Monday, November 21, 2005

I made out with your friend on Saturday. He'll probably tell you this and then you'll laugh and say what a slut I am, a crazy crackpot loser. But that's okay. I still think you're a loser, too.

So while I was kissing him, very good kisses, stumbling on the dark dance floor, sort of drunk in my platform boots, I thought of you and how good it was to hear that you still existed and I didn't just imagine all those years we made our hell so entertaining. But when he called me the next day, I guess it finally sunk in that you're gone. Like talking to the friend of a ghost. So I drove around and tried to forget.

Then I came home and washed your shirt. The one with the green stars, the one you left in my bathroom on New Years, back when I lived with my aunt and uncle in Roger's Park. You were wearing it when we shaved off your bright pink mohawk. I'd kept it in a bag all these years, because it was hairy. I'd forgotten to give it back and I guess it's too late for that now.

I wore the shirt to school, today. Everyone's telling me how good it looks, one girl said, "Green is the power of money. If you wear that shirt, money will come to you." And you know that's a good thing for me. And speaking of money, what kind of 21-year-old has an IRA account? Come on, you won't die for decades. Go buy yourself something fun.

Well, there's not much else to say. But something had to be said. I'm still picking bright pink hairs from the shirt.

posted at 3:01 PM |