killin' time with gin and lime.

"Buddy Willard was a hypocrite. Of course, I didn't know he was a hypocrite at first.
I thought he was the most wonderful boy I'd ever seen. I'd adored him from a distance
for five years before he even looked at me, and then there was a beautiful time where
I still adored him and then just as he started looking at me more and more,
I discovered quite by accident what a horrible hypocrite he was..."
( The Bell Jar, page 63)



"Just Hit it Kim!" I hated smoking with him because we became
zombies at best spinning towards the distinction of whatever it
is we were and I preferred to stay still and aware that nothing
had or is or will ever become of it. "And there's this crazy old lady
who hangs out with Marie." What in god's name was wrong with
him? That name sent shivers up my spine. I had never met her
in my entire life yet I loathed her with every inch of my being.
I had seen photographs through mutual friends and she was
beautiful and natural and branch-thin and smiling. I knew
that they strummed guitars together and I figured she was
athletic as well and his same age and anything else he had
patronized me for not being. How the fuck was I to compete
with that? I was a crumbling statue buckling up a pair of
Manolo Blahniks and choking on a cigarette. "She just
always pops up at Marie's house and it is so funny. "
I figured if I had been paying attention, this is the
part where I would laugh. I stifled a giggle and
peered outside the window and began imagining
each flake of snow as someone I had met, a vice
sticking to my peacoat, a stranger suitcased in
the breeze, a colleague sliding down the glass or an
outdated muse slushed beneath the tire tracks.
"I don't like much wine except Pinot Grigio." he
rambled on. "You like penis?" I smirked. My god,
was I just the same? I acted silly and awkward and
passe and dumb because after filtering our initial
thoughts, that's what we become. "Do you ever lie
awake at night and worry about just about everything? "
This was my cue, my chance, the truest invitation to
who I really was. "No, but sometimes I stay up all night
or stay out all night." That wasn't what I meant at all.
I knew then that as much as he was a fan of it all, the
soundtrack of a wandering and wondering mind, he
was just that; a fan, and not someone who shared the
suffering and beauty and exhaustion of it all.
Why would I bother with anything past related
stories or ordinary response? It would merely allow
him to think less of me or completely scare him off.
Perhaps this was a blessing, the last thing I was looking
for was a reflection of myself to lay beside me at night.
My mind flooded with images of Amy Winehouse and
her soon to be annuled husband injecting heroin inside
their veins and Kate and Pete in a cocaine daze.
"Do you remember this time last year?" he smiled infantly,
pulling into that familiar street. I knew exactly what he
was referring to. " I remember everything about that night.
"He's gonna piss his pants, Kimmy, because he thinks your dad
is going to wake up and find us. What should we do!?" Amanda
wrote inside a text message. "Ask him if he likes me." I replied,
comfortably numb and close enough to being asleep I could
literally develop polaroids from inside my dreams.
"He does! He does! He does!" I professed to Zach,
clutching to a cup of coffee on our ride to school
the next morning. "And Jesse had to pull us out
of your ditch...." He continued, and then I was
home. And then he was gone. And again I was
caught between the fear he'd moved on and an
even greater fear that I had too and we were better off.