1. you coulda shoulda woulda for a vernal equinox
“In New York, I can never tell what the weather feels like by looking at it.” I write this sentence on a flight to Florida, I am on my way to some version of spring break. I have no idea at the time that this sentence will soon sum up my life entirely.
I have no idea that I will buy a banjo instead of a bed, that I will have to keep my goddamn mouth shut. Headed south I still believe all my lovers who have spent half of a year lying to me. You know me, I believe everyone, I plot through seasons like you use graphs. I close the notebook.
The plane does not crash, the flight does not make the evening news.
In Florida, I see people. I bathe naked in the Gulf of Mexico, I address the issue of dismantled beds, the status of relationships, the different ways people believe in God or do not believe in god. I don’t know that I will meet boys from the West Coast or decide that it’s time for revival meetings. I don’t know that the man on the other side of the telephone is lying through his teeth. I do know that he’s had braces, that I used to want to touch them. That there’s never been metal in my mouth.
I like him because when ever I have any doubts he is fast on his feet to tell me that this is unfair, that I can’t base my judgments on him on my past relationships, that he is not like these other guys. He tells me I have no reason not to believe him because he comes over when he says he will come over and he calls when he is supposed to call. I don’t remember him ever telling me that anything was actually his fault, but this is how it goes.
It’s explained on a plane. Maybe resting my head against the window or a shoulder, I close my eyes. If I was my mother I’d vomit into a paper bag out of actual motion sickness; If I was my best friend I’d burst into tears because she really is scared of flying but since I am myself both Dramamine and xanax in my body. I fall asleep, not nauseous, not scared of clouds or crashes. It is officially Spring and John comes over to officially end our relationship. Suddenly he wants to tell me that he is eleven years older than me, suddenly he wants to repeat for a few hours that he is not in love with me. To me he sounds insane. I am probably screaming, but at least the shit that comes out of my mouth is rational. We are lying on a broken bed, we are lying on the same exact spot where we started. It goes on for hours, I can put his shit into a brown paper bag but I am too exhausted to negotiate the concept of IKEA. I will sleep alone, I will let the slats fall through.
The worst part about John in my opinion is that he thinks he is a really good guy. He thinks he does the right thing with just about everything. I can imagine him waking up in the morning and patting himself on the back. I have been losing my virginity to con men since the age of fifteen. Now it’s all terminators and the CIA. One million secrets and the ability to be rational. He is rational so he says things like this to me: “This is better for you,” and “I am being honest with you,” and the whole time the bed is breaking. He says things to other people like: “I tried and it just wasn’t working out,” and “she is young, she has her whole life ahead of her.” Of course I am terrified. I am scared out of my fucking mind.
Is it going to be like this forever? I don’t know, David. I don’t know, Daniela. Everyone is ten years my senior. I hang out with my roommate (out of circumstance), my classmates (out of principle), my intern (out of habit) and everyone else— well, they are all dudes in their 30’s. They don’t use their refrigerators but they pay for my drinks. Food expires if you can’t freeze it and no baby this aint Florida but these bed sheets are as transient as my body can get itself to be.
I can never tell what the weather feels like by looking at it— and this pretty much sums up everything up. This is human beings not just book covers.
This is Spring 2009:
I was supposed to be in love, but instead I got a lecture. I was supposed to buy a bed, but instead I bought a banjo.
