oh-someday:(via vinyldealer)
You are new here. I am old here. Or, like, I grew up here. I’m only a year older than you. I’m not, like, old. Me and my friends did that thing, when we first saw you at the drugstore, where we make fun of someone because we’ve never seen them before, and because they look like someone girls might like, and because life is so boring that, sometimes, projecting your insecurities onto someone you think you’ll never see again is just a decent way to bond/pass the time. But I saw you again. It was at the grocery store. I was there to get pampers (do people still call them that? diapers, then? you know what I mean though—for my older sister, this was; she has a baby girl), and you were there to pick up an application and a prescription of pills for your acid reflux. I noticed you and you noticed that I did, but I didn’t know how I knew you—I did that little smile thing where you kinda curl you lips in to look nonthreatening, but you looked angry, and that’s when I realized you were the dude from the other day, the new guy, and my heart felt a squeeze and I walked up to you and introduced myself. I apologized for my friends without taking responsibility for the role I played. “It’s cool,” you said. I said no, really, we were just joking around, if you ever need anything… You said, “I need a friend, bro” as a joke, and I laughed. You said, “Can you actually make sure my dog is still outside? I gotta wait for these pills. I dunno if I tied his leash good enough…” I said ok and went outside. You’re dog was fine. You came outside and thanked me and asked me if I got high. Smoking weed, you meant. I said not usually, cuz it gives me anxiety. You asked me what it makes me anxious about. I just shrugged and said “Just anxious that someone might finally see through my bullshit, I guess.” You smiled (an alarmingly bright thing to see) cuz you thought I was kidding and told me that your parents were gone, that your dad was a recently-retired screenwriter, that it was just you and your dog for the next couple days, that this was the first convo you had since moving here that didn’t involve a cashier. I came over.
You took off your shoes and socks as soon as we got to the backyard, by the pool—don’t laugh, but there’s an intimacy with seeing someone’s feet—it’s why I don’t wear sandals. You took off your shirt. My eyes involuntarily grazed your torso. It was hot outside, you were sweating. You pulled out a joint. “You keepin your shirt on? The dog don’t give a shit…” You said this to me and chuckled and I took mine off, not because I wanted to, but because I thought you wanted me to, and I’ve felt alone around my friends, but do not feel alone now. You noticed me look at you before and you make a show of checking me out mow, as a joke. “Nice tits, bro,” you said and laughed while lighting the joint. You asked me where my friends were. I said I hadn’t heard from them all day. Sometimes my friends don’t call me. You asked me about the diapers. I said it wasn’t a big deal, I had time to chill. We got high by your pool. You talked about how human beings only wonder what life means because they can. That it’s a side-effect of their existence. That cars exist but don’t wonder about life, because they can’t. There is no life for them. That cats exist, but don’t wonder, though they have life, but have only a basic understanding of the the world around them. That humans only wonder because they can, because there’s nothing else they can do. That life will ultimately mean only what you are willing to believe, what you are strong enough accept, and you only think these things to pass the time, that we’re all just here ‘cause there’s no place else for people to be. I felt like I wanted to be here with you, all day, even considered asking you if I could go get some stuff and spend the night, just because you were so…safe, I guess? I dunno. I wondered what it would be like to sit closer to you, like, so that I could feel your warmth like I was feeling your words, because I felt like you were like me, like you would not judge me, like the thoughts I have that I’m ashamed to share, like they would be okay here with you, by your pool, with your dog panting like he was me or something. I stood up. You did too. I said, “I should get those diapers back.” I said it like I wanted you to talk me out of it. You said, “You have a really cool presence, dude.” I blushed and chuckled and said, “Thanks?” You said, “That probly sounds dumb. My bad. You just gotta let go of that anxiety shit. Did you get nervous here? Did I, like, give you anxiety?” I thought about it and said no. You smiled and looked me in the eye and said, “Awesome! So…you gonna make fun of me next time I see you?” I shook my head, grinned. You said, “Can I hug you?” I looked you in the eye again and said yeah, that’s fine. We hugged. You smelled like something I’ve known before but could not recognize at the time. I let the hug linger, for this reason and others. You pulled away and looked at me. Took my face in your hands then softly touched your forehead with mine. I became flustered, did the same thing to you. I felt new. Not new like you, new in town, but like how someone who’d been kidnapped might feel when the cops come and give them their life back. I said, “I’ll see you” and touched your arm just because my body told me to, then my anxiety kicked in, and, with my head down, I put my shirt back on and scurried out of there, feeling like I probably let you down.
Knowing I would inevitably see you again, I drove home, terrified.
YouAreAnObject gets literary and I like it.
this is written in a strange way, the tenses and wording are hard for me to read, but i really enjoyed it.
