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2001-12-30 || 12:56 p.m. || you're not foolin anybody with track 9. || she cries at movies. she walks to the car with her head propped on a boy's shoulder, her hair falling in front of her face as they pass restaurant windows and young families in crosswalks. she is still crying and he is consoling her in a somewhat mocking tone, talking to her the way she talks to her cat, because he doesn't share the genetic predisposition of getting moony over movies. she takes him home. he forgets his thai leftovers in her car and driving home there are ghosts swirling about the backseat with his face and the unmistakable aroma of pad thai. at home she sits on the floor to look at his christmas presents, read his inscription in the book he gave her. against her better judgement she puts his christmas cd on the stereo. she has her feelings about boys who compile year in review cds, and on top of that is the realization that she recognizes all these songs as pure him. as sitting in his living room and making dinner in the kitchen with all the cabinet doors open. driving to and from idaho. driving through snow. driving with him, anywhere really, until the words have become indelible on car interiors, on heart interiors. it was a terrible idea to listen to this cd. she is crying a whole lot and it's so silly because she saw him that day and the day before. they had a brilliant discussion about the state of affairs of their relationship. open ends and untied shoe strings. the way there is a new strategy every month, the way these strategies invariably last for two weeks and fall apart. track 2: first date. track 3: trip to idaho. track 9: breaking up. it's funny to watch the chain of events spin and spin like that, all metallic and finalized. she wants a cigarette but she's out. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |