I remember loving the thing. Maybe I had started to love the thing out of a sense of duty, and real love had come later, or maybe I had started with real love, and continued with a sense of duty: The point was that the thing was alive, and thousands of hours of stress had kept it there, whether it knew it or not, shortening my life span. Unless. Unless that new love of pride, when the thing is considered grown, balances out the stress life reduction factor with the continued love of you until the end of You – mandatory that you outlive the thing for it to become You The Second, extending You a special sense of immortality, reserved for the Generally Satisfied Parent. Promises retain an illusion of permanence, a self that shapes the world and forces the world to care instead of a world that is kind of indifferent and will live on when you are bones, as it did when you were sperm, hmm.
I remember losing to the low straight in the abandoned train by the baseball diamond, how it hit me in the gut like when she broke up with me with a note, referring to how I kissed under the influence of Pop Rocks.
I remember love before it was love, when it was hey this attractive person finds me attractive let’s touch as much as possible, have you heard about sex I like your face, it’s nice that we get along at parties, I like the way you smell, people are jealous of me, let’s hook up my friend with yours.
I remember people who spent their pre-pubescence, adolescence, adulthood trying to be liked by their parents, excelling in post grad to become the hard-working and emotionally understated doctor, as seen on Grey’s Anatomy, quietly proud about condos and restaurants and orgasms with the lights off and an appropriate amount of candles, always hard-working while quietly dealing with the ramifications of trying to help people who, if all bets in Vegas went the right way, wouldn’t be there for breakfast.
I remember trying to find a tent with wet feet as the sun rose, trying not to laugh and awake tent-neighbours, assuming that every bead on the zipper was waking another, whereas the average drunk REM sleep meant that setting off a firework in their tents would maybe have them mumbling something about stop knocking on the fucking door Brian.
I remember bro, bro hug, great story bro, bring it in, a dominant class somehow oppressed into bar-codes, repeating repeated phrases like hiccups, saying nothing, meaning nothing, a crust hiding personalities, and finding out the motherfuckers who created crust only did so to predict demand, the simultaneous translation at the bottom of the commercial reading, We Think You Are All Idiots- cue a bro code statement, “never leave a man behind”- show image of women dancing, without a voice- men jumping around together buy buy buy our beer watch, buy!
I remember having allies just to have allies, smaller group within the larger, safety and social capital, before you boiled down the crowd and found out who everyone was- who you could learn from, and who was fun- who was there for you, not for the recognition of Watch me hold her head in the toilet because I am sober and responsible, like me, love me for what I am trying to represent, but just to be there for you, and be interesting, whatever that meant, and how that word changed with time, what it means today, to us.*