idiot not to be. (really, for the record, I'm not as obsessed as I would appear to be if you only know me through this journal. She's only a passing thought until I start to write... and then she finds her way into everything. but normal thoughts in my head are never as filled with her as they end up being once they hit the paper. I think because my experience with her affects who I am and because of that it affects all my thoughts, even the ones that don't seem related, and so when I sit down and start analyzing those thoughts... it all goes back to her.) Anyway. Poem. The thing is, I feel like an idiot for feeling that it's about me. Because I don't actually think it's about me, I just feel it. And my feelings can't understand why I don't think it. I mean, isn't it even possible that she struggles with it as much as I do? Or that she even thinks about it occasionally? ...my brain keeps saying no and my heart keeps telling my brain it's a cynic and overall we're just having a big argument here which I can't seem to resolve. So what are the facts... First, we did do that. We went outside barefoot at night to catch fireflies. Several times, actually. The fireflies did tend to hang out at the edge of the woods. We did let them all go. Her hair always was in a messy ponytail... mine always was unbrushed. We never held hands then, though. By the time we were comfortable enough to hold hands we were too depressed to catch fireflies. I think. Although I do remember one barefoot-outside-at night night where I kissed her while she was hanging upside down from a tree and she almost fell down. That was the first time we kissed. It was just a little tiny kiss. I don't think we held hands, though. But couldn't she have done that with someone else too? Practically all the houses in our county have an "edge of the woods" and lots of fireflies- hers included. or maybe she just made it up. It doesn't have to be based on anybody, does it? maybe she forgot we ever did that. I told you I don't remember that much... I don't know how much she remembers, maybe the same thing happened to her. I don't know why I'm obsessing over this. Does it even matter if she wrote it with me in mind? What difference does it make, she still practically hangs up on me every time I call. Why do I even want to call her in the first place? why can't I just move on? Actually, I know the answer to that one. It's because I didn't just lose my girlfriend. I lost my best and only friend. We were best friends long before we were more than that. I lost the only person who had any idea what it was like to be me. She doesn't believe that she still knows. I know that much. I know that she felt like I deserted her when I quit school. I know that in the last real letter she wrote me she talked about how she couldn't get me out of her and that I was in there and the only way she felt like she could get rid of me was to not talk to me. She did say that. So why can't I believe she'd write a poem about me? And why does it even matter? it does matter, I know that. I can't figure out why. Today was the last day of classes. I went to my 9:30, came back at 10:30, put my pajamas back on, got in bed, and stayed there until after 2pm. That was fun. :-) Then this afternoon, I was getting ready to go to main street Christmas shopping when a girl from upstairs came by and asked me where I was going and she said "you're going Christmas shopping?" and it was so obvious she wanted to go... so I asked her and she came too. That was so much fun. It'd been a really long time since I went somewhere with someone my age. We went to all the little stores on Main Street and found that in one of them they had Glory (a really rare beanie baby bear that my mom is going to adore) for only $5 when you bought $20 in other stuff. So I bought my dad a mug (the whole reason I'd gone into town was to get him that mug- we saw it when I was there with him- it's the Wizard of Oz and it's the nicest mug.)and A Bug's Life curly straws for the kids I babysit and a bunch of little presents to give people next year or for birthdays or something. I had a lot of fun. I think this, this is good enough and I try to laugh at whatever life brings and when I look down I just miss all the good stuff and when I look up I just trip over things ~ani difranco, As Is I'm trying. I really am. |