What happened to my Me?
When was the last time I wrote in a marble notebook with a fraying spine
all the smiles and eyes and flicks and pins I vowed to remember in script?
When was the last time I patched up a pu rse, a skir t, a paira j e-ans
or made 'em from scratch with my knuckles cut and thimblelessness
profound and proud?
When was the last time I woke up early just to ride my bike through 4 cars passing and fog swaying blocks away to spoon until noon?
When was the last time I dealt with the depression of absence because I was so uncontrollably, irreversibly, suffocatingly in love, with a grin that could light the heavens a hundred times over?
___When was the first time I met my friends? My best friends? My never ending never leave me never always alright but just fine enough all the time friends?
___When was the first time I called myself a punk, an emo kid, an outcast, an original, and felt only pride while shopping at garage sales and Fantastic Records, knowing I was incapable of being tripped for the rest of my life, without knowing how to define a "party" because I'd never been invited to one?
___When was the first time I indulged in a girl's willing, pleasing, and unsolicited touch?
When was the last time I saw myself on a playground dangling
________________________________________and JUMping
_________________________and c a r o u s e l i n g
and
__t
___t
____tu
______mbl
_________ing through /b/a/r/s/,/ //r//o//p//e//s//,// and 0t0i0r0e0s0?0
It didn't stop when I turned 12.
When was the last time I snuck out, or needed to, in order to feel the dew, the moon, the pavement; an actual and successful escape? A chance to see the stars, the meteor showers, the suspicious cops stopping, the suspicious trucks stopping, the shopping carts rolling, the bikes piling next to sneakers as friends enjoyed summer and fall alike?
What happened to my Me?
I used to wake up at 6 a.m.
"Mom, can I go watch t.v.?"
"Yes, hun."
*kiss*
with the imploding fists that my mother wouldn't come downstairs
*stip
step
stip
step
stip
step
stop*
to interrupt my cartoons for the rest of the day,
not realizing that other programming s=p=r=a=w=l=e=d across the channels after 10am.
I used to read about how I could explore the Earth through magnifying glasses, magnets, and technicolor pipecleaners.
I used to fantasize about inventing. A slingshot ring. A Swissarmy anklet. An indestructible creek boat with tadpole catcher (made out of foil and duct tape).
I used to invent.
My own "Wild Things." Many appendages. Many eyes-sometimes like a cat's. Many teeth. Always sharp.
Lego trucks and jets. Many wheels. Many wings. Always pointed noses.
Worlds out of the mossy foundations of old trees. Cicada skins serving as barricades. Leaves folded just so as coliseums. Pine needles as road-guides on this yet-unpaved way. I hadn't even read any Tolkien yet.
Flying possibilities:
Shoes to jump high in with safety-lights in the heel. Check.
Wingspan with a length twice my height. Check.
Leaves broad and thick enough to sew or glue together. Check.
Branches, miscellaneous poles malleable yet sturdy? Hm...
A drop-off cliff to test out my wings. The local quarry, but I'm not allowed in there.
Breaking the toys of my baby sitter and my baby sister with my self and John. We destroyed memories and laughter at the expense of tears and shouts.
Kathy stole my Transformers Jet. It was so small yet so perfect. Cunt.
Patty forced me to eat Green Beans and PB&J sandwhiches. Cunt. Never again.
That perfectly honey-sweet Crispix cereal that isn't made anymore with a hole-punched geometric aeroplane back that I can't help but recall fondly, whether it actually flew, or flew well, or not.
What happened to my Me?
Vague recollections of playing doctor, getting naked in a Nordic Track box on a driveway, and seeing neighbors naked because I was trying to be a good boy and return a bike helmet, but forgot to knock.
Discovering porn in a broken VHS, then in a working Penthouse years before puberty. Fascination. No disgust or shame. Sensational.
Hearing women moan and gasp while watching tertiary-colored Pollacks and Mondrians thrust and bounce. I hosted the Best sleepovers with my buddies. Pizza and kindof porn.
The only time I've ever felt butterflies in my stomach after kissing a girl's girl with Capri-Sun down our throats and awkwardness lodged in our groins. I had a boner every time we spoke, which became incredibly difficult to deal with as the summer week passed on. I snuck out for her in a black D.A.R.E. shirt and black Hot Topic pants pinned close to my nervous shins. I fondled her under her sports bra, an incredibly defeating feat.
She broke up with me over the phone through a mutual friend at camp who also had a crush on me.
Cunt.
I got over her through Blue Weezer in Ohio, and Red Linkin Park words in a letter I never sent.
The first time sneaking out held a decision that would affect the rest of my life, at least until I graduated high school. We barely kissed, but at least the rain stopped. And what a birthday gift.
This is by no means an encyclopedic recollection of my youthful experiences, but I've attempted to lyrically summarize what I have a right to be nostalgic about. Experiences here are derived from the ages 5-15, but not in chronological order.
