(another) Unsent letter:
You know, I finally tried out the restaurant you used to work at the other night. Service was goddamn lousy. I must have sat there at that little white table outside for half an hour and I didn't even get a glass of water. Possibly because it was around 3 in the morning. I eventually decided I had to serve myself, and helped myself to a cigarette.
With words written on the side.
That said,
"Still can't feel it"
I stood up and mused over the menu in the display case next to the gated front door. You know, I don't think it's wise to try to put crab in me, but the Vietnamese pepper shrimp seems like it could really hit the spot for an appetizer. Down to the soups. Are you guys too good to make a du jour or something? Oh, there it is, at the very top. You know, it really just means soup of the day? It's taken on such a specific meaning in this country since then. God, the life of language is a weird one. But for the entree? No, monsieur, I believe it will have to be the mutton over rice. And all for the price of a cup of tea. If that tea were an elixir of immortality. I think I might just hold out for something better tonight Garçon, or Fred, or whoever the hell you are. Start walking west...
I crossed the railroad tracks and climbed over the levee. There's a lot more dirt there than there was the last time I was here, back in November or so. You remember - that weird party I told you about with the bonfire out on the riverbank. About 20 bohemian morons you could love so easily, 99 bottles of booze, and one acoustic guitar. We climbed up on the barges and let our feet dangle over the water in a line like crows on a telephone wire. And we tried to make up our minds how we would get home, or whether or not we were already there.
The river is up these days though. There's no shoreline anymore - only water and grass. I looked at the cell tower they built where the ground levels out and I remembered that night. Hearing stories about the guys who tried to climb it. And their girlfriends downstairs, holding their man's drinks and losing their minds. I really got a kick out of those stories. Maybe that's why it's where I chose to go a few days later, after that Thanksgiving Day nightmare at your place. I wanted to climb the tower that night more than any decision I could make on my own behalf. I brought the boots for it. I brought sleeves. I just didn't really anticipate the barbed wire they coiled around the legs at the base. If I would've thought to have brought some heavy duty gloves I might have been able to climb it that night. I still think about it sometimes.
But I didn't go down there the other night. I didn't want to deal with the swampiness in the flat. I wanted to keep my pocketknife where it belongs. So I climbed back up to the top of the levee and took a seat on a tractor tire. I looked at the moon - a waxing gibbous, 4 or 5 days removed from full moon. Above it there's a small red planet I can't identify. I'm pretty astronomically fucking ignorant, but I decided to call it Venus, for a friend.
I managed to sit there and let myself get eaten for another 2 minutes or so before my thoughts inevitably drifted back to you. I'm glad your sister was there to help me out that Thanksgiving. And now that you're finally leaving town it only twists and knots me harder to know that she's leaving too. I know how much healthier and safer I am without you on my streets, but I guess when push comes to shove I'd rather put up with the both of you than lose you both.
I'm not even sure whether or not you're still here. Maybe I could accidentally put myself at your favorite bar and run into you. I could ask you what you're still doing in my town. I could ask where you're moving to, whether you were still trying to go abroad. Or chase one of those other boys who can't stand you. Maybe I could ask for some of my things back this time. Maybe I could just tell the bartender to put the rest of your drinks on my tab and just walk away. I think I just want to see you. I just want to look. And to see.
I stood up, wiped the dirt off my ass, began to descend. East. Home. Or maybe, homeward. A relative term. I ignored my phone as I felt it start to vibrate in my pocket and helped myself to a cigarette.
With words written on the side.
That said,
"Unsentimental"