26 December 2005

April 16, 2005

I’ve been here before. Its ridiculously early to be staring at a dark ceiling. I think he’s passed out but its too soon to be sure.
It all started when he taunted me. No. It all started when he called and asked me to meet him at a keg party. Then he taunted me. “You think you’re too good for this, don’t you?” he said. Fuck him if he thinks I’m a snob (even though I am).
So I went. I followed his sketchy directions to the standard student apartment. Knocking on the door was a joke but I did it anyway. I know it’s a keg party but I still don’t know any of these people and I don’t want to seem rude.
Inside is so generic it should be on a shelf next to a cocktail party marked up $2 more. There are pretty girls in skirts and lots of boys in polo shirts and baseball caps. I walk straight through the apartment to the backdoor, which takes about 7 seconds. I am looking to find him but all the boys look the same.
He’s out on the patio. I tap him on the shoulder and he turns around and is immediately much more friendly than usual. He says hello, his hand gently resting on my ass. “I want to make out with you so badly right now. Lets go somewhere.”
He takes me to the parking lot and I feel like I’m 15 years old again. “I’m a fool.” I say to him. He smells like beer and I can tell he’s had too much. “Why? You look so hot…” he says as he buries his face in my neck and reaches up to grab my chest. I remove his hand and I say “because the only reason you called me is because you’re drunk and want sex. And I know this and I came anyway.”
“I really like you” is his reply.
“Do you want me to take you home?” I ask. He rubs his crotch against my leg and says “What do you think?”
We get in my car and drive to his apartment. When we get inside he doesn’t bother to turn on any lights. He leans into my back and reaches his hands around to my chest, kissing my collarbone. “Aren’t you going to offer me a drink?” I ask. “I will later” he says. All I can think is I might as well be back with Big John if I am going to deal with this shit.
Still I stay.
We go to his room and slip off our clothes. We wrestle on his sheets and kiss and moan. He passes out. I’ve been here before.
I stare at the ceiling, thinking about everything. I think about him, and me, and tomorrow, and the afternoon, and the generic keg party that I was at for 6 minutes. I think I wish he was kissing me and tugging at my hair and whispering dirty things in my ear. I think I wish a lot of things about him that aren’t happening and won’t happen. But I’ve only got less than two months left in this damn town, so I take what I can get.

17 December 2005

je t'aime, Marc Yenpong

Marc Yenpong is built like a creole house. Built to last. Marc Yenpong is a student at the lycée Rolland Garros, and damn he can’t wait to get out of there. Marc Yenpong is studying hard for his bac, but he would never let his friends know that. Marc Yenpong plays foot on Thursday mornings with Pascal, Thierry, and Christophe. He likes it when Pascal’s sister comes along. She’s pretty like hibiscus and he might even like her if only she didn’t surf better than he does.
Marc Yenpong worked washing dishes in a creole dive for 4 months to save up enough money to buy some new Pumas. His pride keeps him from going back even though he could use some more cash. Marc Yenpong is young enough that he doesn’t still calculate the euros into francs. His grandfather does that and its drives him crazy. Papa Yenpong. But damn if those pumas aren’t fly. Trop as they say.
Marc Yenpong hates Star Academy. That’s a lie. Marc Yenpong pretends to hate Star Academy but secretly lingers in the salon when his sister watches it. His vote is for Ely. He has a soft spot for Canadian girls. Marc Yenpong had a dream once he was in Canada, playing foot. Everything was going well until the ground dropped out from below him.
Late at night someone felt the urge to declare their love for Marc Yenpong on the streets of centre ville. Marc Yenpong doesn’t know what to think about this. His friends won’t stop making fun of him, but he knows they are just jealous. In the back of his head, Marc Yenpong thinks it was one of his friends who did it for a laugh. That’s not what he wants to believe though. He wants to believe that every pretty girl he passes on the street was the one holding that amorous can of spray paint and proclaiming a love that was too strong to stay inside. A love that had to be written in public semi permanence.
Marc Yenpong can’t wait to get out of there. He’s built to last, but this drama just wears and wears.

