shower, knife
Sunday June 24th 2018, 9:22 pm
Filed under: Berkeley,Boozy Tags:

I took the knife out of the wall (there was jewelry hanging on it, maybe a dream catcher) and walked down the hall. “Put the knife down,” they shouted. I walked into the bathroom halfway down the hall (shared, mixed gender, of course) and walked into a shower. I turned on the water. It must’ve been cold, though I don’t remember. And then she and I went for a walk. I don’t quite remember how that part worked – did I walk to her? I have shadowy memories of concrete and gardens closer to mine than to hers. I know there was a walk. That’s what we did. So brave, that first walk, down telegraph to ?Ashby or beyond. For HelLA me, it was beyond scary. But that night, damp, without the knife, with the simple news that they were moving out to a house without me, I walked, I talked, I grieved, I wondered (aloud) what was wrong with me and what would happen to me, and _everything_ seemed to matter.

 

(I’m enjoying this movie, even if I keep pausing it.)


No Comments so far
Leave a comment



Leave a comment
Line and paragraph breaks automatic, e-mail address never displayed, HTML allowed: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>

(required)

(required)