On Halloween I dressed as a kat boi, with ears and a tail, and a collar with a bell. I had girls tugging on my tail at a bar where I drank heavily. The colors of the lights behind the bar started off discrete and singular, and then all the lights began to bleed into one another and I realized that I was drunk. It was the middle of the evening, and I was drunk again. Life is a pattern that always folds neatly down the middle - the beginnings and ends are always the same no matter where we cut the cloth.
The next day I went to a crab feast north of Baltimore, where I drove for hours on 695 as I was lost. The road was an ocean and each partition of concrete thumped under my tires like waves. I began to think about driving like I do about swimming. My car ignored my thoughts and pushed onwards, leaning into the journey like trees lean into the wind and rain...Claire sat next to me and made my time passable. I wanted to throw up but did not, and that by itself was somewhat admirable.
The house where we finally arrived was small and cozy, and simple. It stood with little fanfare and I appreciated that - when we walked in I knew that this was a home and not simply a residence. We too often rent things spiritually, and never let our lives place roots out of fear. There was nothing to fear in this house except the scent of pumpkin pies, covered in obscene drawings done with shaking hands, a tremulous fork. I laughed as I ate cookies shaped like animals and doritos that vaguely nudged my Mexican memories before their taste vanished across the length of my throat.
-Rich
where the grain meets the heft of your skin
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