"later," my mom whispered to me, "when it's not raining, can we go to the ravine and jump?"
"we will," i smiled. and i meant it.
"i'm sure you have changed since high school. . . i mean, you know greek now."
i buried my head in the pillow.
she insisted i take a sweater with me to the party. in her most motherly tone - that synergy of sincere concern and unshakeable authority - she forecast that it would certainly be too cold by the time i came home.
"how perfect you are, like my hockey scar"
~divided, "you tell me"
we left high school 6 years ago - monica, heather, zeina, natalie, saloni, thuy, and i - and now we are: a drama teacher, a law school student, a soon-to-be architect (working for a firm my dad was with for many years), a masters art student (finishing her thesis), an accounts manager for an ad agency, a software checker (soon moving to vancouver), and a me.
"raise your hands high in the air
'cause you never really know what's gonna come from there."
~james lancaster, "pop pop da shotgun"
we desperately want to believe that we still know each other. yet, somehow, the idea that we are all still the same is as offensive as it is comforting.
"and does not God permit love, since He surrounds it with such visible splendor?"
~maupassant, "clair de lune"
will the rain ever stop? will we even remember to jump?
you know what? maybe it's simply too late for philosophy.
1 comment:
you just miss me a whole bunch. well i miss you too. i guess not to the point where you invade my dreams. i'm a bad friend, aren't I?
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