15 December 2005

interstate of mind

It’s a Cutless Supreme in baby blue and the back door is broken- held closed with a bungee cord. It’s an automatic. It’s huge. The road is black as centipedes and the steam rises up from it from the heat of midday. There’s a shoe on the median. We’re behind a Chevy with a boat. The radio cracks out: “Those of you travelling to Florida for the holiday weekend will want to let some air out of your tires, the roads are hot and you don’t want problems.” I’m in the backseat with my The Little Mermaid sleeping bag and a chapter book about an old house and a young girl. My brother is laying in the floor of the backseat, listening to Weird Al on his walkman. I know he won’t let me use it. His hair is so blond. The sign says “Now Entering the Sunshine State” but it all looks the same to me. And it’s not sunshine, its rain. Hard infrequent bursts, the kind you can see ahead of you on the road and then behind you when you’ve gone through. This is past the age when rolling windows up and down is fun, but too early to be comfortable just laying with feet on the dashboard. It’s hot cold hot cold hot. The billboard reads “Fireworks! Fireworks! Fireworks! Exit 5.”
I start to bug my mom about stopping along the way. “But I’m hunnnnngry momma” I say, restless with my sleeping bag. “Alright” she says and before long the car is not on the road, but along the side in the dust. I open the door and struggle to find my flipflops. My legs are all wobbly from the long car ride and I look up to see a man with more wrinkles than face and a wooden table covered in watermelons. He has no shirt on. There are two little boys playing by the truck behind the table, shooting each other with their fingers, both winning and dieing at the same time. The sun is hot hot hot. The next exit isn’t for another 15 miles. “Two bags of boiled peanuts” my mother asks. He scoops a large spoon into his black vat, lifting a mound of boiled peanuts into a white Styrofoam cup. He hands her two paper bags and grumbles “wanna melon?” My mother shakes her head no and hands over 3 dollars. We bend our knees up and down three times before climbing back in the Cutless. My brother hadn’t budged from the floor. The styrofoam cup is warm in my hand and I pull out the first nut to meet its fate. I put it in my mouth and gently suck the warm salty water out from within the shell. Then I hold it in my thumb and forefinger and pop it open with my front teeth. I use my little hands to open the shell, secretly hoping like every time that the peanuts will be in tact and on the same side of the shell once the two halves have been separated. They are, and I get a little thrill from it before using my teeth to pop the peanut out of the shell and into my mouth. It tastes like summer, and Florida, and festivals, and salt, and love, and little boys playing cowboys. Peanut shells litter the highway for the next 2 hours.

12 December 2005

vocabulary lesson for the broken hearted

brisé broken// tristesse sadness// manquer to miss// méprise a misunderstanding// amant lover// seul alone// terminé finished// le matin the morning// pleurer to cry// déconcerté confused// obstiné stubborn// peiné upset// quitter to leave// confiance trust// blesser to hurt//
regretter to regret// l'amour love.

10 December 2005

venir [prostituer]

he said he doesn't like to do it alone
he said it makes him feel empty inside, after
i said its erotic
to be alone
with your thoughts
he said he doesn't like to do it alone

he said when you are with a woman its better
you still feel empty but there is someone to hold you
to kiss you-- love you
empty? i said
empty. empty and alone.

then he said he loved me, after
i was the perfect size for his void.

its good to be alone.

01 December 2005

my news/ the news

boy shot girls parents
they can trace it all in texts.
who you tryin to fool?

buddha boy, nepal
bit by snake, still going strong
meditation rocks

why can't this island
have just one mexican place?
tortilla withdrawal.

star ac is on at 6
no more pierre or mullet
damn that is so sad.

roosters crow all night
we want cosmic justice now
but the stove done broke.

he is my Henry
Miller, misogynist but
oddly appealing.

you started the Crips
think you can get off easy?
write a book on that.

same lesson five times
I feel like an old rock star
tired stage banter.