I was with my friend Arizona and our friend D was in town for one night. Just passing through. I think he was coming from Europe maybe, but his destination was California, where he lived with his boyfriend of like eight years on a mansion. They were in love, Arizona told me.
I spent all night trying to tell D how much in love with him I was, too. He was really funny and very smart (he started a literary magazine at school before I even thought those things were cool). He had a reading series and would invite me to perform songs in between the readers. I'd be singing along to my ukulele staring at him with open longing. I didn't really perform music, I performed my affection for him. He read poems about being a bride, wearing white. I melted. D looked sort of like me, too, but an ideal version of me. A better one. His eyes are bluer, his hair is curlier, he's maybe a bit taller, more muscular. My body moves nervously and quickly and awkwardly. His is sure, and calm. And that makes me feel really sexy. He works with his hands, he makes books. What could be better?
In town tho for one night only Arizona and D and I have a contest that we admit openly: who can drink the most whiskey. We are listening to Kate Bush as loud as we can and painting our faces and drinking and smoking too much for our 19 year old bodies to take. The other contest we are having and not admitting is who is capable of more extreme love. I'm winning. I keep hitting on D interrupting him even when he;s talking about his boyfriend. I get so angry with him that I keep saying his name like it's an insult. I keep asking him to just "open his eyes" or something. I feel myself slipping and I know I'm seeming desperate and he doesn't want to get any closer to me and I know it's tacky and gross to keep hitting on someone, even a friend of yours (D is a friend of a friend I could never be friends with him or this would keep happening). I keep staring at him meaningfully and hoping that somehow he'll "get" it. It feels like it's okay to do this, though. I know he doesn't really like me and if he did wouldn't do anything so it's like being at a firing range or something. It's hermetic, it's good practice. I went to bed and in the morning D was gone and I was mortified by what I had been saying to him. I called our friend Arizona and she said that instead of being grossed out D had said just that I was a "Lawyer of the Soul".
And it being summer again more later I am still, I think trying to argue the case for Feelings.
Yours, mine. Free them!
If I had three political parties they would be:
It's summer, now, and things are sticky.
I feel very guilty. I feel very a lot things, too.