Your parent’s house is in the middle of everywhere I need to be,
and when I’m near I find myself unconsciously drifting towards your street out
of habit and an almost gravitational pull. I pass: 1) your old bedroom where I
took your virginity, which you lied about, told me you lost it to a stranger in
the backseat of a car and didn’t admit to said lie for two years because
you thought it was emasculating because I was more experienced, which I thought
was cute, but which I later found annoying as I realized how good you were at
lying; 2) the parking lot, that is, your backyard where we searched for your
cat who went missing that night we took acid and you swallowed that glow stick
and we made space-cadet love and realized the cat was never missing at all; 3)
your stepfather’s church where we went to so many funerals and crept around
with flashlights at night, stealing the collection money and fucking on the
altar saying we’re so going to hell even though neither of us believed
in hell; 4) your bathroom window where we drew faces with our fingers on the
glass, steamed and humid from the heat of the tub where we bathed each other,
and later I bathed alone when I locked myself in after you tried to kick me out
of the house screaming I’m going to call the police after I threw that
beer in your face after you threw the glass at the wall after I ruined your
party after you told me you didn’t love me anymore; 5) your kitchen where we
microwaved soup and danced to John Coltrane even though neither of us could
dance and your mom would come down babbling and drunk wearing nothing but silk
underwear, and you’d get so embarrassed, and I’d tell you I didn’t care because
I didn’t because I loved your family more than I loved my own.
Your parent’s house is in the middle of everywhere I need to be,
so I take the back roads.
Brittany Harmon
http://brittanyharmon.wordpress.com
The Sun Also Rises
Ernest Hemingway